Thursday was brightly-lit and sweeping with leaf-filled breezes. The colors of the leaves were turning. Golds, oranges, rust-colors: a rainbow atop the trees that arced around the soccer field at Webster Day School. The grass was still bright green—a striking contrast to the turning trees surrounding it and the excellent blue of the white-cloud-blotted sky. Higher and higher the winds twisted the leaves that had already fallen from their trees; it was a menagerie of colored spots against the sunny sky that looked down on the figures of navy-blue and red clad boys running below: the uniforms of Webster Day, and those of the opposing school.

The game had started nearly forty minutes earlier. Jack sat with his mother and father in the low metal bleachers, watching the game with mild interest. He understood that his brother loved the sport, but he had to try hard to care about the actual game or who won. He always cared how Kyle fared, but he seldom kept track of the score.

Warmly wrapped in a scarf and hat, with his father's hot-chocolate-filled coffee thermos in his hands. Jack leaned over the thermos, breathing in the warm, chocolatey smell rising from it. Thoughts of winter vacation prematurely filled his head. Caramel and peppermint mingled with the scent of chocolate. Frost glistened on the edges of the falling leaves. Snowflakes drifted softly from the cloudbanks, sparking in the sunlight like daytime fireflies. The ground was suddenly white with the fresh snow—a world as white as a blank canvas. House rooftops, car hoods, front yards—all were white. The soccer field, the school parking lot, the fields—

The field.

Jack's eyes popped open. The field. His dreams of white melted as fast as ice over an open flame. No matter how much snow covered that field at the back of his house, it could never be white. It was dark. Black. Ink. Something that was murky not necessarily because it was somehow bad, but because Jack couldn't quite understand it. It was like the time period he'd learned about in class. Once, Mrs. Madison had mentioned a time called The Dark Ages. Jack had actually heard that phrase, and it had caused him to listen. Supposedly, The Dark Ages were not a period of actual darkness or death. They were called dark because there wasn't much written about that time. People didn't understand what happened then. That was what that field was like. For all Jack knew, it was dark for some negative reason. However, at the moment, it was only dark because he couldn't understand it. It was dark in his mind, in his heart.

"You'd better drink that," said Mr. Kemper, looking down at his son. "It'll get cold."

A cheer rose around them and Mr. Kemper stood up from his seat. Jack tried to peer around the rising bodies in front of him but had no luck. Something was happening down on the field. Maybe it had to do with Kyle. Steadying himself, the boy stood up next to his father, then had to step up one bleacher higher to see over people's heads.

There, on the field. Kyle, surrounded by his team members. Cheering. He must have scored a goal. Jack had missed it. A sigh came from him. He'd have to pretend to have seen it. He knew Kyle would ask him what it had looked like from the bleachers. Knew his brother would want to talk about it. He sipped the hot chocolate, surprised at how hot it was, burning the tip of his tongue. He cringed but enjoyed the taste of it, enjoyed how it felt going down his throat and into his stomach. Because he really could feel it go all the way down.

Jack was smiling when his brother came over to him. Mr. and Mrs. Kemper and Jack had reached the ground.

"What are you smiling about?" Kyle breathlessly asked, pink in the face from his exertion and the chilly air. Despite the cool weather, he was hot, and he wore shorts and a T-shirt. The sweat evaporating from his skin felt good.

Shaking his head, Jack looked at his brother. "Hot chocolate. Do you want some?"

"No way, man," Kyle replied, wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt. "I'm hot enough as it is. You see my goal?"

"Yeah!" Jack lied. "It was awesome! And right at the end of the game. That was a good way to anchor it."

Mrs. Kemper looked at her boys. She knew Jack hadn't seen the play but was glad he'd said he did. That was how Kyle's games always went, but her sports-minded boy could never tell that his brother didn't actually watch him; he was always too wrapped up in his own performance.

"What do you say to Chinese for dinner?" asked Mr. Kemper.

Jack's smile and Kyle's hearty "Yeah"' confirmed his suggestion.

Twenty minutes later, the Kemper family was seated around a table at House of Wong. Jack was picking at his meal, not sure why he didn't feel like eating it. He knew his mother would comment at some point, and he didn't really want her to.

Kyle picked an eggroll off his brother's plate. "What's up with you?" he asked, dipping the thing in soy sauce and shoving it whole into his mouth.

"Are you still worried about that field?" Mrs. Kemper asked. She could read Jack pretty well. Knew oftentimes when he was mulling over something he'd mentioned days earlier.

Jack looked up. Said nothing. Was surprised his mother had guessed it.

"He thought there was an earthquake in it!" Kyle laughed, his mouth full.

Jack scowled at his brother. He wished Kyle hadn't said that.

"You've got to stop making things up, son," said Mr. Kemper, digging a fork into his fried rice.

"David," said Mrs. Kemper, wishing her husband hadn't said that.

"I'm serious, Ellen," continued Mr. Kemper. He looked at Jack. "I love your imagination just as much as you do. But making up things like earthquakes is a bit much. You've got to start taking life a bit more seriously."

Oh no. Now he was getting the start of the school conversation from his father. "I never said it was an earthquake," said Jack quietly but defensively. He frowned at his brother.

Kyle felt sorry for an instant, then went back to concentrating on his meal.

"I didn't even bring up the field," Jack went on. "Who even said I wanted to talk about it?" Because he didn't want to talk about it. It was on his mind, but he didn't want to talk about it.

"Well, it is high time you cut the grass back there," Mrs. Kemper said to her husband, trying to deflect the conversation from Jack. "Now that Kyle's started up soccer again, it's time he had somewhere to run around. He can have his teammates over and they can practice. Just for fun, if nothing else."

"All right, I know it," said Mr. Kemper. "I'll get to it this weekend. There's not much else to do, anyhow."

And that was that.