E
MMETT DRIBBLED THE BALL
in a fast break toward the basket. He lifted his right knee, sprang off his left foot, and pushed the ball up gently against
the backboard. The ball banked through the hoop, struggled through the shriveled net, and dropped to the bare, hard ground.

Again Emmett got the ball. He dribbled toward the baseline, stopped, and pivoted back and forth on his left foot, pretending
that he was faking a guard.

There was no guard — there were no players at all. Emmett was playing alone. He just pretended there were others, because
it was a lot more fun that way.

Emmett rocked back and forth on his pivot foot. Then he turned and leaped, lifting the ball high in an overhand shot for the
basket. The ball arched gracefully. It struck the rim and bounced off. Emmett dashed for the rebound, caught it, and leaped
for a layup. Swish! Basket.

He paused awhile, dribbling the ball high and easily so that he wouldn’t have to bend over. He had been playing ever since
he arrived home from school. He
wasn’t tired, though — just hungry, and a little lonesome. It really wasn’t fun just to play by yourself all the time.

He left the ball on the frozen ground and went into the house. He was thirsty. He drank a glass of water, then looked at the
clock above the kitchen sink. It was ticking away noisily, the only sound inside the big, quiet house.

Ten minutes of four. He sighed. Mom and Dad wouldn’t be home for another half hour.

Emmett opened the refrigerator and looked at the food inside. He saw nothing he wanted. He closed the door. Then he placed
a chair in front of the refrigerator, stood on the chair and opened the doors of the cabinet. He took out a box of crackers,
pulled out a handful and returned the box. The crackers would hold him until Mom cooked supper.

He started to munch on the crackers when a sound outside drew his attention. He ran outdoors, slamming the door behind him,
and then stopped as if he had struck a brick wall. A young blond-haired boy was playing with Emmett’s basketball, dribbling
it all over the court and shooting at the basket. Emmett’s heart began to pound.

Emmett knew the boy. Then again, he wasn’t sure whether he did or not. Mickey Dunbar, and Robin Dunbar were twins who lived
a couple of blocks away. They looked so much alike hardly anyone could tell which was which.

Emmett guessed that this was Robin — Robin Hood, as everybody called him. Robin Hood and Mickey were identical in looks —
from their short, stocky builds to their blond brush cuts but they were as different as night and day in other ways. Robin
Hood was mischievous and happy-go-lucky. Mickey was quiet and serious.

Emmett didn’t think that Mickey would pick up a basketball in a strange yard and start playing by himself. But Robin Hood
would.

The boy sank a hook shot. As he turned under the backboard, he saw Emmett and a grin came across his round, pink-cheeked face.

“Hi!” he said. “This your ball?”

“Yes, it is,” said Emmett.

Those hunger pangs were quickly gone. It wasn’t the crackers that did it. He had eaten only one. The others were still in
his hand. What did it was his shyness. He always became very shy every time someone whom he didn’t know very well came near
him, or talked to him.

“I’m Robin Hood Dunbar,” the boy said. “You’ve seen me at school, haven’t you? I’ve seen you.”

“I thought it was you.” Emmett grinned a little. “I wasn’t sure at first.”

Robin Hood laughed. “Boy, I didn’t know you had a spot like this. This is neat.”

Emmett finished chewing the cracker and swallowed it. He looked at the other crackers in his hand, then pressed them into
his coat pocket.

Robin kept playing by himself. He tried pivot shots, hook shots, and set shots. He seldom made them, but he was certainly
enjoying himself.

“Boy, he’s got nerve,” Emmett thought. And he hardly knows me! I wish he’d go away. He has no right to play here. That’s
my
ball. This is
our
yard.

“Come on!” Robin Hood yelled to him. “Take some shots!”

Emmett shrugged. “That’s okay,” he said. “I’ve been playing.”

It wasn’t okay, but he didn’t want to say so. And he didn’t want to play with anybody around, especially Robin Hood Dunbar.
Robin Hood played on a team and he was good. Emmett had seen him play in the intramurals in the school gym.

“Robin Hood! What have you got there?”

The shout came from across the street. Emmett turned and saw four boys coming in a run. He recognized them all, but he didn’t
know any of them personally. None of them were in his classroom.

They rushed into the yard as if they did it every day. Robin Hood passed the ball to a tall redheaded boy whose name was Rusty
Kane. Rusty dribbled for the basket and laid it up. Another boy, Glenn Long, rushed in, caught the rebound, then dribbled
around to the side and tried a set shot.

None of them paid the slightest attention to Emmett. They kept playing among themselves as if the place and the ball were
theirs.

After playing ten minutes or so, Robin Hood yelled, “Hey, Torrance! Come on and get in the fun!”

The other boys stopped briefly, and looked at Emmett.

“Never mind,” said Emmett.

“Come on! Take a shot!”

Robin Hood passed the ball to him. Emmett yanked his hands quickly out of his pockets and caught the ball. He walked on the
court, bounced the big rubber basketball a few times, then took a set shot. The ball hit the rim and bounced off. Emmett turned
shyly away, putting his hands back into his pockets.

“Almost!” cried Robin Hood.

At the door Emmett turned and continued to watch. The boys were playing pretty hard — passing, dribbling, shooting baskets.
He wished Mom and Dad would hurry home.

Presently there was a loud
swoosh!
and the ball crumbled lopsidedly to the ground.

“Hey!” yelled Rusty Kane. “It sprung a leak!”

Emmett froze. He stood staring at the ball as if he were glued to the ground.

R
OBIN
H
OOD
picked up the ball. It looked like a giant, overripe orange that had been stepped on.

“This is awful,” said Robin Hood. “I suppose you want us to pay for busting it?”

Emmett swallowed. He took the ball. The boys clustered around him, looking at the ball with slack jaws.

Emmett turned the ball around and around in his hands, squeezing it in places in search for the hole. At last he found it
— a jagged cut hardly the width of his little finger.

“Maybe we can patch it,” suggested Rusty.

“Sure!” said Robin Hood. “That’s an idea!”

He took the ball from Emmett. Emmett made an attempt to get it back, but he was too late.

“How are we going to blow it up after it’s patched?” another boy asked.

“We’ll use Joe Sutton’s air hose,” said Robin. “Come on!”

He started off at a run, the others following.

“That won’t work!” Emmett cried out.

The boys stopped as if Emmett had yanked a string attached to them. “Why not?” said Robin.

“You need a valve,” explained Emmett. “Wait a minute. I have one.”

He ran into the house. He found the needle-like stem after a breathless search, then returned outdoors. He gave it to Robin
Hood.

“Come along with us,” said Robin.

“I don’t want to,” said Emmett. “My Mom and Dad are coming home pretty soon.”

“Okay. We’ll bring the ball back after it’s fixed.”

The boys ran off. Emmett thrust his hands gloomily into his pockets, spun on his heels and walked back to the house. What
a fine thing. You never saw
him
run into some stranger’s yard, pick up a basketball and play with it as if he owned it. And then, to add salt to the wound,
as Mom would say, punch a hole in it, too. Of course, the boys hadn’t done that on purpose. But they could have seen that
the ball wasn’t a very good one.

A noise from the house next door pecked annoyingly at Emmett’s mind, but he was too angry to pay much attention to it. He
was ready to open the door when he heard a crash. This time he looked. He forgot his anger. The noise came from the basement
of Mrs. Maxwell’s house.

Emmett ran across the frozen ground, leaped over the dwarf-sized hedgerow, then onto the Maxwell driveway. He almost fell
against the side door.

He pounded against it with his fist.

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