them could field a football team alone anymore.
About four hundred kids in the whole building. Kindergarten through twelfth grade.
There were six seniors on the volleyball team that year. When you’ve only got six, everybody in town knows every one of them by name.
I picked Mason up from his after-school program at four-thirty.
He’d made a poster in art class. GO KAYLEE, with a picture of a volleyball. It looked a lot like a pumpkin.
“It’s a volleyball,” he told me, before I could say anything. “I ran
