"He had a gun."

"You sound like Nathan," Troy said.

"Where is Nathan?" she asked.

Troy shrugged. "I needed to talk to you. A woman's perspective, I guess."

Tate went silent for a minute, and they began walking down the tracks before she asked, "About your mom and your dad?"

"I ran away," Troy said.

"From home?"

"I guess."

"You can't do that," Tate said, upset.

"Now you sound like her," Troy said, smacking the ball he held with his free hand, then firing it at the trees beside the tracks so that it took off like a rocket, nearly straight up into the air, "telling me what to do, treating me like a little kid when I'm not. I'm making ten thousand dollars a week. And now with me being cleared by the NFL to help the Falcons, agents are coming out of the woodwork wanting to negotiate a deal for me with the Falcons or even another team for millions. Think about that, Tate. Millions."

"Well," she said, staring up at the tree toward which Troy had thrown his ball, "at least you can afford to buy yourself another ball."

"What?" Troy said, following her gaze.

"That thing never came down," she said.

"It had to," Troy said, starting for the big pine tree.

"I didn't hear it," she said, following him.

"Me neither," he said, mumbling and searching the ground beneath the tree.

Tate stared up and said, "It's stuck."

"I got that signed by the entire Falcons offense," he said. "I need to get it."

Tate sighed and spit on her hands, heading for the trunk of the enormous pine tree.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"I'll get it," she said, annoyed.

Troy watched her shinny up the trunk and scramble into the tree's branches. She shook one branch wildly, and the ball came tumbling down. It landed with a thump before bouncing crazily around and rolling down into the ditch beside the tracks. The branches shook as Tate moved into sight, then hung from the lowest branch and dropped down beside him as easy as if she were a cat.