Tonight, Danny had worked past the time when his mom usually called him in, not even noticing how cold it had gotten for October. Worked underneath the new backboard she’d gotten for him at the end of the summer. Not the only kid in his class with divorced parents now. Not the smallest kid on the court now. Just the only one. He’d drive to the basket and then hit one of the chairs with one of his lookaway passes. Or he’d step back and make a shot from the outside. Sometimes, breathing hard, like it was a real game, he’d step to the free throw line he’d drawn with chalk and make two free throws for the championship of something.
Just him and the ball and the feel of it in his hands and the whoosh of it going through the net and the sound one of the old wooden school chairs would make when he tipped it over with another bounce pass.
He finished the way he always did, trying to cleanly execute the crossover-and-back five times in a row, low enough to the ground to be like a rock he was skipping across Taylor Lake. Five times usually making it an official good night out here.
Except.
Except this was as far from a good night as he’d ever known.
Basically, this was the worst night of his whole life.