Chapter 7: Rematch

The man in the cap didn't look away.

He lifted one hand off his knee and gave me a little wave, two fingers.

Hal saw where he was looking.

He saw me.

For a second I thought he'd get out of the car.

Instead he put it in reverse so fast the tires squealed on the painted concrete.

The white Mercedes swung past me and down the ramp.

I stood there with my keys digging into my palm until a security guard asked if I was lost.

"No," I said. "Just slow."

Three weeks is a long time when you're waiting for your own loss to air.

I worked doubles.

I hosted two Tuesday quizzes and didn't mention the show once.

My mother called a dozen times. Hal called twice. I didn't pick up.

Gannon didn't call at all.

That was fine. That was smart. That was what two adults with a stepparent problem should do.

I checked my phone for him about every four minutes.

Game 42 aired on a Tuesday night at seven.

Marva turned the TV up so loud the bottles rattled.

The regulars watched it like it was the World Series.

The two nurses screamed at my first answer.

The mailman cried at the Olympic question and pretended it was allergies.

When Gannon said, "Don't touch my things," the whole bar booed him.

When I said, "I'm only taking one," the whole bar stood up.

By midnight somebody had clipped that exchange and put it online.

By Wednesday morning it had four million views.

By Wednesday night it had nine.

People were making videos of themselves reading our lines. Somebody set my "Ask me something harder" to music.

The comments were half sports talk and half something else.

the way he looks at her

that's NOT how you look at your sister

stepsiblings to lovers arc, I'm calling it now

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