Her perfect wall calendar meticulously filled out with—I stop to stare at it, hand drifting up to touch it. Ro’s been to every home game we’ve played, and now I know why. My finger grazes the black writing—all my games are written out on their respective dates. “Oh,” she says. She blushes, realizing what I’m staring at. “Yeah, I just… I don’t wanna miss one, ya know? So I marked them all down.” I can’t swallow, throat tight.
