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that. It’s not public information and—”
    â€œThere’s one thing I didn’t tell you,” Mom said. Her voice became quiet. “There’s a police file on Charlie Riggins. And it makes me really sad.”
    We waited.
    â€œTwice the police were called to his house for a domestic disturbance.”
    â€œWhat!” Dad said.
    â€œHis wife never pressed charges, but he hit her,” Mom answered. “And a man who will hit his wife might also hit his son.”

chapter seven
    The next day, Sunday, was a tournament break day. Every team had played three of its seven games. With one win, one loss and one tie, it looked like our Thurber Mavericks would need to win at least three out of the next four games to place in the top two and make the finals of the tournament.
    As usual, my family went to church. As usual, I was the only one dressed normally. And, as usual, I excused myself to go to thebathroom as soon as we got to the church. I hoped that Mom and Dad and Leontine would go ahead and find a place to sit without me. But, as usual, they waited for me to return.
    So, as usual, I took a deep breath and walked in with them—a sister with more colors in her hair than her clothes, a father with a shaved head and an earring, and a mother who made sure to stop and greet everyone as we walked up the aisle.
    Once we were seated and I knew that nobody was staring at us, I relaxed and started thinking church stuff. I’ve learned from Dad that there is a big difference between faith and religion. Faith, he told me, is a matter of the heart, of getting close to God. I like remembering that. While some of the people sitting in the pews might be real jerks away from church, it doesn’t mean that what I learn in church is as phony as they are.
    We have a good preacher who uses stories to help us understand the message, and most Sundays I pay close attention.Today, though, my mind kept wandering, no matter how hard I tried to listen. I kept thinking about Caleb. Not because I was worried about our soccer team. (All right, not mainly because of soccer.) But because I kept seeing him, in my mind, getting dragged away by his father.
    It didn’t seem right or fair. What could kids do if their parents weren’t good parents? Mine might dress and act strange, but at least they always treated me with love.
    The more I thought about it, the more I worried about Caleb.
    As church ended, I decided I would head up to Caleb’s house...without a plan.
    As it turned out, I could have used one.

chapter eight
    I was sweating hard by the time I made it up McCulloch Boulevard to the turn for the Rigginses’ house. Without Steve and his mom’s minivan, I had to rely on leg power and my mountain bike. At the corner, I stopped to take a drink from my water bottle.
    Below me, in the valley, I saw the glint of Lake Havasu and its beautiful blue against the desert reds and browns. I thought of how nice it would be at the lake’s beach. And I nearly turned around.
    What kept me from heading to the lake, though, was thinking of how miserable Caleb might be. What if his father did hit him? If the situation were reversed, I reminded myself, I’d want someone to try to help me.
    I gulped some more water, trying to talk myself out of going up to the house. Then into it. Then out of it again.
    I told myself I would just ring the doorbell. If Caleb answered, I would ask him how he was doing. If his mom or dad answered, I would pretend I didn’t know anything about Caleb’s trouble. I would invite him to join me for a bike ride. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was the best I could come up with.
    When all my water was gone, I had no more excuses to stand there. I hopped on my bike and pushed ahead.
    What I found was the last thing I had expected. I’d worried and worried about what I would do if Mr. or Mrs. Riggins answered the door. But when I got close to his house, the Blazer