“Gifted!” Nina said. That time it was definitely a laugh. “Does he like soccer?”

Neither he nor Suzanne responded. In this department, they knew, they had neglected Adam to the point of possible abuse. They had never enrolled him in a soccer-for-toddlers skills course, had never exposed him to any ball sports—much less one that forbade the use of one’s hands. Soon there would be no catching up.

“Willard Park’s seventh-grade team is the only coed middle school team in the county. My son, Mark, is on it. Not only that,” she said, making them wait for the clincher: “I think they’re playing today.”

She turned down a shady street with well-spaced Victorians lined up on either side. Grant could practically feel the car swell with her pride. There were sidewalks, a park with a playground, and a soccer field full of children in jerseys and shin guards. Parents sat along the sidelines on a vast field. They passed what looked like a church with a TOWN HALL sign below a stained-glass window, and parked near an old house that, upon further examination, turned out to be part café and part post office.

“Welcome home,” Nina said, sliding her elegant car to a stop.

JILLIAN SAT AT THE SIDE OF THE SOCCER FIELD PULLING BLADES OF grass out of the ground one by one. If she slid a blade up by its root without breaking it, that was good luck, and if she did three of them in a row, Willard Park would win the game, she told herself, knowing it wasn’t true. There were two minutes left and the other team was killing them. Jillian had been sitting on the sidelines since the start of the game, unlike Lindy Cox, who’d been playing the whole time. Jillian’s mom wasn’t missing anything by not being there. Where was she? She came to every game, even the away games. Car accident, sleeping pills, heart attack.

Mark Strauss, the hottest boy in Willard Park, was goalie. He was a terrible goalie, but the real goalie had stomach flu or something. Mark’s hair, cinnamon colored, hung down into his face. He flipped his head back so he could see. Jillian tried to catch his eye but he was studying the tops of his cleats.

The other mothers were there—a couple of dads, too, but mostly moms. Chandra Sharma’s mom was there, as were both of Simon Washington’s dads. Mrs. Santos had brought all three of Luis’s little sisters, who were watching the game as intently as if the seventh-graders were professional soccer players. Lindy’s mom was on a big, striped blanket, her hair yellow in the sunlight; Lindy’s brother, Jakey, drinking sodas and eating chips, beside her. Jillian’s stomach growled. Her mom always brought a boring snack like apples and peanut butter, but it was better than nothing. Hostage situation, alien abduction.