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“That is a poser,” said Granddaddy. “But my thinker’s turned off for the night. Help me into bed, will you?” he said. “Now I am tuckered.”

“Don’t you want your nightshirt?” said Ned.

“Nah. Just bring me a glass for my teeth, and pull back the covers. I’ll climb in like this, then I won’t have to worry about getting dressed in the morning.”

Ned gave Granddaddy a hand up on the stool he used to climb into the tall bed.

“There, now,” said Granddaddy. “There’s a good boy. There.” Granddaddy pulled the covers to his chin and dropped his uppers and lowers into the glass Ned held out.

“One more thing,” he gummed. “It’s not the getting lost you got to worry about. It’s the not getting started.”

“But,” Ned started, but Granddaddy was already rolling over, so he turned to go.

“A Hawkeye game in Iowa Stadium,” Granddaddy murmured. “That would be something for the shelf.”

Ned stood in the doorway, wondering if he should respond, but Granddaddy’s loud breathing was already growing deep and even. Ned stepped over to the winnings shelf and ran his fingers over the pocketknife, traced the
M
of Memphis.

“I did catch Lester Ward’s football today, Granddaddy,” he whispered, easing out the screen door and gently pushing it shut. He could hear Granddaddy snoring through the open window before he reached his own porch.

School started then, and at the end of the first day, there was a race to the back lot to pick up a game of football.

Burton lifted Lester’s ball over his head. “I’m one quarterback,” he hollered. “Clyde will be the other. We’ll have seven on a side. The rest of you sub in when someone gets hurt.”

Seeing Burton with that ball made Ned boil again. “That’s my ball,” he muttered to Ralph.

“That’s Ned’s ball,” hollered Ralph. “Ned gets to be one of the quarterbacks.”

“Yeah, it’s Ned’s ball, Burton,” Franklin repeated. “Pick me, Ned!”

Burton and Clyde ignored them and started choosing players.

Ralph shoved Ned toward the middle. “Go on, Ned.”

Ned hesitated. He wanted to get Burton. But now that Burton was right here in front of him . . . He tore his eyes away from the football. There were a couple dozen boys, maybe, by the time you added in all the fifth-through-seventh-graders. He was just one of the pack. But Lester had handed him that ball. He had called him a fine player. Ned blew his hair out of his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

“I’ll take Ralph,” he said hesitantly.

“Thata boy!” said Ralph.

“Johnny,” said Ned a little more firmly.

“Nope,” said Burton. “We get Johnny. And Theo, too. There are only two teams, Ned. Take your sissy friends and get out of here.”

Johnny looked from Burton to Ned. He shrugged. “Sorry, Ned,” he said, and went to stand with Burton. All the boys except Franklin and Mel edged over to Clyde and Burton.

“You got us, Ned,” said Franklin.

“Me, too,” said Paul, hustling over to join them.

Ned wilted. Fifth-graders, and scrawny ones at that.

“I pick G.O.,” Ned said with a question mark in his voice. They were all a little bit afraid of G.O. He ran on the fringes of the Rowdies, after all. But Ned had spent a day with G.O. out at the uncles’ farm this summer, and he thought they might be friends. They could use G.O.’s kind of tough against Burton and Clyde. But G.O. waved him off.

“Sorry, Ned,” he said. “They’ve got Lester’s football.”

“Scram, Ned,” said Burton. “And all the rest of you numbskulls better move back. We got our players. We need room.”

“Aw, come ON!” said G.O. “This isn’t college. It’s for FUN. You can add a couple of guys!”

“Who needs them anyhow?” said Franklin. “We all saw Ned catch Lester’s football. It should be his. Ours. We should have the field. We can pick up our own game. G.O., you can be the other quarterback.”

“Yeah,” said Mel. “It should be ours. I’ll play.” A small group gathered around Ned.

“Get out of our way!” shouted Burton. “Take your baby games to your mommies.”

“There’s room for two games,” said Franklin. “What do you say, Ned? G.O.? Fellows?”

The word
OK
slipped out of Ned’s mouth before he could stop it. Franklin was no Johnny, but he did have his paper-and-twine football with him. Ned had one, too, but his was at home. Wouldn’t it be better to play than not?

“Nah,” said G.O.

Ralph looked between G.O. and Ned. “Nah,” he said.

“Come on, Ralph,” said G.O. “Let’s go to the pool hall.”

“Ned, you coming?” said Ralph.

Ned hesitated. Some of the boys were drifting off with Franklin. “Maybe I’ll play tomorrow,” he said, and ran to catch up to Ralph and G.O.

The words
I’m not really supposed to
formed in Ned’s head as they walked.
I’m not supposed to go to the pool hall
. The Rowdies would be there. Gambling. Drinking. And who knows what all, according to his mother. But that’s what she said about Iowa City, too.

Ralph was telling G.O. the one about the horse who only ate melons, when Ned edged himself in next to them on the sidewalk. Ned jumped in with
Ripe!
before Ralph had a chance to.

