At some point I’m going to have to go back there and talk to Mom and Dad and everybody else, and have an all-you-can-eat breakfast at his fancy hotel, and say goodbye to him at the airport, and watch him walk through security in his pinstripe suit with his briefcase in hand. When a plane takes off, I’ll wonder if it’s his—on the way to London, where the Beatles recorded their music and there’s a school just for American kids. At some point I’m going to have to decide what I want to do—where I want to live and who I want to live with. If I want to stay here, with Mom and Granma . . . and Mabley and Pete and Sam and Mr. Tomski, and just accept that this is where I am, and make the best of it. Or move to London with my dad and start again. Anything can happen, and somehow it feels like the ball is still in the air.

Twenty-Six

I COULD HARDLY SLEEP last night. Everything kept going through my head. Making those free throws, missing the last shot, it’s almost like, if I imagine it over and over again, I can imagine it different—something will change. Pete throwing the ball at me after the game. Me throwing it back. Mom shouting at Mr. Tomski. Dad coming.

After the game, Dad said, “Listen, Ben. I’m a little bushed right now. I flew into Houston last night. It’s a six-hour time difference; this feels like midnight to me. And then from Houston it’s a three-hour drive. I haven’t even checked in to my hotel here, I drove straight to the gym. I really want to see you, but I need to go to bed. But we’ve got all day tomorrow—anything you want to do.”

I don’t say anything for a minute, and eventually he says, “The hotel I’m staying at is famous for its breakfasts. All you can eat. I can pick you up in the morning, any time.”

“I think I’d like to go for a bike ride.”

He looks at me. “I didn’t really . . . I don’t have a bike, Ben.”

“You can use Mom’s.”

For a second he stands there, pursing his lips. He’s making up his mind. Then he says, “You know what, let’s do that. I’ll figure something out. We’ll go for a ride together, that’s a great idea.”

We walk to the parking lot, Mom and Granma and Dad and me, and on the way out, I see Sam—he’s standing by the table at the entrance. Maybe he’s waiting for me, and I say to Dad, “There’s somebody I want to introduce you to.”

But Sam has already come up. “You look like you used to play a little ball yourself,” he says to my dad, checking him over.

“I’m tall enough, but I’m too skinny. People used to push me around.”

“I don’t believe that,” Sam says. He says hello to Mom and Granma, too, and I say, “This is Sam—he takes care of the school grounds. There’s a court near the football field where I have lunch . . . he lets me play on it.”