Maria laughs, and I finish my sandwich.
“Are you cheering today?” I ask. Her date is tonight, same with today’s game. It tends to run late. If our school wins, the guys will find a pub to celebrate or throw a party at the house of one of the super-rich jocks. She nods, I tense at her strained smile. The distance between us disappears. I dump my empty sandwich wrap in the brown paper bag, noticing her untouched lunch for the first time. “What about your date?”
My eyes zoom in on the field. I imagine the jocks throwing the ball and making a dash for the goal post. Ben was good at this, the top goalscorer for a long time. I picture Ben in his number 17 jersey, launching the ball in the air to give us the qualifying goal for the state championship. I was among those watching. It was our last
