over her jersey, her knees pulled tight together.
She was twisting her maroon hair tie around her left wrist, turning it three times over her skin and letting it snap back into place.
Down the hall, two senior girls were laughing while their fathers adjusted red rose corsages onto their warm-up jackets. One of the fathers had a digital camera resting against his chest, snapping pictures against the painted cinder block wall.
Travis stood twelve feet away from Kaylee, leaning his shoulder against a cold-drink machine with his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
“Did you fill out the card?” Kaylee asked, looking up at me as I stopped in front of her bench.
“Your grandfather is on his way,” I said.
She looked down at her blue sneakers, her thumb sliding over the maroon hair tie. “Travis drove the team bus to every away game for four years.”
“I
