AHMED NOW EXCLUSIVELY SAT WITH TOMMY AND HIS FRIENDS AT lunch and non-Seated dinners, and huddled on the padded chairs near the sixth-form couches after Seated. Eventually the last shipment would run out, and they would go and buy more, and even if they weren’t caught bringing it back on campus, some teacher would catch them smoking and then look in someone’s closet and find the sheer volume of what they had, and it would be impossible not to know they were distributing at school.

Ben and Ahmed played squash a few more times, Ben trying to keep him from being completely pulled into Tommy’s orbit, tending Ahmed’s hopes to play number 7—the last spot on varsity—for maybe one match by the end of the season.

“You should play with Gray,” Ahmed said during one of their sessions.

“The Brit?”

“Yes. He and I speak. I think he’s lonely. He’s sort of bored with killing kids from other schools. I think the two of you could play together. What we’re doing when we come to the courts, it’s okay, it’s good and I’m very glad, but we’re not together in trying.”

“Together?”

“You don’t have to wonder if you can get to the next ball when we play. You and Gray need that.”

Ben was tempted. Back in seventh grade, when everyone was still playing hardball, Ben had drawn Marcus Drew in the first round of Nationals. Everyone knew Marcus was almost definitely going to win the tournament—he had in fact gone on to win it—but instead of being intimidated, Ben had felt relief stepping on the court so overmatched. From the first few points Ben had given Marcus a run; even on the points he lost he was almost there. Ben remembered the joy of just being a little piece of steel in the gears of someone else’s machine, knowing everyone else was watching some more marquee match and so feeling that he and Marcus were away playing in some elemental wilderness. Only one of his Um Club friends had come by to watch and was amazed it had gone to four games.

“Not me,” Ben said now to Ahmed. “Come on, let’s hit a few more.”

“Maybe when the season’s over.”

“Let’s hit.”

*  *  *

After Seated, Hutch held a cup of coffee and just looked at Ben as he approached.

“What are you doing, man?”

“What?”

“Kyle saw you at the courts with Ahmed.” He took a slow sip of the coffee. “Why are you at the fucking squash courts with Ahmed Al-Khaled?”

“Come on.”

“You know we can’t do anything while he’s behind Tommy. But the least we can expect from our kind is to hold the line. We thought you were holding the line in your room, we thought you were with us.”

“I am with you.”