I climb the fence and drop to the pavement. On summer mornings, nobody arrives at the schoolyard before noon, and the schoolyard is empty. Long weeds grow between the cement blocks and brush my sneakers as I walk. I wander through the schoolyard careful not to step on a crack. I sing, “Step on a crack, break your mother’s back. Step on a crack, break your mother’s back.” A large crack zigzags through the center of the schoolyard. I jump, land on the crack with both feet, and twist as if putting out a cigarette.

Over the schoolyard looms the red school building, its gated windows and painted doors shut against summer. The school building shades the field from the early sunlight. By the afternoon, the sun will be a factor, and kids will shade their eyes with hats and hands to catch falling balls. The school fenced off a small area near the building. Even with the alternating white and red diagonal plastic strips weaved through the fence, I see the green dumpsters. They didn’t need to fence in the garbage; it already overflowed the schoolyard.

I squeeze a pink Spalding, throw it against the school wall, and catch it on a bounce. The morning is calm and warm. I throw the ball again. I have to leave before the other kids arrive; I last here only on mornings. The ball recoils off the grass and I miss the catch. I chase it into a corner, where the yard sinks to the sidewalk. The ball wedges between the metal pipe under the fence and the concrete. I pluck the ball and toss it up in the air, catching and releasing repeatedly as I return to the wall.