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near here, Levi?” my dad asked.
    â€œThere,” the kid said, and he pointed down the block. “The brown house.”
    I looked to where he was pointing. Our rental house was okay. It had two stories, the beige paint wasn’t peeling, the lawn was green, and the bushes in the flower beds were alive. Levi’s house was both beat-up and small—only one story—with peeling paint, no flowers at all, and kids’ bikes strewn around the front yard.
    At that moment, one of the moving guys dropped a box from the back of the truck onto the street. The crash was loud—like two cars hitting.
    My dad’s spine straightened as he rushed forward. The ape stepped aside, but as he did he glared at my dad, daring him to make a big deal out of it. My dad glared right back, then knelt down and ripped the tape off the box so he could peer inside. I knew what he was afraid of: one of the boxes contained Irish plates that my mom had gotten when her own mother had died. They were the only things she had from her parents.
    For thirty seconds, my dad’s hands waded through the box. Finally, he stood and looked the moving guy square in the eye. “All pots and pans. Nothing broken. You were lucky.” The big guy snorted, picked up the box, and carried it up the porch stairs and into the kitchen.
    I turned back to Levi. “Have you lived here all your life?”
    Levi shook his head. “I was born in Arkansas. We came to Seattle three years ago—my parents and my four sisters and me.” He paused. “Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
    â€œNo,” I answered.
    Levi’s eyes looked toward the movers again as they climbed the porch stairs, boxes in hand. “My father thought about renting that house, only it cost too much.”
    We were a long way from being rich, but my dad had said the rent for the house was way less than it would have been in California. I glanced again at Levi’s tiny house and imagined his big family jammed in there. Where did they all sleep? When I looked back, I caught him staring at my house, his eyes moving from the ground floor to the upstairs. He was probably wondering what three people would do with so much room.
    â€œI played basketball for my high school in California,” I said, just to say something. “How about you? Do you play?” It was a risky question because he looked like he might be one of those tall guys who aren’t coordinated enough to tie their own shoes. Guys like that hate to be asked about basketball, but I got lucky.
    â€œYeah, I play forward for Harding High.”
    â€œYou play for Harding? I just registered at Harding this morning.”
    Levi beamed. “That’s great. We’ll be teammates.”
    As soon as I’d mentioned basketball, he morphed into another person. The slouch disappeared, and he stood with his shoulders straight. He had a broad forehead, dark brown eyes, a straight nose, thick lips, and a strong jaw. He was bigger than I’d thought, probably six five or six six, and more muscular.
    Once I discovered he was on the Harding High team, questions jumped into my mind.
Did Harding have a point guard? Could the guy shoot? Could he pass? Could he run a fast break? Did I have a chance to beat him out for the starting spot?
I didn’t ask Levi any of them. I didn’t know him well enough, not then. Besides, I was afraid of what the answers might be.
    There was a long moment of silence. “You must also play football,” I said, scrambling for another topic. “Tight end? Linebacker? Quarterback?”
    Levi’s mouth turned down, and he shook his head. “I won’t play football. It’s a sin to hurt another human being on purpose.”
    â€œA sin?” I asked, not sure I’d heard correctly.
    â€œYes. A sin.”
    Was he joking? What kid ever talked about sin? I nearly laughed, but I caught myself. I’m glad I did, because if Levi