"That's why people don't get killed," Robin said. "The flooring is velocity sensitive and it dampens impacts. It's also why you have to kick off from the wall to get any speed out of the shoes."

"Been reading up on this?" Creek said.

"You bet," Robin said. "That guy who just stuffed the ball used to be with the Terrapins. The guys who invented the sport are going all over the U.S. with former college and pro players and letting people play five minutes of two-on-twos with them. They're trying to generate some excitement for the pro league they're starting next year."

There was a loud smack as one of the players rammed into the wall, the ball squirting out from between him and the glass. He fell to the floor in obvious pain.

"I'm guessing that guy wasn't a former Maryland star," Creek said. Another player grabbed the ball and began hiking up toward the basket.

"Watching the amateurs hurt themselves is half the fun," Robin said.

"You're forgetting we're the amateurs," Creek said.

"Look at it this way," Robin said. "We can't possibly do any worse."

The two men in front of Creek and Robin in the fine stepped aside. Creek and Robin stepped forward to the attendant. "Welcome to WallBall, the world's most exciting new sport. I'm Chet." Chet, despite being at the vanguard of the world's most exciting new sport, sounded suspiciously bored. "Do you want to challenge the sport's best pro players in two-on-two combat?" he asked, in the same near-monotone.

"Are those guys in there really the sport's best pro players?" Robin asked.

"Lady, at this point they're pretty much the only pro players," Chet said. "So technically speaking, yeah, they're the best."

"I don't see how we could resist a pitch like that," Robin said to Creek. She turned back to Chet. "Okay, we're in."

Chet handed both of them disclaimer sheets. "Please read and sign," he said. "What are your shoe sizes?" They told him; he went over to a small storage kiosk to get their game shoes.

"It says here that by playing we waive our right to sue for any injury, 'including but not limited to contusions, broken bones, lost teeth, paralysis, impacted spinal columns, and accidental removal of fingers,'" Creek said.

"No wonder they think it's going to be popular with the kids," Robin said. "You got a pen?"

"You're going to sign this?" Creek said.

"Sure," Robin said. "I'm not really worried about it. I'm pretty athletic, and if worse comes to worst, I know some good lawyers who will be all over this document."

"I don't have a pen on me," Creek said.

Robin peered at Chet's stand to look for a pen; there wasn't one. Then she crossed her eyes in annoyance. "Jeez, that's right," she said, and fished through her purse, eventually pulling out a pen. "Here we go. It's the pen that guy left at the store today. I forgot I had it." She signed the disclaimer and handed the pen to Creek. "Live a little," she said. Creek signed the disclaimer and handed the paper and the pen back to Robin. She gave the papers back to Chet, who had returned with the shoes.

"Okay, I need to explain to you how these shoes work," Chet said. He held up one of the shoes. "Inside the shoe, near the tip, is a small patch at the top of the shoe. What you do is lift your big toe to come into contact with that patch. When you do that, you activate the jumping mechanism. The jumping mechanism only stays active for a second—that's for your safety—so you'll need to touch the patch each time you want to jump. There are patches in both shoes, but each activation works for both shoes at the same time, so use whichever big toe you're most comfortable with. Depending on how hard you push off, you can get about twenty feet into the air. The floor is designed to cushion a descent from any height, but you can still land awkwardly or collide with a wall. So before the game starts, you'll get a couple of minutes to work with the shoes and get comfortable with them. Do you have any questions?"

"If we win, do we get anything?" Robin asked.

"You get two tickets to a regular season game," Chet said.

"Cool. Second date for free," Robin said to Creek.

Chet looked at the two of them. "You look like responsible adults instead of the brain-dead teenagers I've been dealing with, so I'm going to let you have these shoes now rather than wait until you're in the cube. But on the off chance you're tempted to run off with them, you should know that their jumping mechanism cuts off fifty yards from this station. So don't think you're going to be able to bounce all the way home."

"Do kids really take off in them?" Robin asked.

"Two attempts today," Chet said. "The mall security people hate us."

"We promise not to run off," Creek said.

"I appreciate that," Chet said. "Okay, let me get this other pair set up and then you'll be up after them. Another ten minutes or so. You can take your own shoes and put them next to this stand." Chet walked off to deal with his other customers. Robin sat to put on her shoes; Creek leaned against a decorative light pole, slipped off his loafers, and slipped on the WallBall sneakers. As he put one on he lifted up his big toe to feel for the patch; it was there, a small slick circle he could register through his sock. He pressed his big toe into it and felt both of his shoes vibrate. He held still so as not to trigger a jump; a little less than a second later the vibrating stopped.

"You know, these look like the coolest bowling shoes ever," Robin said, standing up. "I don't think I'd wear them for social occasions—I mean, besides this one—but they have their kitsch appeal. So, what do you want to do for dinner?"

"I thought you were the cruise director for this date," Creek said.

"Oh. No, I'm really bad at that," Robin said. "I don't know if you've figured this out yet, but I'm sort of both spontaneous and disorganized."

"And yet you own your own business," Creek said.

"Well, Dad's a CPA," Robin said. "He helped get me organized and keeps me on an even keel. I don't know what I'd do without him. I wish I could have inherited his organizational mind, but I'm adopted. So I just have to borrow it straight from the source. I'd have to guess one of my biological parents was sort of scatterbrained."

"Have you ever tried to find out anything about your biological parents?" Creek asked.

Robin shrugged. "My parents—my adoptive parents—told me that they had died," she said. "And aside from a bad moment with Santa when I was eight, they've never lied to me about anything big. So I never went looking. There were a couple of times when I was a teenager when I thought about what it would be like to meet my 'other' family, though. You know how teenagers are."

"I was one once," Creek said.

"I'm sorry," Robin said. "I suddenly got very personal for a first date. I don't want you to think I'm one of those people who unloads their entire history over appetizers. I'm really not that co-dependent."

"It's okay," Creek said. "I don't mind. Anyway, I think we'll have a lot to talk about at dinner."

Robin opened her mouth to follow up on that, but before she could a man in a sports coat walked over. "Robin Baker?" he said.

"Yes?" she said.

The man reached into his coat and pulled out a wallet containing an ID card. "Agent Dwight, FBI. Miss Baker, I need you to come with me. You're in danger here."

"In danger?" Robin said. "In danger from what?"

"Not from what. From who," Agent Dwight said, and glanced over at Creek. "You're in danger from him. He's going to kill you, Miss Baker. At least he is going to try."