Josh snatched the basketball from the air and sprinted down the court. They were down by two points, just seconds left in the game. A monster of a kid was all over Josh, trying to steal the ball. But Josh spun around and took the shot just as the buzzer blared.

Swish!

Three points! They’d won!

Josh dropped to his knees in happy shock. His team swarmed around him, smothering him in sweaty hugs.

“You were unstoppable!” said Josh’s best friend, Greg, as they trotted off the court. “That shot was sick!”

“You played great, too,” Josh said, putting an arm around Greg’s skinny shoulders.

Josh glanced up into the stands, wishing his father had been there to see his buzzer beater. Dad was going to freak when he found out that Josh had made a three-pointer!

Josh had been practicing in the driveway for months, shooting and missing, shooting and missing, with Dad always cheering him on. “Don’t give up!” he’d shout. Dad always told Josh he could do anything he set his mind to.

“Just look at me,” he’d say.

Dad had grown up with practically nothing. He’d worked his butt off. Now he was one of the top guys at the big New York City bank where he worked. Everyone loved Tim Wallace. And Josh admired his father more than anyone in the world.

Josh packed up his stuff and said goodbye to his coach.

“Need a ride?” Greg asked as they headed out into the parking lot.

“I’m good,” Josh said, high-fiving Greg. “I’m sure my mom is on her way.”

But five minutes passed, then ten. All Josh’s friends had left, and Mom still wasn’t there. She hadn’t been feeling great today; that’s why she’d skipped the game. But Josh could swear she’d said she’d be here to pick him up.

Josh texted her, but she didn’t answer.

He was about to call Dad, but changed his mind. Dad was working at home today and was stressed out by an important deal he was working on. Josh knew he shouldn’t bug him.

Why not walk home? Josh thought. His house was maybe a mile away. The walk wouldn’t kill him. He texted Mom his plan, slung his drawstring bag over his shoulders, and headed out of the parking lot. He walked along the sidewalk of the busy road, trying to stay in the shade.

It was crazy hot — nobody could remember such a broiling summer. Josh kicked a stone along the sidewalk, imagining a cool ocean wave crashing over him and washing his sweat away. That’s where he should be right now, actually, splashing around in the ocean at the Jersey Shore. Usually, in July, Mom and Dad and Josh spent two weeks there, in a hotel right on the beach.

But a couple of weeks ago, Mom and Dad broke the news: They had to cancel the trip.

“Sorry, buddy,” Dad had said. “Too much happening at work right now.”

Josh was pretty bummed. He kicked the rock again, thinking about the pool at the hotel. It had a waterslide and a high diving board.

But he understood why they couldn’t go. You didn’t become a superstar like Dad by blowing off work to lie around on the beach. At least they had their pool at home. It didn’t have a waterslide, but it was still pretty sweet.

Josh reached his neighborhood, where the big houses were mostly hidden behind fences and stone walls. He smiled to himself as he imagined what Dad would say when Josh told him about his winning basket.

“You’re a champ!” he’d boom.

Josh rounded the last corner and then stopped short when his house came into view. His heart started to pound. There were two cars parked in his driveway.

Police cars.

Josh’s brain flooded with nightmare scenes: Shattered windows. Pools of blood. Crumpled bodies.

But nothing could have prepared him for what he saw as he sprinted up the driveway. His whole body started to prickle, like tiny alarms were buzzing under his skin. Mom was standing in the doorway, her eyes wide with shock. Two police officers were leading a man to a police car.

The man was in handcuffs.

The man was Dad.