the large white poster board leaning against the trophy glass.
“Five minutes until I take this board to the announcer box, Brenda,” Howard said.
“Her grandfather is coming,” I said.
Howard looked past my shoulder toward the outer glass doors, which were swept with cold rain. “Duane Ostrem is seventy-nine years old and walks with a stick, Brenda. Is he in the building?”
“He will be here,” I said.
Travis turned on his heel and walked toward the main gymnasium doors without looking back at either of us.
I walked down the narrow concrete stairwell leading to the locker rooms under the east bleachers. The hallway floor was painted grey, stamped with wet shoe prints from the junior varsity team that had finished practice twenty minutes earlier.
Kaylee sat alone on a long yellow pine bench outside the home locker room door. She was wearing her maroon booster club sweatshirt