“Chump!” Ralph said, and made a grab for Ned, who ducked out of the way. Ned took a swing at Ralph but Ralph dodged him. G.O. looked between the two and shrugged.

“Work it out, girls,” he said, and ducked through the dark door of the pool hall. Ralph and Ned hesitated.

“Shoot!” said Ned. “There went our chance!”

“Come on,” said Ralph. “We’ll just go in.”

“Have you ever been in?” Ned asked.

“Sure,” said Ralph. “You?”

Ned walked by the pool hall all the time on his way to the post office or to get Granddaddy from his checkers game at Al and Irene’s Luncheonette. But he had not been inside. The windows were always curtained. There was always a curl of smoke coming out the door when it opened, giving it a mysterious air. But if he was going to go to Iowa City, he’d better get some practice with shady establishments.

“Almost . . . maybe . . . no. But I’ll go in if you’re not too sissy.”

“Sissy?” said Ralph. “You’re the sissy.” He hit Ned in the stomach, which made Ned feel decidedly less like a sissy. So he punched Ralph back.

“Ralphina!”

“Nedderella!”

Soon they were on the ground tumbling around and socking each other good. They stood and faced off, their dukes up. They were boxers Dempsey and Tunney at the great Battle of the Long Count. Thugs waved bills in the air around them. Ladies in red lipstick swooned.

It was the tenth round. Time for a knockout. Ned took a wild swing. Ralph stepped out of the way but Ned’s arm kept going, going, until his hand looped through the purse handle of Elmira Thompson, one of the diminutive and ancient Thompson twins, who was teetering past in her delicate high heels. He yanked his arm back, and her purse came along with it.

“Thief!” she cried. “This boy is stealing my purse! Help! Thief!”

“But I . . . ” Ned started, standing there in disbelief. Thief? He stared at the handbag in his arms as if it had dropped from the moon. He looked for Ralph, but Ralph had skedaddled.

The pool-hall door swung open and Mr. Carl, the proprietor, stepped out on the sidewalk, took one look at the old lady in distress, and reached out for Ned. Ned pushed the purse into Miss Thompson’s arms and ran as though three linebackers were chasing him; ran as he heard the train whistle blow; ran as if he could race that train all the way to Iowa City.

The next time Ned saw Lester’s football, it was sitting in the window of the Ward’s Ben Franklin, tucked behind a display of Lincoln Logs and paper dolls, not exactly on display, but there it sat.

Just beyond the football, at the counter, with his fingers poised over the tall register, stood Burton next to his mother, who was teaching him to ring purchases. Mr. Zip was trying to pay for a sack of tobacco, but it was taking a while. The door was open and Ned could hear Mrs. Ward barking instructions to Burton, but Burton couldn’t get the order of the transaction right. Then some voices yoo-hooed from the back of the store, and Burton followed his mother toward them.

“Just put it on the Hardware’s tab,” Mr. Zip called over his shoulder. He walked out, stuffing the bag in his shirt pocket.

“Heaven forbid Their Highnesses the Thompsons should have to wait one spit or tackle,” he muttered as he stomped away.

Ned slipped inside. He could hear Burton and his mother talking to the Thompson sisters in the back of the store.

He hesitated, then sidled up to the window display. The football was jammed in as if it had been set there just to keep it out of the way. Ned would never leave Lester’s football lying about so recklessly.

Ned longed to touch it again. He reached out one index finger. Then his whole hand. He picked up the ball and smoothed it between his palms, tracing the laces with his finger. Ned felt the weight of it, like a sack full of marbles. It was rougher than he remembered. He pressed his thumbs into the ball. There wasn’t much give, not like the twine-wrapped paper footballs he was used to. The stitching was perfect. He held it to his nose and inhaled. The leather didn’t smell like Uncle Elmer’s cows. He thought it would smell more like cow, or maybe pig. It smelled like dust and sweaty hands.

“Burton will ring that up for you, Miss Thompson.”

The sisters were coming to the front of the store. Burton and Mrs. Ward, too.

Ned rushed out the door and ran around the corner into the alley. He was clear to the other end before he realized he was still holding the football.

Ned dropped the ball. He panicked and picked it up again. He tried to stuff it under his shirt, but his shirt was already two sizes too small. Shoot. Now what was he supposed to do? He turned to go back to the Ben Franklin. But Burton would accuse him of stealing the ball. Which he had. Only, he hadn’t meant to. But Burton wouldn’t believe that. Everyone knew he’d been sore about how things had gone at Tractor Field. And word would get around about the purse incident outside the pool hall, and his morals would be suspect.

Ned backed into the shadows. He didn’t like to be in Carl’s Alley. The Rowdies lounged here sometimes. And Leopold the cat, who, though he was a house pet, unnerved Ned with his un-house-pet-ly size and his self-assured gait. But if someone saw Ned with the ball, he’d be done for. He stepped farther into the dimness.