"Hey, are you coming to our game Thursday?" Kyle asked David as they and Matt strode out onto the playground after lunch. Being eighth graders, they didn't exactly play, but they still wandered around outside, allowing the sixth and seventh graders to confiscate the swings and tetherball. Far too old for much more than gossip and socializing, the eighth graders usually isolated themselves on the steps of the gym.

David shivered in the crisp air. "Sure, yeah. It's here, right? I can just walk over."

"Walk?" said Kyle. "No, don't worry about walking. We can give you a ride."

"But you have to go early, right?" asked David. "To warm up and everything. I don't want to get there an hour early."

Kyle elbowed his blond friend, a grin stretching across his cheeks. "You never know. Maybe some of the girls will be there and you can actually talk to them."

"Shut up!" ordered David, quickly turning to look over his shoulder and make sure nobody had overhead. Once certain they had walked far enough out of earshot, he said quietly, "Yeah right, anyway."

Kyle, who wasn't really listening to David, absent-mindedly said, "You can just drive over with my dad and Jack. They'll come later."

Matt exchanged glances with David. "Jack?" said David, like he couldn't exactly remember who that was.

"Yeah," answered Kyle. His eyes were, at that moment, following his brother, who was slowly walking toward a grassy corner of the sunlit playground, hands in his pockets, head hung. "You know—my brother?"

Laughing almost nervously, Matt said, "Duh, David. They only look exactly the same."

All three boys stared at the oblivious figure of Jack Kemper. David listened to his own breathing, contemplated things he didn't exactly want to admit, then said, "I think I'll walk, if that's cool."

On the only decent spot of grass in the schoolyard stood Jack. His head had been clouded all day by images of the field behind his house. He wasn't sure why it suddenly seemed so much more threatening than it had before. They'd been in the house at the end of Howe Street for nearly six years. They'd moved from an apartment closer to the heart of town to be in a quieter, more spacious neighborhood. Something closer to the boys' school as well. The house had seemed perfect, and for the most part, it was. Jack was the only one of them who feared the field. Kyle sensed the strangeness of it once in a while, but Jack feared it.

A soft breeze rustled the grass. Jack looked out at the street that ran beyond the chain link fence of the schoolyard. Across it were neatly-kept gardens and brick porches. Even though the air wasn't quite cold, Jack wore a scarf, and the sun was warm on his back. Keeping his hands in his pockets, the boy walked slowly along the fence.

A speck of light.

It caught his eye.

Turning, Jack was shocked to see that the tiny spot of brightness stayed where it was: on the knob at the top of the fence post. He'd never before been able to focus on one without it darting away. Now that he could see it, the thing didn't look extraordinarily special. It was just a prick of brightness, like a little star that had fallen to rest on the post. A glowing piece of dust. A fragment of the sun.

The breeze died down, and with it, the voices of the students playing or talking behind him. The whispering beneath it all grew louder. Still too hard to understand, but more audible. Definitely there. Jack's heart raced. He felt the blood pumping away from his heart, through his arms and legs, down to his fingertips and toes. His skin prickled with bumps again. His eyes locked on the star speck. His mind raced with thoughts he didn't quite know. Like he was being told something. Somebody wanted him to know something. But his mind wasn't clear enough. His images of the dark field seeped across the scenery that was trying to form behind his eyes. Spilled like navy watercolors in a pool of clear liquid. Blotted out the light.

The tiny sparkle on the post wavered, flickered, blurred around its edges . . .

"Who are you talking to?"

So startled that he stumbled, Jack spun around to find his brother standing behind him. He didn't interest Jack right away. Anxiously, Jack turned back to the fence. The light had disappeared.

Back to Kyle. He was still there. Still looking at him with lowered eyebrows and a frown.

"Who were you talking to?" repeated Kyle. He was concerned. Fingers flexing at his sides. The wind making his longish hair leafy.

Jack's lower lip shook. He was still having trouble coming away from where he'd just been. "I . . . I wasn't . . . talking to anybody. I wasn't even t-talking."

"Yes you were," said his brother matter-of-factly. "I was standing right here, watching."

A little disturbed, Jack asked, "What was I saying?" More alarmed than doubtful or annoyed.

Kyle shrugged. The collar of his polo shirt wrinkled. "I don't know. I couldn't exactly hear. I could just tell you were talking. You do a lot of weird stuff, Jack, but talking to yourself is really strange. You shouldn't do that in public."

"I don't!" cried Jack defensively. Then he calmed down and a nervous expression played at his features. "At least . . . I don't think I do. If I do, I don't know I'm doing it."

For just a second, Kyle felt his twin's anxiety. Then he clapped a hand on Jack's shoulder and said, "Come on. Why don't you come over with Matt, David, and me? We're trying to figure out how we can all get to the soccer game on Thursday. You're coming with Dad, right?"

"Yeah. Look, Kyle," said Jack absent-mindedly, turning again to where he'd seen the speck of light but not finding anything of interest there. "I think I'll just stay here. Don't worry about me. Really."

"I know, I know. Just thought I'd ask." Sighing, Kyle left his brother and jogged off in the direction of his awaiting friends. He'd known Jack wouldn't come, but at times he felt obligated to ask again. Part of him wanted Jack to come with him, but there was also the part that always hoped he refused. Kyle didn't want to feel embarrassed by his brother, but sometimes he couldn't help himself.

Jack breathed deeply. Relief. He knew Matt and David had never really liked him; they thought he was a bit off, like everyone else did.