silence. Travis kept both hands glued to the steering wheel at ten and two, staring straight through the windshield while the heater blew warm air against our ankles.
The double glass doors of the gymnasium lobby were already open when we pulled into the side parking lot at twenty past five.
Inside, the lobby smelled of fresh popcorn and floor wax. Howard stood behind a folding table set up near the glass trophy cases, holding a stack of yellow index cards and a box of white plastic clip badges.
“Glad you made it, Travis,” Howard said, offering a plastic badge and a blue ballpoint pen across the table. “I need you to print your name right here on line three so the public address announcer can read it clearly during the lineup.”
Travis did not reach for the pen. He put both hands into his jacket pockets and stepped back
