I wonder what he’d say if I told him his hero-among-heroes, Jason Goodyear, was in trouble. Would Alex believe that the left fielder was as broke as his family? That the athlete was homeless and squatting, too? My guess is that the kid would just giggle at me, shake his head, and say, Rawr. That’s what he says to most strangers these days, the kids at his new school and his momma’s friends, the ones who come over for parties that start after he’s already meant to be in bed, gatherings that he watches from the shadows at the top of the stairs. The social worker at school said she’s worried about this little man’s roaring, but his momma waved it off. He’s just going through a phase.

Coping, his sister told me as we drove to school. I’d picked them up at the bus stop, Michelle knowing better than to get into a stranger’s car, but also knowing they’d missed the bus again, and she didn’t want to be late for her first-period exam. It’s what he does when he feels scared, she said. And what do you do? I’d asked, but she just chewed her lip. I gave her a hundred-dollar bill, too. Not like I’m made of money, and not like she demanded it, but after Sara and Liana’s housekeeper I got accustomed to keeping a few bills handy, and Michelle, maybe more than anybody else I’ve met down here—she and her brother needed it. It seems whatever her mother was earning went right up her nose, and those kids were making do with next to nothing.

Rawr, Alex said when he jumped out of the car. Thanks, Michelle said, taking the bill as she exited. Thinking more about it, I believe Alex is on to something. It’s not a half-bad idea, figuring out some phrase that could make us think fondly of our grandpas and our heroes and convince us, even briefly, that we’re big and bold and fierce. We’ve all been in situations where we could use a bit more courage.

Like Jason, this morning, as he shook that sleeping rookie awake. He was hoping that today, at last, something would go right.

HOMERS

“If the teacher asks where we live, say, ‘I forgot.’” That’s what Momma tells Alex to say. It’s breakfast and they are eating Corn Pops. He is—his momma just has coffee in the morning.

Momma fills her mug again, sloshing some coffee onto the rough wood counter. She doesn’t wipe it up.