“To the game.”
She looked confused. “I don’t think it should be a problem,” she said, glancing around. “Let me just see what the situation is.”
“It’s not going to happen,” Dave told her. “But it’s fine, really. You guys just—”
“Robert?” my mom called, waving at a tall, broad-shouldered guy in a suit, who was standing nearby. He had several laminated passes around his neck and a walkie-talkie in one hand, and when he came over she said, “I think we’re ready to go in.”
“Great,” he replied, nodding. “Right this way.”
He started walking and my mom, still holding my hand, followed. When I glanced back at Dave, he looked confused. “Wait,” he said. “What’s—”
“I’ll explain later,” I said.
Robert led us past the main doors, where masses of people were waiting in line, around the arena to a side door. He showed one of his passes to a woman there in a uniform and she opened it up, waving us through.
“Would you like to go to the suite or straight to your seats? ” Robert asked my mom.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said, looking at me. “What do you think, Mclean? We’ve got about twenty minutes before tip-off.”
“I’m fine to go sit down,” I said.
“Perfect.” She squeezed my hand again. “The twins are already down there with their sitters. They’ll be so excited to see you!”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dave shoot me another surprised glance, but I kept my gaze straight ahead as we crossed the corridor, then started down into the arena itself. It was already more than half full, with the pep band playing and the video screens ablaze with a cartoon of a dancing Eagle, the U’s mascot, and instantly the noise surrounded us, filling my ears. I thought of my dad, all the games I’d gone to see as a kid with him, the two of us in our upper-upper-level seats, screaming our lungs out.
I felt a tap on my shoulder, and turned around to see Dave looking around him, incredulous. We were still going down the stairs, closer and closer to the court. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” he asked.
“Um, sort of,” I replied as we passed a row of reporters and cameramen.
“Sort of?” he said.
“Here she is!” my mom said as we reached the third row of seats, which were marked by a RESERVED sign. She held up my hand as proof, waving it at the twins, who were sitting on the laps of two college-aged girls, one with red hair and a row of rings in her ear, the other a tall brunette. “Look, Maddie and Connor! It’s your big sister!”
The twins, chubby and wearing matching Defriese T-shirts, both brightened at the sight of my mom, ignoring me altogether. Not that I blamed them. Despite my mom’s attempts to behave otherwise, they had no idea who I was.
“This is Virginia and Krysta,” my mom continued, gesturing to the sitters, who smiled hellos as we moved past them down the row of seats. “This is my daughter, Mclean, and her friend David.”
“Dave,” I said.
“Oh, sorry!” My mom turned slightly, putting rriand not still clutching mine on Dave’s shoulder. He was just standing there, half in the aisle, half out, looking down at the court with a flabbergasted expression on his face. “Dave. This is Dave. Here, let’s sit down.”
My mom sat down next to Krysta, reached for Maddie, who was sputtering a bit, and settled her in her lap. I took the seat beside her, then waited for Dave, who looked stunned as he moved down the aisle, easing himself into the seat next to mine.
“Isn’t this fun?” my mom said, bouncing Maddie. She leaned into my shoulder, pressing against me. “It’s so wonderful to all be together.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice boomed over the speaker system. The crowd around us cheered, the sound like a wave passing from top to bottom, then up again. “Please welcome your University Eagles!”
Dave was still just looking around, eyes wide, as the team began to run out from a tunnel to our right. The band was playing, the floor beneath us shaking from everyone stomping around and above us. Despite my mixed feelings, I had that same rush that had been ingrained in me since childhood, the love of the game. Like the connection I had with my mom, despite everything, it was undeniable.
“Okay,” Dave said, or rather yelled, in my ear as the crowd thundered around us, applauding and cheering, “who are you, exactly? ”
It wasn’t the first time I didn’t know how to answer this. In fact, I’d taken pains over the last few years to have a different response every time. Eliza, Lizbet, Beth . . . so many girls. In this huge crowd, with my mom on one side and this boy I hardly knew on the other, I was all and none of them. Luckily, before I had to say anything, everyone around us jumped to their feet, cheering as the players ran in front of us. I knew anything I said would be drowned out. And maybe it was because no one could hear that I answered anyway. “I don’t know,” I said. I don’t know.
Defriese lost, 79–68, not that I was really able to pay attention. I was too busy running my own defense.