What was that all about?

“Mickey?”

It was Danny Brown.

“Next station.”

The squat rack. I loaded on the weight and spotted Danny. We finished up and headed back to the locker room.

“A couple of us are going to hang out at Pizzaiola after practice. You want a ride? I can take you home afterward.”

A flush of joy rushed through me. “Uh, sure, thanks.”

He gave me a crooked smile. I showered and tried to suppress the smile. It had been a good day. There had been painfully few in the past eight months. I wanted one night of being normal. I wanted a night where I could go out for pizza with my teammates.

Was that so wrong?

Ten guys ended up at Pizzaiola. I would tell you what we talked about, but it was just guy talk. We complained about the local pro teams. We poked gentle fun at some of the teachers. We talked about girls, though I didn’t really know any of them. They asked me questions about myself.

“Where did you live before this?”

“Lots of places,” I said.

“Like?”

“Africa mostly. South America, Asia, Europe. We traveled a lot.”

They listened wide-eyed. Most of them had only lived and known life in Kasselton. The second “newest” player had moved to town eight years ago. These guys had all grown up together. They knew everything about one another, could almost predict what the other would say, knew exactly how to make one another laugh, what buttons to push, when to back off.

For these guys, I had turned from weird to exotic.

I don’t know how much pizza we ate, but it was a lot. Brandon especially could put it away. Adults came in and said hello and asked about the team’s chances. Everyone seemed to know everyone. Brandon always stood and shook the adult’s hand. Sometimes he would introduce them to us with too much polish. “Mr. Mignone, allow me to introduce you to” and then he’d name us from right to left. Most of the guys nodded back. I hadn’t been raised that way, so I too stood and shook each hand. Inevitably they would say the same thing:

“‘Bolitar’? Are you related to Myron?”

“I’m his nephew.”

They would put together then that I was Brad’s son and grow quiet.

Like I said, everyone knew everyone. I guessed, at some point, that meant they knew my dad too.

I was having fun, especially when the attention turned away from me and they let me just observe and listen. I laughed a lot. I tried to remember the last time I laughed this much, and I don’t think I ever had. I wanted the world to go away. I wanted to forget about the Abeona Shelter or missing kids or my dad or . . .

Or Spoon in that hospital bed.

I closed my eyes. Yeah, I wanted to forget. Just for one night. But I didn’t get that. I got a few hours, and maybe, for now, that was enough.

My phone buzzed when the text came in. It was from Ema: we’re all here. where are you????

Chapter 19

When I arrived at the hospital, Ema and Rachel met me by the elevator. Ema looked at me warily.

“What time did practice end?” she asked.

“Don’t worry about it.”

Rachel could see the tension, but she wisely let it go. “Come on. We can all go in.”

“I thought it was only one of us at a time.”

“New nurse, new rule,” Rachel said. “Today’s said it was okay.”

Rachel led the way. I fell in behind her with Ema, who kept her eyes focused straight ahead.

“What?” I asked her.

“It’s late.”

“So?”

“So where were you?”

“Basketball.”

“That ended hours ago,” Ema said.

“You’re kidding, right?”

Ema kept walking.

“I have to report in to you wherever I’m going?”

“Only when you say you’re going to meet me.”

“I lost track of time. I had practice and we went to Buck’s dad’s gym and then, I don’t know, we went to Pizzaiola.”

She stopped. “You went with them for pizza?”

“Them. They’re my teammates, Ema. Don’t you get that?”

She just shook her head.

“What now?”

“You don’t get it, do you?” she said.

“They’re my teammates. I don’t have to hate them.”

“I didn’t say you had to.”

“But?”

“But nothing, Mickey. You’re free to do whatever you want.”

“Thanks, Mom,” I said.

We reached Spoon’s room. He sat up in bed with that wonderful, dopey smile on his face. “Hey, Mickey, did you tell them?”

“Tell them what?”

“That I’m meant for great things.”

“Wait,” I said, “you heard that?”

“I heard everything.”

“So the whole time Bat Lady was here . . .”

“I was awake, yep.”

Rachel gasped. “She was here? In this room?”

Ema stared daggers at me. Great. Now that I got the basketball team to stop with the stares, Ema had picked up the habit.

“Yep,” Spoon said. “She pretended to be a nurse. She said I was meant for great things.” He wiggled his eyebrows at Rachel. “Impressed?”

I looked at Ema. “I was going to tell you at lunch,” I said to her, “but then Troy came by . . .”

“That’s okay,” Rachel said, though I hadn’t been talking to her. I think that she knew. I think that she was trying to save me. “So what did she say?”

I filled them in on the Bat Lady’s visit. When I finished, Rachel said, “So now we know for certain. We have to find Jared Lowell.”

I nodded. Ema didn’t. She had stopped staring daggers. Now she just looked plain hurt. Part of me understood. Part of me was getting a little annoyed.

“The question is,” Rachel continued, “how?”

Spoon cleared his throat. “That’s where I come in.”

We all turned to him. He clicked a button on his laptop. “I have just sent you all my most recent file on Jared Lowell. I managed to get into his Farnsworth School files. He’s a good student, by the way. Top of his class. But more important, I got both his dorm address and course schedule. You’ll also find a campus map in the attachment.” Spoon pushed the glasses up his nose. “With this information, it shouldn’t be hard to find him.”

“The campus is in Connecticut,” Rachel said.