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said Burton.
    Ned went back to the others.
    “We’re on,” he said. “Saturday.”
    “That’s soon,” said Franklin.
    “So?” said Ralph. “We’re quick.”
    Franklin shrugged. “Really think we can beat ’em, Ned?”
    “Sure,” said Ned. But he wasn’t sure. He looked after Burton, wishing he could take it all back.
    “I don’t know, Ned,” said Mel. “Do you think your granddaddy would give us a little more strategy? I don’t want to get slaughtered.”
    “Bring him to practice tomorrow,” said Ralph.
    Ned looked over at Burton and the others and imagined his smallish, wobbly great-granddaddy on the field. “I’ll try.”

Gladdy was waiting on the front porch when Ned got home. She ran out to meet him. “They already left. They told me to stay here and get you and go on over when you got here. They said you’re in Mama’s soup for not being here directly. They said —”
    “Go on over where?” Ned interrupted.
    “I’ve been waiting and waiting,” Gladdy finished. “Tugs’s house. Granddaddy Ike. They’re all over there. There wasn’t even time to bake pie. Or if Aunt Corrine made one, we’re probably too late for it.”
    “Why aren’t they next door? At Granddaddy’s own house?”
    “Because . . . because . . .” Gladdy stomped her foot and put her hands on her hips. “No one tells me anything!”
    Ned was preoccupied with what had transpired on the field. He was puzzling out another play and wanted to draw it out on paper. Tell Granddaddy about the challenge. But nothing stood in the way of a family situation. Maybe Granddaddy had started another fire or fallen asleep in Zip’s again.
    “OK. Just let me grab something,” he said. Under the bed in the room he shared with Gladdy, Ned kept his most important possessions. A slingshot, a bag of marbles, and his wadded-up newspaper tied tightly with twine, like Franklin’s. Lots of the boys made their own footballs, and Ned’s was better than most because he’d learned from G.O. that if you put a rock in the middle before you tied up the newspaper, it would carry farther. Plus, it would build your throwing muscles. He rarely brought it out, because he wanted it to last.
    The excitement of the afternoon gave him energy in his arms. He’d bring the ball along at least.
    “Bet you wish you had Lester’s ball,” Gladdy said as they walked. She was carrying her doll, Miss Lindy. “I don’t really play with Miss Lindy anymore, but I thought I’d bring her in case it is a long situation and we need something to do. You don’t have Lester’s ball, but at least you have something.”
    “I don’t need Lester’s football, Gladdy.”
    Ned walked faster and Gladdy hurried to catch up. “You’re tiring me out, Ned. Slow down!”
    Ned slowed a bit. Wait until Granddaddy heard what happened today. He tossed his football up in the air, and when it came down he caught it. See? There. Why couldn’t he do that when the darn thing got thrown at him?
    He tossed it again, a little higher this time. His fingers curled at just the right angle to grab it and pull it into his chest again.
    “Bet you wish you’d hung on to Lester’s football at Tractor Field,” said Gladdy. “Miss Lindy wishes so, too.”
    Feeling pleased with his catches, Ned tossed it up again, as high as he could this time, shockingly high, but this time it went up at an angle and came down in the street in the path of an oncoming car. Ned ran out to get it, but not before the car passed over it, squashing it flat, the rock poking out like a bone.
    Ned sank to his knees next to it in the street.
    “Watch where you’re going, why don’t you!” he hollered after the car.
    “You’d better get out of the street,” said Gladdy, standing on the very edge of the curb. “Ned! Get out of the street.”
    Ned pulled the rock out and tossed it aside. Then he peeled his football off the bricks and walked on with Gladdy. Newspapers weren’t so easy to come by. He’d used