Family
Max put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "C'mon. You're not giving up already, are you?"
"Already?" said Sam. "I've tried everything! It's hopeless."
"You haven't tried everything. Have you talked to the clowns yet? You'd be a natural with them."
"Thanks a lot."
The ball hit the road and the game was on.
Once the game started, time stopped for me.
For all of us.
We played. And played. And played.
And were they good! I never saw a pro handle a puck the way these kids handled an old red ball.
If Burlington Northern were tied up outside, Knuckles McGraw could leap through the window right onto his back and gallop away before anyone knew he was gone. But for now he has to creep down the stairs, avoiding the creaky ones, carrying his shoes in one hand and his lunch kit in the other. He shoves his shoes under his arm so he can turn the front-door handle. It opens without making a sound.
"There's a shooter around here," Skip said in my ear. His voice was choked. It was the first time I'd ever heard Skip sound so frightened. Usually he was so confident, so sunny. Nothing fazed him.
"Let's get outta here," he urged.
