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    He rode in the back of the van to Bergen Falls, to an apartment building near the railroad tracks. He’d passed the three-story heap of yellow brick hundreds of times on the way to ball games but never really seen it.
    He carried the boxes into the basement of the building and helped Zack and Kat unpack. They began reassembling the desktops. They worked quickly and precisely. Kat pointed to stacks of wooden folding chairs against one chipped green wall. “You might want to set them up, maybe twenty, facing the computers.”
    Where do you learn to talk like that, he thought. You might want to set them up. And then I might not . And you might want to stick them…
    Suck it up, hoss.
    He nodded. He really didn’t mind having something physical to do.
    About nine thirty old people began coming in. Kat saidto him, “You might want to stand by the door if anyone needs help.”
    â€œI just might want to do that,” he said. He turned before he saw her expression. That was stupid, he thought. But what do you expect from a dumb jock?
    Gray heads bobbed past, a zombie parade, he thought, a lot of them shuffling behind canes and walkers, but a surprising number bouncing in on running shoes. He watched a shapeless old woman lurch forward gripping the silver pipes of her walker. She wore a lot of makeup caked in her wrinkles. Dyed red hair stuck out from under her New York Yankees cap, which she wore backward. One of those crone characters out of a sitcom. Somebody’s nutty grandma.
    A couple of kids from school showed up to help the old people send emails and pictures. One of them was a skinny Goth kid who looked familiar. Mike caught them looking at him and whispering. He glared back. They looked away.
    Mike’s mind drifted. Monday and Tuesday were going to be big days, the last two practices before Wednesday’s opening game, the last two chances to show Coach he was a better center fielder than Oscar Ramirez. How good is Ramirez? If he fields as well as he hits, pretty damn good. Got to focus, get into the right mood. The way Billy would. Billy had all the right instincts, he always knew what to do, on the field and off. Having all the tools, even the tacticalsmarts, isn’t enough. You need to be zoned. Billy is always zoned. Billy is perfect.
    It’s too hard to model yourself on perfect. In Youth Group, Pastor Dan would say that you can’t really be like Jesus but you can take inspiration from Him. Billy might have been in a basement like this—he did a lot of charity work. But he’d be here because he wanted to be here, not because he shoved some skinny nerd.
    There was a low hum of talk in the room, interrupted every so often by laughter or a shout. The zombies seemed to have come alive. The Ridgedale kids were having a good time, too. Some part of Mike wanted to be part of this, not just alone in a corner. He plugged himself into his iPod and listened to a playlist Lori had made for him as a six-month anniversary present. Too many love songs. He hadn’t gotten her anything because he hadn’t even remembered they had an anniversary. They’d drifted into being a couple early in the football season. She and her twin sister, Tori, were twirlers on the cheerleading squad. Really good. It was rare for sophomores to do as many routines as they did. Ryan had hit on them first and then dragged Mike along as his wingman to a concert the twins had scored tickets to. They had all gotten along well. Mike was never sure how they decided who got which twin. It took a while to tell them apart. Lori’s giggle helped at first, then their personalities emerged. Loriwas sweet. Tori was tough. Lori liked to read books and talk about them. Tori was addicted to gossip—school and celebrity. Ryan seemed to like being bossed around by Tori. Mike liked how Lori let him stay in his zone. Respected his space.
    He tried to think about Lori, but there wasn’t all that