Leaves danced in uniform, West to East, leaving their trees behind, and the music of birds changed to rustling across the ground. Pumpkins sitting on porches matched the ground decoration, and grey crowds moved in the same direction as the leaves. Perfect for sweater weather, especially in the afternoons that were once too hot for some. Then it was all interrupted with an audible brick.

  “It’s just not the same, bro.” Liam tossed the basketball back to Rory, and he took a shot, another brick. “Nice house you’re building.”

  “What?”

  Liam didn’t think twice or hesitate when he said, “Tiddies, man. Just not the same.”

  Roray tried for another, another brick. “Alicia’s got nice legs.”

  “So does Sarah, and I’m not looking at legs when she’s ringing me.”

  Liam dribbled, mimicked some moves from TV, and took a shot, nothing but net. Even with a hoodie and sweats on, and playing on a concrete court with a small puddle of water, he could play as if he were in a gym with a wooden floor.

  Rory held his tongue. Liam took Alicia as soon as Sarah broke up with him. But he’s not the quarterback with a D1 college spot waiting for him. Instead, he’s going to community college but wants Alicia back as soon as possible.

  Rory thought of a plan. While dribbling, despite his gigantic stature, he had some moves, and said. “Should teach Timothy a lesson.” He continued dribbling, trying to keep the idea casual.

  “Timothy had his head slammed so many times he doesn’t know what a lesson is, bro.” Liam stole the ball from Liam, mid-dribble. “Easy.”

  Rory couldn’t keep up with Liam’s speed and stood under the rim waiting for Liam to take a shot. “Some lessons are harder to learn than others, dude.”

  “Yeah, maybe you’re right.” Liam shot the ball, nothing but net. “I’ll think of something. How many games left ‘til the playoffs?”

  ***

  Sarah woke up to her phone buzzing. A message from Timothy. “This is his mom. Timothy is being observed in the hospital right now.”

  The grogginess disappeared immediately. “Omw.” She ran downstairs in her pajamas, skipping the morning routine altogether, and jumped into her car. Rattled by the fact that he somehow got injured between now and texting last night. Timothy doesn’t go out. She’s his only friend. Did he fall down the stairs? Electrocuted?

  The hospital was between Clearspring and downtown, a half-hour commute for both locations in regular traffic, and she made it in twenty.

  Her parking job was horrendous at the hospital. She ran out the door and straight to reception, and they pointed her up to the floor where Kayla Kline worked on, neurology.

  Oh my God, neurology. Her heart sank. An aneurysm? A head injury? Oh my God, oh my God, she thought, over and over. Weaving by nurses and patients, she found his room.

  With a sigh of relief, she saw Timothy, seemingly normal. He was sitting straight while a doctor, not Sarah’s mom, spoke to him.

  “What day is today?”

  “Tuesday?”

  The doctor asked more questions. Who was the president, which state he lived in, his age, and various questions to test his memory. Worry crept back in. After each question he answered, he answered wrong, all of them. Another question, wrong, another, wrong again. The doctor turned to Miss Kline. “We’ll need to keep him for another twenty-four hours.” The doctor walked by Sarah and out the door.

  “That was fast,” Mrs. Kline said.

  Sarah nodded to Mrs. Kline and hurried to him. He turned to see Sarah. He exaggeratedly waved his arm and whispered as loud as his recovering jaw would allow him, “Hi!” Despite the black and blue around his left eye, he seemed way too chipper. “Angel!”

  “He’s on a lot of pain meds,” she said.

  “For me? An Angel.” He said like a child with wonder. “Wow. Angels are here.”

  Sarah liked this side of him. Despite his inability to open his mouth, it was cute to be called an Angel in a quiet yet high effort manner. The hopped-up-on-drugs side. Holding Timothy’s hand, she asked, “What happened?”

  He got assaulted.

  “What!”

  “He’s fine. Twain was there and chased the intruder down the street.”

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  Stunned, she grabbed Timothy’s arm with both hands, bringing him closer as if to protect him from something.

  “Hi!” he said.

  “Before you get too comfortable,” Mrs. Kline said. “Do me a favor?”

  “What’s that?”

  “Twain. He bit the person and broke his hand. Is there any way we can send Twain to your house?”

  “Sure, but why?”

  “Knowing the intruder, they'll try to get Twain euthanized.”

  She breathed in deep.

  “You came so quickly, did you get the rest of the texts?”

  She grabbed her phone. All messages saying to come later when the drugs wear off, that he’s doing fine.

  “Now I got them,” she said. After another exaggerated hi from Timothy, she continued. “I’ll be back tonight.” She got up and told Mrs. Kline. “I’m getting Twain, right now.” And she left with a quick wave.

  She drove fast as if time were of the essence. Twain was all Timothy had. A dog to walk as a companion. And walking that dog was the reason why…

  She owed it to him and Twain. She owed it to those two. Bri more so.

