Maria leaned down close to him and said, “Didn’t Mr. Collins tell us that a lot of great writers suffered?”

“I’m not looking for great here,” Ryan said. “I’m just looking for doesn’t stink.”

The bell rang then, ending lunch, and sending them off to their one o’clock class. Lucas told Ryan they could work at his house after they got off the bus, and that he promised to get him unstuck. He was actually looking forward to it, thinking it would take his mind off Gramps. And he was happy to help his friend get through this paper, get a good grade, get on with the basketball season.

He wished he was as confident that things would work out with his grandfather.

More than ever, Lucas wished he could write a happy ending to that story.

He and Ryan worked until it was time for Ryan to leave for dinner. They were up in Lucas’s room while his mom was down in the kitchen grading papers of her own. Ryan asked Lucas if his mom might mind terribly just shooting him an A on his paper. Lucas told him he was pretty sure it didn’t work that way.

But the work they did was similar to what they’d done the first time they’d worked together. Today Ryan talked about the difference between an individual sport and a team sport, and what it was like being on the court alone. As he did, Lucas took notes. Then he wrote out a few paragraphs as a way of helping Ryan organize his thoughts.

“Now just go home and put this into your own words,” Lucas said.

“But they already are my words,” Ryan said. “We’ve gone over that already.”

Lucas said, “But Mr. Collins talks all the time about how we have to find our own voice. I know you just said this stuff. But when you write it yourself, put it in your voice. Seriously, dude? We’re almost there. It’s like your shot when we’re playing ball. You just have to trust it.”

When Ryan was gone, Lucas thought about calling Gramps. But he didn’t. Gramps would talk when he was ready. And when he was ready, maybe he’d explain everything so that Lucas could understand. Maybe it wasn’t as much of a mystery as Lucas thought. Maybe everything would make perfect sense, like when you got to the end of a book. Lucas told himself he had to be patient, even though patience wasn’t exactly one of his strong suits.

There was no practice tonight. Dinner probably wouldn’t be for another hour or so. He tried to read, but he just couldn’t focus. So he put down his book, did the little homework he had to do.