“Hey,” I greeted.
He blinked. “Sup?”
“I’m Rowan.”
“Keaton.” He tipped his head toward my house. “You’re moving in?”
“Yeah.”
He looked at our car in the driveway. “Where’s your stuff?”
“It’s coming,” I said. “We have a moving truck and everything.”
He nodded slowly. “Okay.”
“How old are you?” I asked.
“Ten.”
“Me too.”
“Sweet.”
I pointed at his basketball. “Do you play a lot?”
He lifted a shoulder. “Just shoot hoops every day.”
“That’s cool.”
“You play?”
“I play baseball and do jiu-jitsu.”
His eyebrows lifted. “Like UFC?”
“No.” I shook my head. “That’s different.”
“My cousin watches it. People get punched.”
“We don’t punch,” I explained. “It’s more like wrestling.”
“You just roll around?”
I frowned. “It’s not just rolling around.”
“Sounds like rolling around.”
“It’s training. There are rules.”
“Do you win?”
“Yeah, I have six gold medals, three silver, and a bronze.” I beamed.
“So you can beat people up?”
“I didn’t say that, but also my dad would kill me if I got into a fight.”
He stared at me as if he didn’t expect that, then his face softened a little. “What do you do for fun?”
