I think we were all too tired to be sad. We shook hands, bumped fists, congratulated the other team. We trudged back to the stands in silence, some guys with their arms across each other’s shoulders, others in Surrender Cobra.
Chip was staring at his toes, sort of kicking the ground with each step. His shoulders were slumped.
I hated seeing him like that.
I wasn’t sure why I did it—really, I wasn’t—but I hung back and, when he came close, I put my arm over his shoulder.
It was the kind of thing Sohrab did to me, when I was upset. Or when I was happy, for that matter.
Sohrab just did that kind of thing whenever. Like it was a thing guys could do.
And I supposed, if Chip really did like me, maybe it was weird and unfair to do that to him.
To touch him like that.
But in that moment, I really did want to be his friend.
“Hey,” I said.
“Hey,” he mumbled.
“Tough game.”
“Yeah.”
But he didn’t say anything else, and after a moment I got to feeling really weird.
Also, we were both super sweaty, and hot, and that made me feel a lot of things that I wasn’t ready to feel.
So I let Chip go and angled toward the stands, where Mom, Dad, and Laleh were waiting for me.
“You were awesome out there,” Dad said.
“We still lost, though.”
“Doesn’t matter. You played your hardest.”
“Thanks.”
“Gold star,” Laleh said.
I knelt down.
“Really? A gold star? Me?”
“Yeah.”
“Thanks, Laleh.”
Mom rested her hand on my shoulder.
“We’re so proud of you.”
“I guess.”
I ran a hand through my hair, which accidentally sprayed my family with sweat.
Laleh squealed.
