“Well, this might take the rest of the day,” Ryder says, and I can’t stop the disappointment from rolling through me, knowing she’s right.
I want to go back to having fun.
“Let’s enter the drawing for the mural before I tackle the line.”
She nods and follows me to a large painted canvas of the stadium.
“This is. . .unique,” Ryder says, eyeing the piece as I hand over my credit card to a teen who gives me a handful of little paper tickets to fill out.
Her head falls to the side, studying it. “I’ve never seen anything like that look so. . .elegant and clear. I mean. . . ” She spins, looking at the stadium and then back at the canvas. “It looks like the real deal.”
“Yeah. Jenkins was an art major. He’s crazy talented. You should see some of the other pieces he’s painted in previous years.”
I finish filling out tickets, and we head toward the long line waiting for me.
“Cole,” Mindy rushes forward, and Ryder casually steps in her path, preventing her from making physical contact. “We’ve got to get you started. The line is getting out of control, and if they’re waiting, they aren’t spending money, which means less will be raised.”
She spins frantically, leading us toward the signing area.
I glance at Ryder, whose eyes are already moving down the line of people, looking for anything suspicious.
Mindy stops in front of the roped-off corner and turns to Ryder. “Sorry, there isn’t room for you in the greeting area. You can wait over here or—”
“She’s with me.” I take Ryder’s hand, and Mindy appears as if I’ve struck her. “There’s plenty of room.” I push by her and around the barriers, ignoring her directions.
I greet fans as Mindy ushers them forward one by one to sign merch and take pictures. Ryder sticks close, evaluating every interaction and only casually intervening when a fan gets touchy.
About a quarter of the way through the line, Rodney, my number one fan, as Ryder calls him, steps forward, holding his usual football and jersey for me to sign.
“Hey, man,” I reach for the ball and scribble my name on the side.
Ryder inches closer as Mindy takes Rodney’s phone.
“I got here early and rode all the rides so I could get in line,” he says, quickly rocking from one foot to the other.
“What do you do with all these?” I’m genuinely curious. I’ve probably signed at least a few dozen for him.
“I keep them or give them to my friends. I have all your jerseys. Even the one from your freshman year. I have a few of The Rockets, too. I loved to watch him play. Still do sometimes.”
“Ok, guys. Smile,” Mindy says, and we turn toward the phone.
She snaps a few pictures, then returns his phone to usher him out, but he resists. He reaches behind him, and in a flash, Ryder’s shoulder slams into my chest, her body becoming my shield, while whatever was in Rodney’s hand soars in the air like a rogue missile.
I stumble back, gripping Ryder’s hips to steady myself, and Mindy huffs in irritation as she does the same.
“Seriously!” Mindy whines in annoyance.
Rodney stands slack-jawed and wide-eyed, his focus on Ryder. “You’re like Cat Woman. I didn’t even see that coming.” His eyebrows slowly retreat to a normal level. “Are posters not allowed?” he asks as if he’s been scolded for bringing inappropriate material to school.
Ryder’s body sags against mine as Mindy retrieves the rolled paper and hands it to him.
Rodney unravels a worn picture of my dad and me. “Can he sign this?” he asks innocently, looking to Ryder for approval.
It’s one of the last few pictures taken before he retired. I’m in my high school jersey, and he’s in the last one he ever wore.
Ryder lifts her chin, her eyes flicking between mine. “You ok?”
I nod, and she steps to the side, leaving no space between us this time.
