Then we’re watching the main event. It starts out much better than many previous games. There’s some coordination going on. There’s even some passing of the puck going on. We make it through the first eight minutes without a penalty call. Hooking. Two minutes for our team. I sigh.
“What’s that mean?” Skylar asks. She mimics the hand movements of the ref.
“That’s the hand signal for the penalty,” I explain. “They called it hooking, which I think has something to do with one of the players using their stick against another.”
She frowns. “Total yrnth.”
Paul nods solemnly. I might not have guessed that Paul and Ellie knew Skylar and her parents, but then again, I’ve gathered from both that they’ve lived in the building for quite some time. Ellie makes a point of knowing her neighbors and everyone else in the building. It certainly appears that they’re familiar with each other.
We’re all on the edge of our seats whenever Julian gets the puck. He makes many attempts at goal, and when they call one not a goal, I think it’s a mistake. But the very next play, he makes one that can’t be contested.
It’s a good feeling, cheering with other people around. Our excitement vibrates through the air as wewhoopand holler. It makes the celebration all the more fun when you can share it with someone else.
I send Julian a text, telling him I’m so proud of him and that we screamed for a solid minute.
Shortly after, the game went to intermission with a score of 2-1, Nashville.
“They have plenty of time to catch up,” Paul says.
“And we have plenty of time to refill our plates,” Ellie adds.
“Yes!” Skylar jumps to her feet, and we follow her back into the dining room. “I love all of this. Everything is amazing. My parents have taken me to get Indian food before, but it’s nothing like this.”
“Either it’s not authentic or they have a different style,” I tell her. “Different regions of India cook the same dish, but slightly differently.”
“Ohh, I didn’t know that.”
“It’s like American barbecue,” Paul says. “The south, the north, the east, and the west—everyone has a different style and they all say theirs is the best when really, it’s all about your palate and what you like.”
“And what you grew up with,” I say.
“There’s a Pakistani girl who just moved in on the third floor,” Ellie says. “She sometimes opens a form to order food boxes, and she’ll make you a meal. We had our first one the other day, and it was amazing!”
“Really?” Skylar asks. “How do you know that?”
“There’s a flyer on the community board in the lobby,” she says, grinning. “You learn a lot when you read the bulletins posted on the community board.”
“Huh. I’ll make sure my mom looks so we can order next time.”
I nod. “I’ll see if Julian wants to as well. That sounds good.”
“She’s a wonderful young lady. Very beautiful. Very quiet. She’s here as a student. We talked to her for a while when we picked up our food boxes. She does so with permission from the condo board, and this way she can earn money between her studies,” Paul says.
“She has a family in Pakistan,” Ellie says and leans forward like she’s going to tell us a secret. “A husband and young daughter.”
Skylar looks at me with wide eyes. I’m pretty convinced she’s exaggerating her expression for Ellie’s benefit. “Really?” she asks as she picks up her tray to return to the living room. “Darnsh flah!”
“What does that mean?” Ellie whispers as Skylar disappears.
I shrug. “No idea. I pick up context cues from her tone and the conversation most of the time. Disbelief, maybe?”
We join Skylar again with twelve minutes left in the break.
“There are three condos open on the second floor,” Ellie tells us as we take our seats again.
“That’s a lot for one floor,” Skylar says, her eyebrows puckered. “Why do you think they’re open?”
I can tell that Ellie is enjoying someone taking a keen interest in what she knows about the people in the building. Skylar is always inquisitive. Her mind is always moving. Constantly asking questions.
