When the other boys ask him where he goes on Sundays while they go to church, the boy talks about soccer practice. He talks about how he sings at practice to tease another boy who chases him how they run in circles as he sings I like to Moody, Moody. He doesn’t know the song actually says I like to move it, move it. He doesn’t know the other boy’s name is not Moody but Hamoudi & he laughs every time Moody chases him. The two boys do not know they are minorities yet because they are eight in the ambiguous suburbs of an ambiguous state where soccer takes a backseat to playing tag & plucking grass in soccer practice. The other boys laugh & the boy sighs relieved by the sight of his Mom’s minivan. He grabs his shin-guards from the garage as the other boys mount their bikes to ride to another ambiguous cul-de-sac in the neighborhood. His Mom opens the door & says Hi my betas to the boys as they pedal & wave. Her voice is a bell for the boy who rushes in & swings the door closed before her voice has a chance to ring more. He watches his friends ride away thankful they don’t look back.