He had made a homemade poster for Kaylee, decorating it with a large orange volleyball that looked suspiciously like a pumpkin.
“It’s a volleyball,” he informed me before I could comment. “I ran out of white.”
We arrived at the school gym just after five.
Travis came directly from work, wearing his usual fleece vest and boots.
He sat beside me near the front of the bleachers.
The gym smelled of popcorn and freshly polished flooring. Maroon and gold streamers decorated the railings, and large photographs of the six senior volleyball players stood beside the scorer’s table.
Kaylee’s poster showed her jumping to strike the ball, her long blonde braid flying behind her.
A bucket of red roses sat nearby.
Traditionally, each senior presented a rose to the family member escorting them onto the court.
I noticed Travis looking at the flowers.
Then he lowered his eyes.
He clasped his hands between his knees and began rubbing his thumb nervously.
