Sheila was at the doorway, toweling her hair. She’d become almost part of the household, visiting Jamal so often, occasionally staying overnight. She said good morning, sullen posture, looking everywhere but at Jamal, and he grew wary at the sound of her voice; they were sore with each other, and looked like they hadn’t slept. “Did we keep you up last night?” she asked. “We were trying to be quiet.”

“No,” Ronny said. “I couldn’t sleep anyway.”

“He tell you?” she asked, indicating Jamal. “His bright idea?”

“Come on, Sheila, I’m not doing it to hurt you.”

“Oh, fuck you for that. He wants to take a break, he says.”

The statement sank into the room, silenced them all; from outside, one of the other guys could be heard lecturing about the greatest guitar players in rock history, had to be Eric Clapton; no man, had to be Jimi Hendrix, he really had the licks, that sound; back and forth. Jamal said, “Please, Sheila, don’t do this.”

“Why not, is it a secret?”

“I just need some time to think, that’s all.”

“Who are you going to think on top of?”

“It’s not like that.”

Sheila was breathing heat if not fire, and said to Ronny, “Great guy, huh? I thought we were doing so good.”

“This is none of Ronny’s business.”

“Really? So it is a secret?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“I need to get out of here.” She was still rubbing the towel against her hair, angry, and turned, walked away.

Jamal shook his head, mouthed, “Wish me luck,” and followed her. They closed the door.

He stared at the handwriting. Ben’s print-scrawl. If Ronny wasn’t careful he’d be late for class, and he had to work at the pasteup job in the afternoon. Grabbed his books, belted his jeans, and the phone rang. Dread soaked through him, fear of answering, but he picked it up. Ben said, “Hey. Did you get the ticket?”

“Yeah. I did.”

Silence for a long while. Ronny held the receiver and closed his eyes. Ben said, “Okay. You coming, then?”

“Sure.”

“Nina’s going to pick you up. I called her.”

“Cool.” Trying to feel this as little as possible. From next door the sound of a quarrel, low voices, intense. “You all right?”

Ben coughed, making a low sound. “I’m trying not to think about anything right now. Just the last game. That’s all.”

“Okay.”

“You? That rain was pretty nasty.”

“A little sore throat. Nothing to worry about.” Ronny picked up the ticket. “Thanks. For getting me in the game.”

“Yeah.” His voice was changing, cracking a little. “Look, I can’t do this on the phone, okay? We’ll talk?”

“Sure. If you want to.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” An edge of frantic. “Do you want to?”

“Yes.” Ronny broke a little himself, then. “Yes, I do. I’m sorry.”

“Okay. Let’s just stop. I got practice today.”

“I need to get to class.”

“Okay. Okay.” But it took him a while to hang up the phone.