two inches from the table.
“I am not signing that card, Howard,” Travis said.
Howard lowered the pen onto the tabletop and checked his brass wristwatch with his thumb. “The ceremony starts at six ten, Travis. The booster club has to print the master list for the announcer by five forty-five.”
“Leave the line blank,” Travis said.
“We do not leave sponsor lines blank on senior night,” Howard said, his voice dropping into the quiet tone he used when students misbehaved in the hallway. “The district rules require an adult escort listed for every senior athlete on the floor.”
I took Travis by the elbow and pulled him four feet sideways, away from the family line waiting behind us.
“The agreement said until her eighteenth birthday,” I said, keeping my voice down so the booster mothers setting up the bake sale table could not hear. “That is four weeks from
