I slam my bookbag into the back of the car. AJ just stares at me. I feel a hand on my back, and I shake it off. "Hey, steady, it's okay to be mad. Just keep it under control." I look up and stare daggers at the speaker.

"You're not my dad." I consider adding a curse in there, but since AJ always reports everything back to our mom, I don't. It's a bad enough day already.

"Nope. I'm nobody's dad," he agrees, getting into the driver's side. None of us talks on the way home. AJ hates when anything is uncomfortable, and that guy never talks that much. I stew in the back seat.

When we get home, mom isn't even there. I can't decide if I'm angry or relieved. I don't want her to know what happened, but I also want to get past her finding out about it. AJ practically runs out of the car and goes to our room to do homework. Sometimes I wish we had a bigger house. That guy goes inside, and I stay outside, kicking some junk around and trying not to think about anything. I don't go far; mom always says not to.

"Hey." I had a bad feeling about this. I knew that guy was the kind of guy who wasn't going to let it go. He comes outside and leans on the door frame, just looking at me.

"Hey." I look down at my scuffed-up sneakers, and I fold my arms.

Unexpectedly, that guy laughs. "You look just like your Uncle Sam right now when he gets mad. Exactly the same, just shorter."

"What do you want?" I ask. It's a little disrespectful, but not too disrespectful. I don't want to bring down the ire of my mama any harder than it's already coming.

That guy doesn't answer for a little bit. "Just wanna know what happened," he says. "I'm curious."

"You have the note from the principal," I answer, digging the toe of my shoe hard into the dirt.

"Yeah," he agrees. "I got that, but, you know, when I was in school, they weren't always real good at getting to the truth about situations. I mean, it's been a long time, but I just thought maybe they didn't get it right. Thought maybe I could hear your side of it before your mom gets home."

"Why?" I ask.

"Cause you're a good kid," he answers, "and good kids don't get into fights unless there's a good reason. My best friend when I was your age, Steve, used to get hauled to the principal for fighting all the time, but it was because he was a good guy, not a bad guy."

I don't want to tell him; I don't even want to talk about it. "What if I just hit a guy?"

"You wanna go with that, it's your choice," he says, "but we both know it's not true." That guy just stands there, really still. He's not scary or anything. But he won't go away.

I'm not as upset as I was. Now I just feel dread. My mama thinks respect is one of the highest virtues, and getting in trouble at school counts as disrespect to the fourth power. It hasn't happened in a long time, but my memory of the last time isn't anything fun. It's not that I'm scared of her or getting grounded or whatever; I just hate that look in her eyes and that lecture. I hate when she looks like she's scared that she's messing it all up without dad. I hate when she gets mad because she's trying not to get frustrated and cry.

"Hey," I finally look over, and that guy bends down and picks up our softball, which is near his feet. He tosses it over to me. "How about this? You throw to me, and you get to ask me a question. I throw it back, and I get to ask you one. Sound like an idea?"

You might expect me to say no, but the opportunity is too good. Like I said, that guy doesn't talk a lot, and I want to ask him things. Not maybe the nicest things, but he's the one saying I can ask.

I toss the ball. "Why are you here so much?"

"I'm friends with your uncle, and I like your family." He catches easily. "Who hit first in the fight?"

"I did." He puts a little spin on the ball, but I catch it anyway. "Are you into my mom?"

"I respect your mom a lot. Not sure where it's going, but wherever it is, you and your brother are a part of it." Respect, that word again. No wonder she seems to like him, too. "What happened right before the fight?"

"I got to sports period." I throw, and I miss my aim, but he catches the ball anyway with some crazy graceful flying leap to the side. It's not un-awesome. "Why do you have a metal arm?"

"I got it because some bad guys did bad things to me. Doesn't hurt now, though." He already knew my next question.

"So what did that guy say to you before you punched him?" Darn. That guy's not stupid. I should have lied, except, I'm no good at lying, and my mama doesn't like it, so I never got any practice doing it. I catch the ball and hold it, head down.

"Cass, what did that kid say?" he asks again, "rules of the game."

I could run or something, but where am I going to go? We're in front of my house, and my mom is due back any time. That guy just stands there and waits again, like he always does. Uncle Sam says that guy is the most patient person he's ever met, and I think I get it. Uncle Sam is our favorite uncle, but he doesn't have that.

Maybe, I figure, staring down at the ball, maybe telling him isn't the worst thing in the world. "He called my mama something that's not nice to say about a girl. I don't wanna say it. And he said that's why we don't have a dad. He said if we had one, he would have gotten blipped back with everybody else."

I feel two hands on my shoulders, behind me, and I don't shake them off this time. "I don't blame you for punching him. Maybe not the best response. I don't know what your Uncle Sam would say, cause he's a lot better at de-escalation than I am. But I would have wanted to punch his lights out."

I turn around and look up at him. That guy is looking at me how adults look at you when they love you and stuff. We're really close together, but I push the softball into his hands. "Why do you care about AJ and me?"

He thinks for a minute and then answers slowly and carefully. "First, I cared because you were Sam's nephews. Then, I cared because you were Sarah's kids. Now, I care because you're Cass and AJ.

He hands the ball back. "I'm going to tell, not ask," he says. "I'm ninety-something years older than you. You can give me that much." He smiles, and I smile, for the first time all day.

"Cass, I know I'm not your dad, and I honestly don't know how it's going to go with your mom. But I just want you to know, I'm gonna be here. You don't even have to like me. But, you need something, you ask. I'm gonna have your back, and that's a promise."

He really means it. I know he means it, because a few minutes later when my mom gets home, he tells her the whole story before he shows her the note. Mama sits down on the sofa with me, and she says, "You should be thankful, because he talked me down. I don't like violence, and I'm going to get your Uncle Sam to teach you how to deal with anger better. But that's all I'm gonna do this time." She gives me a hug. "Baby, it doesn't matter what anybody says about us. We're us, and we know who we are. You got that?"

"Yes, ma'am."

We have meatloaf for dinner because that guy likes it. I have to say, he's got good taste. AJ is cool again, like he always is when the trouble is over. "I finished my homework," he says. I haven't even started mine, so I'm in for a long evening. "Uncle Bucky, do you want to go out and look at stars after we eat?" AJ asks. He's really into things like constellations; we even have a huge telescope Dr. Banner gave my uncle as a present for us.

"Yeah, I'd like that," that guy—I mean, our Uncle Bucky, answers. He's real nice about doing things the way you want to do them, not the weird way adults do everything, so I'm happy for my brother, because our uncle makes a lot of things better.