Three days later, the York Middle School cafeteria was even noisier than usual, with students talking excitedly, trays clattering, and a group of girls in one corner belting out the new Taylor Swift song as a teacher tried to shush them.

When Connor got to the lunch table, he found Jordy and Willie engaged in a favorite pastime: pretending to interview each other. The object was to cram in as many sports clichés as possible, just the way the major leaguers did when they were interviewed after a game. Jordy was using a plastic spoon as his fake microphone, and Willie was nodding earnestly with each answer.

“Willie, that was a breakout game for you against the Red Sox….”

“Yeah, I’m seeing the ball real well, Jordy.”

“Talk about that hit you had off Billy Burrell in the sixth inning.”

“Well, I’m just trying to help the ballclub any way I can.”

“You guys have a huge game coming up against the Yankees.”

“Well, we play ’em one at a time, Jordy. But there’s no quit in this team. We definitely plan to take care of business.”

“What exactly does all that mean, Willie?”

“It is what it is, Jordy. I’m just happy to be here.”

Connor laughed—it felt like the first time he had laughed in days. He opened a brown paper bag and pulled out the lunch his mom had packed: chicken sandwich, potato chips, apple, bottled water, and a half-dozen Oreos, the most perfect cookie known to humankind.

“Look who’s here,” Willie said. “Mr. Short Fuse himself.”

“Mr. Ticking Time Bomb,” Jordy added.

“Nope,” Connor said, “I’m a new man. Mr. Calm. Mr. Cool.” He tossed a couple of Oreos to Willie. “Here, you’ll just bug me for these anyway.”

Willie smiled and began happily devouring the cookies.

You want a kid to shut up, Connor thought, give him Oreos. Works every time.

Actually, Connor wasn’t feeling like Mr. Calm at all—more like Mr. Stressed Out or Mr. Hair-on-Fire.

The night before, he had overheard his mom and dad talking in the kitchen. The conversation had started as a low murmur, but soon grew more animated, their voices rising. Apparently, this was about their monthly mortgage payment. Connor wasn’t exactly sure what a monthly mortgage payment was. Something you paid to live where they lived? But as he stood at the top of the stairs, he could tell how worried they were.

“We could lose this house!” he’d heard his mom say.

“Karen, calm down,” his dad had said. “No one’s losing anything.”

“Where are we supposed to get the money, Bill? Even with overtime, I’m not making enough to—”

“I have another job interview Wednesday,” his dad had said. “And we still have some savings left. And, if worse comes to worst, we have Brianna’s college fund….”

“Which is supposed to be used for college!” his mom had shouted.

Connor didn’t tell Brianna what he had overheard. She would have gone ballistic, and the last thing they needed right now was more tension in the house. But it was hard, keeping all these secrets. He looked at Jordy, who was polishing off a hamburger drenched in so much ketchup you couldn’t see the meat. Why did Connor feel he had to hide the truth from his best friend? It wasn’t like his dad was the only one looking for work….

“So you’re Mr. Calm now?” Jordy said.

“Yep,” Connor said. “No more flipping out when things go wrong. I’ve found my inner peace.” He closed his eyes and extended his arms with palms upraised, the pose of a blissed-out swami. “Ommmm,” he intoned.

Jordy and Willie rolled their eyes.

“Give me a break,” Jordy said.

“We’ll see how long that inner peace stuff lasts,” Willie said. “The next time the boy gets called out on a close play, he’ll turn into an ax murderer.”

Connor slid another Oreo across the table to Willie. Three cookies was a stiff price to pay to keep a kid off your back. But there were times it was worth it.

“You da man,” Willie said with a grin.

“I’m serious, guys,” Connor said. “Coach Hammond is getting real tired of my act. I’m real tired of it, too.”

“But it’s such a charming part of your personality,” Jordy said.

“Yeah,” said Willie. “And who doesn’t want a teammate known around the league as Psycho Sully?”

“Fine,” Connor said. “Make your little jokes. But you’ll see. I learned my lesson.”

Connor didn’t feel like regaling them with an account of his phone conversation with Coach Hammond. He was embarrassed enough without having anyone else know he was so close to getting thrown off the team.

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. The cafeteria was bedlam, with students dumping their trays, throwing away their trash, and shouting good-byes to each other as they hurried off to class.

“Just don’t get tossed when we play the Yankees Friday,” Jordy said when they were in the hall.

“Yeah, dude, we need you,” Willie said, slapping him on the back. “No more crazy stuff.”

“Ommmm,” Connor said, smiling and doing his swami pose again.

But when his two buddies were gone, the frown returned to his face. Was there such a thing as a stressed-out swami? Because if so, he sure qualified.

Oh, he looked forward to playing the Yankees, just as he looked forward to every other baseball game he’d ever played in his life.

But with everything going on at home, he had to admit baseball wasn’t quite as much fun anymore. He used to just worry about winning. Now he was worried about his parents, his house, his sister—not to mention getting through a game without exploding.

It made a guy want to go live in a cave, like a swami. No wonder they were so calm.