away from the drink machine and followed three paces behind me as we climbed the concrete steps into the gym lobby.
The bleachers were filling up fast with parents, grandparents, and local business owners shaking rain off their coats. The gym smelled of varnish, damp wool, and popcorn butter.
Travis walked straight up the wooden bleacher stairs to row three, sitting down near the aisle end. He kept his winter jacket zipped to his throat, staring straight ahead at the volleyball net suspended over center court.
I sat down on the narrow wooden bench beside him, placing my leather purse between my feet.
Carol and Pam, two booster mothers sitting in row two directly in front of us, turned around in their seats. Both of them were wearing matching maroon sweatshirts with gold volleyball emblems on the front.
“Travis, what are you doing up here?” Carol asked, holding a stack
