The first problem with travelling for the championship was that my mother treated a two-night school trip as though I were moving abroad. By six on Friday morning, she had checked my suitcase twice, added medicine I hadn't asked for, packed enough snacks for three people and reminded me four separate times not to leave my competition folder on the bus. I was seventeen, travelling with two teachers and eight other students, and going only a few hours away, but none of those facts seemed to matter. I let her fuss because arguing would have taken longer. By the time the school bus pulled away from Westbrook, I had a container of sandwiches balanced on my lap, a neck pillow I had specifically said I didn't need, and three messages from Luca.
His game was the following afternoon, almost exactl
