Page 142 of Glitched Play

A league where anyone with enough skill could wear a professional jersey. There’s old and young, men and women competing. One woman, Mary Beth, who competes for the Dillos is in her sixties. She told the sports reporter before the event that she had four sons and always had to play with the youngest because the others went off to college.

Sadness washes over me for a brief moment. I shake it off and watch Maci instead.

Now, she's kneeling beside one of the younger volunteers, straightening the credential hanging around her neck because it twisted backward. The girl says something, and Maci laughs—not loudly, not for attention. Just enough that the little girl's nervous expression disappears.

When she stands, she brushes a strand of silvery-pink hair behind her ear.

She does that when she's concentrating. She also taps the edge of her clipboard exactly twice before moving to the next task.

She thanks people by name, after hearing them once and she smiles when they voice their problem as if she expects people to succeed. Those details I hadn't noticed until now.

For several minutes, I simply watch her move through the pavilion.

She isn't the loudest person or most experienced in event structure and planning, yet somehow every conversation leaves people smiling a little wider than before.

Sutton was right. Leadership isn't always the person giving directions. Sometimes, it's the person everyone unconsciously walks toward.

The realization settles quietly inside me.

When did I stop evaluating her work?

At some point over the last few weeks, I'd crossed an invisible line.

I wasn't watching to see whether she'd earned the position anymore.

She already had.

Now, I’m watching because I liked seeing her succeed.

That distinction feels important. I'm just not entirely sure why.

A burst of applause erupts from the arena as the Dillos score another touchdown. The giant scoreboard flashes team colors while confetti cannons fire test bursts near the ceiling in preparation for the championship presentation.

The crowd surges to its feet.

I barely notice. Why?

Because across the pavilion, Maci throws both hands into the air after another production cue lands perfectly. She turns in a small circle, searching for someone to thank, completely unaware she's smiling wide enough for me to see it from fifty yards away.

Something unfamiliar settles beneath my ribs. It’s quiet and steady. Like discovering a variable I never thought to include in the equation and suddenly the code works as intended.

For years, I believed the success of an event could be measured by numbers.

Attendance.

Revenue.

Viewership.

Engagement.

Today, standing at the edge of a pavilion built from an idea that once existed only inside my head, I realize I've spent the last hour measuring something entirely different.

Her and the joy she brings to life has become my favorite statistic.

I don't realize how long I've been standing there until someone clears his throat beside me.

"You know the game's over there, right?"