Kaylee’s showed her in midair at a home game last fall. Her braid flying out behind her like a rope.
On the scorer’s table was a bucket of red roses from the flower shop on Main Street.
Each senior carries one out and hands it to whoever walks her. That’s how it’s been done here as long as anybody can remember.
Travis looked at those roses. Then he looked away.
I saw him do it.
He had his hands clasped between his knees. He kept rubbing his thumb over the side of his first finger. A thing he does when he’s nervous.
“You okay?” I asked him.
“Fine,” he said.
The exact same flat voice Kaylee had used on Tuesday.
For one second, they sounded so much alike I almost laughed. Except nothing about it was funny.
The JV girls played the visitors from two towns over. They lost the first set. Then won the next two.
