is running.”
“Then I will stand by the door until he gets here,” I said.
I walked down the wooden bleacher steps and crossed the hardwood floor toward the entrance hallway. The noise in the gym was growing louder as the middle school band began unpacking their brass instruments in the far corner.
Howard saw me coming and walked toward the hallway doors to meet me, his clipboard tucked under his arm.
“Brenda, we are out of time,” Howard said, checking his brass wristwatch again. “The announcer is going over the script right now.”
“Give me ten minutes,” I said.
“I can’t delay the match,” Howard said. “The regional athletic board has strict start times for senior night events. If we don’t start introductions by six twelve, the officials fine the school fifty dollars.”
“I am not asking you to delay the match,” I said. “Just leave the side door
