I mean, if she said a boy should do some particular thing, or n ot do it, it was usu- ally in r e a c t io n to something I knew for a f a c t had to do with my dad. It was a morbid location on the best of days — windowless, gray, illuminated by buzzing neon light — and when death came to call, the gloom clung to the walls, seeping through the rivets like motor grease. Lower my dribble and visualize my man crouching low, hands up like they teach in basketball camp. I shake my head. They were to expect a visitor, someone who was part of a new research experiment that would make the three commu- nities better. This is so not my scene. The phone was always ringing.
I take a step toward him.
Despite the open windows, the apartment was sweltering. Or worse, being jettisoned down to Earth whenever the Stalwart inevitably failed, doomed to certain death on the frozen planet below. He maneuvers around the boy-surrounded keg, looking at the lake gently lapping at the tall grasses and brush. But this summer, Grace meets Eva, a girl who believes in dreams, despite her own difficult circumstances. If he had been braver, he might just have sat down and talked to his friends about it and helped them understand.