“Just do it!” Victor snarls. “What, is poor baby Tommy afraid of big bad Mr. Glass? Show up without my ball again and you’ll find out what I do to cowards. Bring it by Saturday, or you’ll pay, you wimp!” Shoving Tommy back with a hard push, Victor slams his sturdy mahogany door. Now staring only an inch away from harsh dark wood, all of Tommy’s body droops. Turning, Tommy slowly walks away.

Walking along, Tommy wallows in his sorrow, thinking back to how all of this starts: that awful day Victor hit his own ball into Mr. Glass’s yard. A whoosh of a fast-pitch, a crack of a bat, and Victor’s ball was out of sight. And who had to go knock on Mr. Glass’s door and ask for it back? That’s right. Tommy. Small, scrawny Tommy has to go up and talk to Mr. Glass, most notoriously grumpy man of Willow Parkway. Rumor had it, Mr. Glass cooks up kids for lunch.

But now, Tommy couldn’t avoid it. Wobbling up to a grand and imposing door, Tommy stops. Ignoring his doubts, Tommy valiantly lifts his fist.

And knocks.