Chapter 7: The Sign in the Bleachers

The district semifinal was at the home gym on Friday night, and the bleachers were full an hour early.

I sat in the front row at the end, behind the bench, with Grandma's afghan folded over my knees.

Nobody had asked me to move there.

The booster club mothers had simply left the seat open and then pretended not to look at it.

Blaine came in at tip-off.

He had his boots on and a clean navy jacket, and Leah walked beside him with a rolled-up poster under her arm.

They climbed to the third row on the home side and unrolled it.

It was bright pink poster board, three feet wide.

It said, in glitter, GO KENZIE!! OUR SENIOR MANAGER!!

Below the words someone had pasted a photo of Kenzie at about nine years old, holding a basketball bigger than her head.

A man behind me muttered, "You've got to be kidding."

Down on the floor, Kenzie looked up and saw it.

She was at the scorer's table with her headset on.

I watched her whole face close.

The first quarter was ugly.

Maxine missed two layups and turned the ball over once.

Stefan stood on the sideline with his arms crossed and said nothing.

"Breathe," he called to her at the first timeout.

That was all.

She breathed.

In the second quarter she hit a three from the left wing, then another from the top.

The home crowd found its voice.

Up in the third row Blaine was clapping.

He held the pink sign up with both hands whenever the camera swung.

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