“So, sure, Mickey, you can tell on me. But think it through. Even if somehow they did believe you—even if they ignored all the physical evidence I have and believed every word you say—well, then what? At best, we both get thrown off the team. You still broke into that storage shed. You can’t escape from that fact.”

“Wow,” I said.

“What?”

“You thought of everything, Troy.”

The grin was back. “I don’t want to brag but, yeah, I did.”

I was trapped. I was searching for an escape route. There was none.

“But it’s not all bad,” Troy said.

I said nothing. He made a right turn.

“We’re teammates now. You saw today how good we can be. We’re going to win the states, and now that you have my blessing, the entire team loves you. We are going to win a lot of games together. We are going to celebrate and go far, and then next year, I’ll be gone to a top-echelon college and you’ll be the new team leader.”

Troy stopped the car in front of Uncle Myron’s house. He leaned across me and opened the door.

“Cheer up, Mickey. It’s all going to be fine. Just be smart about it. See you tomorrow at practice, okay?”

CHAPTER 45

I texted Ema. No reply. I called her. No answer.

I sat at the kitchen table and stewed. Forget her. Hadn’t she said that she’d be there when I got hurt from this? She’d known, hadn’t she? She tried to make me see what Troy was, but I wouldn’t open my eyes. She knew that I’d have to make a big mistake like this and that it would hurt. How had she put it?

I want to protect you from that pain. But I can’t. I can only tell you that when it hurts, I’ll be there for you.

And then she added, Always.

“So where are you now?” I said out loud.

An hour later, Uncle Myron came home. He saw the expression on my face and said, “What happened?”

I wasn’t allowed to tell him about Abeona. That was part of the rules. Both Lizzie Sobek and Dylan Shaykes had made that crystal clear to me. But I could tell him about Troy. I could tell him about how my wanting to belong to a team had ruined everything.

Uncle Myron listened with great patience and even understanding. When I finished, he asked one simple question: “Do you know what you’re going to do?”

I gave a simple answer: “No.”

“Good,” he said. “You should sleep on it. Or maybe it’s more accurate to say, you should toss and turn on it.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I don’t expect to get much sleep.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. You messed up. We all do.”

“Even you,” I said.

It wasn’t a question.