“Hey,” I called out.

Brandon stopped and turned toward me. Now I could see that it wasn’t sweat coating his face.

It was tears.

“What are you doing here?” he asked me.

“I was just walking by when I heard the dribbling,” I said. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said after practice. I appreciate you reaching out like that.”

He turned toward the basket and started up his drill again. “Forget it.”

I let him shoot for another minute. There was no letup, no slowing down.

“What’s wrong?” I asked him.

Brandon dribbled outside and took a shot. The ball swished through the basket and started to roll away. Neither one of us went for it.

“It’s all falling apart,” Brandon said.

“What is?”

“All these years, all the different teams we played on together, all leading up to this season and now . . .” Brandon shrugged. “It’s all gone.”

I said nothing. I figured that this had something to do with what I had witnessed with Troy in the locker room, but I didn’t want to let on that I’d seen.

“Everything was going so well,” Brandon said. “We had all worked so hard and prepared and then, today, your very first day on the team and . . .”

He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t have to. His glare said it all.

“Wait, are you blaming me?”

Brandon turned back toward the basket and started shooting again.

“So what happened?” I asked him.

“Troy and Buck,” he said.

My two sworn enemies.

“What about them?”

“They’re both off the team.”

“What?”

Brandon nodded. “That’s right. Troy was our leading scorer. Buck was our best defender. Both gone.”

“Why?” I asked.

“What do you care?” He took another hook shot. “Heck, you’re probably happy. It clears two spots for you.”

I moved toward the basket. I grabbed the ball and held on to it. “I wanted to earn a spot,” I said. “I don’t want to get it because other guys drop out.”

Brandon looked off for a second. He let loose a deep breath and wiped his face with his forearm. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice softening. “I’m snapping at you, but I know this isn’t your fault.”

“So what happened?”

“Buck moved.”

“What? Now?”

Brandon nodded. “See, his parents got divorced when we were all in eighth grade. He’s lived with his father and brother, but now his parents decided he should be with his mom.”

“Just like that?” I asked. “During his senior year of high school?”

“I guess. I don’t know. I never heard a hint of it until today.”

Part of me was pleased, of course. I hated Buck, and Buck hated me. But this somehow didn’t feel right. “So that’s why Buck wasn’t at practice,” I said.

“Yeah.”

“And Troy?”

Brandon put up his right hand, inviting me to throw him the pass. I did. He grabbed the ball in his outstretched hand, took one dribble, and dunked it hard through the hoop.

“He’s been suspended for the season,” Brandon said.

“For what?”

“Steroids.”

My mouth dropped open in surprise. “He failed a drug test?”

“Yes.”

“Wow,” I said, but now I understood what I had witnessed in the locker room. Coach Grady must have just given him the news.

“Troy swears he’s never taken anything like that,” Brandon said. “He says he’s being set up.”

I remembered hearing him claim that in the locker room. “How could that be?”

“I don’t know.”

“And who would do that?” I asked. “I mean, the testing all seems pretty much on the up-and-up.”

“I know,” Brandon said.

Brandon threw me the ball. I took a shot. “Do you believe Troy?” I asked him.

Brandon grabbed the rebound, threw me the ball. I took another shot, waiting for his answer. He seemed to be chewing over the question.

“Troy is a lot of things,” he said. “I know he can be, well, rough around the edges. I even know that he can be a bully. But a liar? A drug cheat?”

We both stopped and looked at each other.

“Yeah,” Brandon said, “I know it’s crazy, but I believe Troy.”

Chapter 10

I wanted to go back to the Bat Lady’s house that night, but here was the problem: I had too much homework. I’d been blowing it off for days now, and if I didn’t start working on the essay for history and study for the math quiz, I’d be in huge trouble. I turned off my mobile phone, sat at the kitchen table, and got to work.

First thing Tuesday morning, I had history with my favorite teacher, Mrs. Friedman. Rachel’s desk was empty. I didn’t know what to think, but it really wasn’t a huge surprise. There had been a shooting at her house. Her mother ended up dead, and Rachel ended up hospitalized with a bullet wound. The wound ended up being minor. Physically she was okay. Mentally, well, that was another story.

I had been the one to tell Rachel the truth. I had been warned by her father not to, but Uncle Myron had given me other advice, warning me that if you lie, it never leaves the room. It haunts the relationship forever. That made sense to me, so I ended up listening to Myron.

Rachel and I hadn’t communicated since, and yet if I had to do it all again . . . I don’t know.

The vibe in the school cafeteria was decidedly somber today. Ema and I sat at our usual table in what is often dubbed “Loserville.” Our table could sit twelve, but today there were just the two of us. Usually we were three, and staring at the spot where Spoon normally sat made my chest hurt.

“I’m worried about him too,” Ema said. “But he wouldn’t want us moping around about it.”

I nodded. I had met Spoon in this very cafeteria. He had walked up to me and offered me his spoon for reasons I still didn’t get. In my mind I had started thinking of him as “that spoon kid,” which had been shortened to Spoon. Spoon loved the nickname and insisted that we use it always and forever. If someone called him Arthur now, he ignored them.

The tables with the kids we deem more popular for whatever dumb reasons were usually an active beehive of varsity jackets, blond highlights, loud voices, big laughs, and enthusiastic high fives. But not today. Troy was still there, at the head of the table as usual, but he was quiet. The rest of the table followed his mood. In fact, it seemed as though the whole cafeteria were in silent mourning over the recent fate of their fallen leader.