Page 21 of Limbo

From the way Connor’s team plays, she’ll need to endure another game and a half. For the sake of my sanity, I hand over my phone with its full battery. Her face lights up at the sight. She scoots down the bench, already in her own little world of make-believe. At least for a few minutes.

I flip open the cover to my Psych book about the time Connor scans the crowd for familiar faces. I shout, wave, and let the book fall shut. He acts embarrassed, covering his face with his hands, but a grin gives him away. His attention returns to the game without bothering to further search the stands.

People have packed into the gym, cheering on the different high school basketball teams competing in the weekend tournament. Families, students, teachers, and older locals who continue to support the kids long after their own have moved on and married, cheering on their own children elsewhere.

Two people not in attendance: our parents.

Lauren’s current location: partying with a bunch of college kids while her college-aged daughter cares for her kids with a torn twenty she left hanging on the refrigerator door with a magnet. Not that twenty dollars can even cover groceries for the weekend since behind the fridge door was nothing but condiments and a half-empty container of whipped cream.

As far as Graham goes, who the hell knows his excuse. The short drive from Sutterville never stops him from attending these events. He puts on his Father of the Year facade, talking to everyone, except his children. Connor and I prefer his absence though. The way he acts in front of people makes us hate him even more. Quite the fucking feat.

With neither of them making an appearance, Connor’s fan base consists of me and a six-year-old who poses for pictures of herself, making goofy faces. Well, us and my ex-boyfriend Pete’s grandparents on the other end of the gym. Small towns are weird places. All the same, rather than study, I watch him play, not wanting to miss any opportunities to remind him that we’re here for him.

At halftime, I wrangle my phone from Cate long enough for her to use the restroom. We pick up three sandwiches from the concession stand, and she settles down in a hallway to eat outside the locker room.

I swing the door open. “Connor Henders, delivery.”

“A little early, aren’t you?” He steps out to retrieve his lunch.

“Sorry. I needed to take advantage of the monster’s feeding schedule.”

He peeks around the corner at her as she forces half the sandwich into her mouth. “I saw her ass up on the bleachers earlier.”

“Get back in there. You’re playing great. Keep it up. Hustle, hustle, sports stuff.” I throw up a few arm gestures, similar to what a cheerleader would do.

Unimpressed with me, he rolls his eyes as he backs away. “Oh, I forgot it’s my turn to host the team’s dinner tonight.”

“What?” Undeniable panic enters my voice. “How many?”

“Twenty-five.” He flashes a grin and secures sanctuary in the depths of the locker room.

Just fucking great.

We return to our seats as the team charges onto the court. They increase their double-digit lead with Connor hitting four three-pointers in a quarter. After he sinks the game-winning shot, he gives me a nod and a quick cheer move on his way out of the gym. Much better than my sad attempt.

The gym buzzes as one team’s fans swap out for another’s. Others stretch their legs in the half-hour break between games before settling back in.

Cate’s been uncharacteristically quiet, but she seeks my attention again, brushing the hair away from my face. She holds up my phone to take a picture. “Cal, make a happy face.”

I smile at her.

“Now a sad face.”

An exaggerated pout suffices with my lip jutted out and my forehead wrinkled.

She giggles. “Do a funny one.”

I continue to follow directions from my demanding photographer for a few more shots until her interest fades. She moves three benches higher and pretends to call her boyfriend on the phone. An interesting change from the “students” she usually calls when bored.

A brief reprieve from parental duties allows me to open my textbook and keep it open. Between feeding Connor’s team—they had all better like spaghetti—and Cate’s never-ending requests for attention, I won’t find another time to study until Sunday night when I get to campus. And given Lauren’s track record for showing up on time, the chances of me arriving before midnight are slim.

I finish my reading a few minutes ahead of tip-off and clear one item off my to-do list. A few loud clomps on the wooden seat warn of Cate’s approach.

She stops next to me and kisses my cheek. “You look beautiful,” she says.

My heart melts a little at her sweetness. “Awww. Thank you.”

“She says thank you,” she says into the phone. “You could? How? … Oh, no. I kissed her cheek.” She holds the phone away from her face and kisses my forehead.

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