A soccer ball zoomed across the grass to bounce off of Isaac's calf, and a skinny boy in a Batman t-shirt flung himself after it, nearly tripping no less than three times in his attempt to contain the thing. Half bent over, ball clamped fast beneath both hands, he glanced up, giant brown eyes in a pale, freckled face, hair shaved in a buzzcut.

"Hey, sorry," he said, and then brightened. "You play? Because my best friend isn't here today, and we usually kick the ball around, except we actually used to play baseball which is my favorite sport, but the teachers won't let me have the bat at recess anymore since I let go of it that time and hit Greenberg in the eye and I don't know why it was even a big deal I mean it didn't pop out or anything and the shiner looked rad, anyway now we have to play soccer which I thought was kind of for little girls until Scott pointed out those crazy people in England and Brazil who like KILL each other for their favorite team, and that's got to give it some cool points, right? Are you a Mets fan?"