  With the garage code given to her by text from Mrs. Kline, she opened it up and got Twain to get into her car, and immediately drove to her house. Twain loved her home. The yard was huge.

  Bri shouted down from her window. “Twain is here?”

  “Yup.”

  And Bri liked Twain too, and it was apparent how fast she ran down to see him despite Sarah making her pick up the dog poo from last time. After Twain jumped up and licked Bri’s face, she found a stick on the opposite side of the gate and began to get Twain’s attention with it, to play fetch.

  “Can we take him shopping with us later?”

  Sarah rolled her eyes. “Listen, I can’t take you shopping. Just have mom or dad drive you and a friend somewhere. Or Lily can take you.”

  Bri looked dejected and decided to keep playing with Twain. It was more fun for her anyway. “Lily started her residency.”

  Sarah didn’t respond to her sister as she texted Mrs. Kline. “Twain is at my place.”

  “Thank you!”

  “You said you know who did it?”

  ***

  Liam answered the door. A bookbag swung at him. With his arms up, he kept blocking the blows.

  “You’re a dick!” She yelled. Whack after whack. It didn’t hurt him. “I hope you die!”

  “Sarah,” Liam said. “Calm down.”

  Whack, whack. It wasn’t a flirtatious hit. She meant each one to harm.

  “You’re a piece of shit.” She stomped her foot.

  “Oh, I’m the piece of shit? I might not play football ever again.” He lifted his bandaged right hand. The coach and several other players sat in the living room discussing what to do for a game plan before she interrupted.

  “We don’t have a starting quarterback.” The coach said. “We’re going to lose, and he’ll lose his scholarship.”

  Mr. and Mrs. Witman stood behind everyone, as if they had no power in their home. Everyone was twice the weight of Mr. Witman, it seemed, high schoolers bulked up hard, making grown men look meek. But after a second look, the two parents looked angry, and their arsenal stood before them. As with their son’s injured hand, years of planning might get derailed, and on top of that, Liam had nothing without football.

  “These games are important. It brings the community together. People live for football here. And with home prices skyrocketing, these playoffs are more important than ever. We don’t need the rest of the wins, but it’ll give us a worse standing in the playoffs next month.”

  “Oh no! The small town can’t handle gentrification from engineers moving in. Oh no, we need high school football.” She breathed in. “The worse thing about you men is you cry over a fucking game. Go back to sitting on the couch and hogging the remote, because it’s all any of you are good for.”

  “That’s rich,” the coach snorted. “Your dad is a part of that tech problem.”

  “How many six-figure jobs have you created?”

  Liam, not understanding gentrification, stepped forward with one foot out the door. “And what makes Timothy a man?” He brought the subject back to something he thinks he understands.

  “He’s a hero, asshole.”

  The couch raised a hand to calm her down. “Even Timothy has to walk dogs to help pay his mom’s mortgage. Your dad created that problem for him.”

  That pissed her off because he was right. “And how would a fatass like you know that?”

  He ignored the insult. “He walks my neighbor's dog, everyday at 4.”

  Her lips turned into a tight smile. “Who’s making the payments on that stadium?”

  The boys got silent because they all knew the answer. Her dad. He’s been funding several projects around Clearspring, not just the Bobcats stadium.

  “This isn’t about any of that,” the Coach said. “Liam is injured, the school will make less revenue if we don’t make it to state.”

  Sarah looked to Mr. and Mrs. Witman, who took a backseat in their own God damn house to the football team and coach. “You’re a bunch of idiots.” And she stormed out.

  “Tickets are sold out!” Liam yelled back.

  ***

  She drove by the horse ranch that butted against Liam’s yard. The green grass and brown horses standing about created a beautiful scene. The path they’d take on short walks, in case the parents were home, had a couple of bikers going down it on the far side of the ranch.

  Nothing is going to happen to that asshole. Recalling a time Liam and his friends hit mailboxes with a baseball bat, or threw pumpkins at people’s garages. Nothing. The people who had to pay for their property damage didn’t seem to mind.

  This time he attacked someone. Will it be different? She hoped.

  She got a text from Liam. “Don’t tell anyone the public doesn’t know about my injury yet.” Then another message. An attachment. “Doubt Duck Face looks like this.” He had his shirt off, one hand going through his hair while the other took the photo. Muscles ripped at every impossible angle. It didn’t make sense to her as a woman. How can someone have so many moving parts and sharp angles?

  She made it home and wanted to plop onto her bed and wait for Timothy’s mom to say okay to visit him.

  But as soon as she stepped inside, her mom said. “Why is Twain here again?”

  “We need to watch him as Liam might try to get him euthanized.”

  Dr. Carr looked closely at her daughter. “That’s really nice of you.”