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talked from the moment he woke up in the morning—this Danny knew from sleepovers—until he went to bed, and then he talked in his sleep after that. He talked in class, in the halls, in study halls, on the practice field, in the car when Ali Walker would drive him to St. Pat’s, on the computer. When Danny would go to Will’s house, he would watch in amazement as Will would carry on one conversation with him, another on the phone, and have four instant-message boxes going on his computer screen at the same time.
    Knowing that he was going to have to listen to Will go on about travel basketball for the entire school day wasn’t the most exciting prospect for Danny, but he’d caught a break when Will didn’t show up at the locker next to his before the bell for first period; didn’t, in fact, show up for algebra until about two minutes after Mr. Moriarty had everybody in their seats and pulling out their homework assignments.
    When Will came bursting through the door, red-faced as always, his thick dark curly hair looking as if it had been piled on top of his head in scoops, Mr. Moriarty looked over the top of his reading glasses and said, “So nice of you to join us, Mr. Stoddard.”
    At which point Will stopped in front of the class and theatrically produced a note from the pocket of his St. Pat’s–required khaki pants, like it was a “Get Out of Jail Free” card he’d saved from Monopoly.
    â€œFrom my mother, sir,” he said. “Car trouble. We had to drop the Suburban off at Tully Chevrolet this morning, and pick up a loaner, which turned out to be a piece of cra…junk, which meant we had to turn around and go back and get another one when we were halfway here. Plus, my father is out of town, and the car conked out at the end of the driveway….”
    â€œIf it’s just the same with you, Mr. Stoddard, I’ll wait for the movie to find out the rest of it.”
    As he walked past Danny’s desk at the front of the classroom, Will said, “Does this suck, or what?”
    Danny knowing he meant travel, not being late for class.
    Will had tried out for travel even though he knew he wasn’t going to make it the way he hadn’t made it last year or the year before. He had more heart than anybody Danny knew, more heart than Danny himself, he had always tried out, had always spent more time diving for loose balls than anybody in the gym.
    But knowing the whole time he wasn’t good enough.
    Sometimes Danny thought that the only reason Will was even there was to cheer him on, to watch his back.
    That kind of friend.
    Now he was the friend saying “suck” too loud in Mr. Moriarty’s classroom.
    Mr. Moriarty said, “I don’t believe I quite caught that, Mr. Stoddard.”
    Will stopped where he was, turned to face the music.
    â€œI said ,” Will said, “that being late for a great class like yours, sir, really stinks .”
    There were some stifled laughs from behind Danny. When they subsided, Mr. Moriarty said, “Why don’t we just say it now, and get it over with.”
    To the rest of the class, Will Stoddard said, “You’ve been a great audience, don’t forget to tip your waitresses.”
    It was his favorite line from some old Saved by the Bell rerun.
    As always, there was a brief round of applause. Mr. Moriarty was older than water and liked to carry himself like a bit of a stiff, but he was a good guy. One who seemed to get it.
    Or most of it, anyway.
    Will was definitely right about one thing, though:
    This did suck.
    Even for a streak of light, even in the light of stinking day.

5
    E VEN WHEN THE WEEK SHOULD HAVE BEEN OVER , AT THE END OF SCHOOL ON Friday, it wasn’t over.
    Because the Middletown Vikings were going to have their first practice, at five-thirty sharp, in the gym at St. Pat’s.
    Danny’s mom had told him at lunch. The new basketball floor