the rim of his glass plate with a sharp, heavy ring that made Mason jump. He did not look down at the blue card.
“‘Kay, that moment is meant for actual fathers.”
I pressed both hands flat against my mouth.
Mason sat in the chrome chair next to mine, his sneakers clicking quick, rhythmic taps against the metal chair legs. He stopped his feet mid-swing and looked back and forth between Travis’s plate and mine.
Kaylee did not lower her chin or lift her voice. She reached across with her left hand and picked up the blue paper, folding it once down the center line with a clean, sharp crease. Her thumb hooked into the maroon hair tie looped around her right wrist, twisting the dark elastic band round and round until the skin turned pale under the light.
“It is just for the announcer line,” Kaylee said quietly. “So
