“Do you have the ball?”

She doesn’t. She looks to the grass and doesn’t see the ball. She looks back. The other three are waiting.

She hears a car engine come to life.

Someone is awake in this silent Samhattan after all.

“Now do you have it?”

Patricia’s voice comes from a distance, soft.

“No. I can’t…”

“Can’t find it? That’s fine. How about you join the others on the pavement again. Let’s hand you a new ball. Sue Bird has a new ball.”

Kit looks to Sue Bird and sees, yes, she has a ball. Only, it’s not a ball. It’s Tammy Jones’s head.

“Fuck.”

“Don’t worry,” Patricia says. “You’re probably mixing images up by now. It’s hard to maintain an inner vision. The details get fuzzy. Your mom becomes your dad. All that.”

“I don’t think I can stay here.”

“You can. You can control this thing. This thing being you. Is Sue holding a ball?”

Kit looks again. Yes. A ball. But the ball bulges.

What’s inside the ball?

“Yeah.”

“Great! Go to her. Go to them.”

Kit does. She feels the pavement beneath her again. Feels a cool breeze.

Sue Bird tosses her the ball. She catches it, passes to Rebecca Lobo. Lobo to Dana.

“You’re back in action,” Patricia says. “Whoever has the ball, have them shoot it.”

Dana fires an awkward shot that cracks off the side of the backboard.

The car engine gets louder.

“Who shot the ball?”

“Daphne.”

“Who?”

“Dana. Dana.”

“Did she make it?”

“No.”

“Have her go get it this time. Let her search the grass.”

Dana walks to the grass. Beyond her, a navy-blue muscle car pulls up to the far edge of the park. The driver’s door opens.

“Oh no,” Kit says.

“No, it’s okay,” Patricia says. “It’s absolutely common for the person you’re trying to avoid to show up. Is that what’s happening?”

The driver’s door opens with a grating crack.

“Does Dana have the ball?” Patricia asks.

Dana does not. She only stares across the park, to the giant woman in denim who walks slowly her way.

“I can’t stop her,” Kit says.

“You don’t have to stop her,” Patricia says. “You just need to render her useless. Okay?”

“How? How?”

Patricia squeezes her hands.

“Change her. This is your fantasy, after all. Wanna change her into a tree? A basketball? A punching bag? This is yours, Kit. Your world. Sic the bull on her.”

Kit tries. Daphne momentarily becomes a tree. Switches back. She’s closer now.

“Dana!” Kit says.

“She’ll be okay,” Patricia says. “Just have her pick up the ball.”

The idling car growls. Heavy guitar riffs rise from the open door.

“Fuck,” Kit says. “She’s too strong for me. Too big.”

“Nothing is,” Patricia says. “Nothing in the—”

But her voice is lost to the roaring car, the roaring music. And the thudding of Daphne’s black boots across the grass.

“I can’t stop her!”

Her huge hands are made into fists. Her stringy hair hides most of her face but Kit catches a glimpse…