I’ve spent all morning working out what to say, but for a second I forget and can’t even remember why I wanted to talk to him. Then it comes back to me. “I’m sorry I didn’t do anything. When Mr. Tomski took us out on your field.”

“What could you do?” Sam takes another bite of his sandwich.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything.”

“What could you say?”

“I don’t know. But I’m sorry anyway.”

Sam has a way of looking angry and like he’s kidding at the same time. After a minute, he says, “It’s all right. Mr. Tomski came over yesterday to apologize himself.”

“What did he say?”

“He said what he needed to say.” Sam laughs. “Come on, big man,” he says. “Let’s shoot some hoops.” He finishes his sandwich and steps inside to get the basketball.

It’s a short walk to the court, just a few steps. On the way, Sam asks me, “Are you getting skinny on me, kid?”

“My mom says I eat too much. I eat all the time.”

He looks me over again. By this point, I’m standing under the basket.

“Reach up your hands.” So I stand up straight and lift my arms in the air—then jump up and touch the bottom of the net.

“Big man is getting bigger,” Sam says.

Usually, we take turns to shoot, but today Sam keeps feeding me the ball. “Move and shoot,” he tells me. “Move and shoot.” I run to a spot on the court, and he passes it to me. Then I shoot and he passes it to me again. I’m not really thinking about anything, but sometimes I catch a glimpse of the ball in the air—trees in the background, the telephone wire, a few clouds, something falling out of the sky toward the rusty brown rim with a ragged old net like a bucket at the end of a rainbow. Then I run to another spot and Sam passes me the ball.

Afterward, when the bell rings, Sam says, “I told him about you.”

“Who?” I’m still sweating a little and have to get my stuff together. I didn’t even have time to eat lunch—it’s still in the bag.

“Mr. Tomski. I said, look out for Ben. The kid can shoot.”

Walking back to school, across the football field, I eat my peanut butter sandwich and throw the rest away in one of the metal trash cans by the back doors. I can’t work out if I’m glad Sam said what he said, or not—if I want Mr. Tomski to know.

The regular season is almost over. On Friday Mom takes home the school newspaper to show Granma. It has a story about the basketball team, with the names of all the players: Pete Miller, Adam Hancock, Daniel Krasnick, Gabe Hunterton, Breon Joyner, Cory Caldwell, Dai Menudo, Blake Snyder, Steve Chou, Amir Brown. Coach: Harlan Tomski. Manager: Ben Michaels. Granma says, “Look at you. Your name in lights.”

“I’m just the manager, Granma. I’m basically the guy who does the laundry.”