“Seven o’clock at Dana White’s house.” He looked up as if the sky had caught fire. “You mean you forgot? Like … for real forgot?”

“I guess I did.”

“But it’s Becky Collins.” Chance closed his eyes, repeating himself.

Becky … freakin’ … Collins …

He could go for a while like that, so I sat on the curb to wait him out. Of course, his confusion was legitimate. I’d had a crush on Becky since forever. Everyone crushed on Becky. She was smart and pretty and different from other girls. The confidence. That steadiness.

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” Chance settled at last, standing above me, looking down. “You’re inside all day. You forget batting practice, then a date with the hottest girl in school. What’s wrong with you?”

“I don’t know. Family stuff. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Do you want to kiss the girl?” I met his eyes, and they showed his amusement. “Come on, Cinderella.” He pulled me up. “Let’s get you ready for the ball.”

In the shower, I tried not to dwell on Jason or his guns or the chance he might go back to prison. Instead, I thought of Tyra, thinking she might really be dead. I imagined blue skin and a metal table, all the cops on the city beat, frustrated and smoking cigarettes and driving around town.

In the bedroom, Chance had clothes laid out on the bed. “Seriously?” I asked.

“What? I can’t help you get laid?”

“It’s not like that with Becky.”

“Not yet.”

“Chance…”

“I’m kidding. Come on. Take this.” He handed me a shirt, and tried to coach me as I dressed. “Remember. Becky’s poor, but sophisticated. That means smart and ambitious and not into your typical bullshit.”

“I know Becky Collins as well as you.”

“No, you don’t. So listen.” He riffled through my shoes, speaking over his shoulder. “She’s a cheerleader but doesn’t care about sports, same with the Latin Club and Young Entrepreneurs and student government. She does those things, but don’t depend on them for conversation. She’s been counting on a scholarship, so some of it will be window dressing. You’ll need to figure out what really matters to her. Don’t make assumptions.” I looked at him sideways, and he shrugged. “What can I say, man? I’ve been mind-stalking that girl since fifth grade. Here, put these on.”

I put on the shoes, and checked the mirror. “Disco, baby.”

“Don’t use that word, not ever.” Chance looked at his watch. “Almost time. You have condoms?” My jaw dropped, and he laughed. “God, you’re easy. Relax. Shake it out.” I tried, but was nervous. “She’s only a girl. Say it out loud.”

“She’s only a girl.”

“She’s lucky to have you. Say that, too.”