It’s 8 in the morning on a Friday in May. I’m riding with my sister Debbie in a van driven by Otis Mellons, heading due east from Debbie’s apartment building in Alhambra, a Los Angeles suburb, to the offices of Debbie’s employer, Sisters Sportswear, located near the Alhambra/San Gabriel city line. Otis services all the plants in their offices. That explains the overwhelming earthy, organic aroma emanating from the back of the van. Bags of plant food, fertilizer, and potting soil surround every kind of office plant you can imagine: Philodendrons, Ficus, Ferns, various Palms, Rubber Trees, Corn Plants, and the always popular Weeping Fig.

“I can’t believe you live and work in LA and you don’t have your own car, Debbie.”

“You know I’m a terrible driver, Evie. Besides, Otis has been available to drive me to work on most days—”

“You’re lucky Otis just happens to live in your building AND waters the office plants twice a week—”

“He does more than just water the plants, Evie. Otis has a botany degree from UC-Riverside.”

“You never told me you had such a pretty sister, Debbie.” Otis turned to wink at me. “If you get this job, I’m thinking I might be available five days a week to drive you to work. Maybe I could show you around town on the weekends too.”

“The plants and potting soil coming along too?” I laughed.

“No,” he laughed nervously. “I’ve got an Acura I drive for personal stuff.”

“Richie drives a Nissan Z—”

“Richie who?”

“Never mind, Otis. It’s some baseball dude Evie broke up with just before leaving New York—”

“Debbie! Broke up? I wasn’t even dating him.”

“Richie Morrow? You dated Richie Morrow? Wow, he was named Pitcher of the Month in April. He could win Cy Young and Rookie of the Year in the same season! Why would you break up with him?”

“We weren’t really compatible.”

“How’s that?”

“Well, he’s a guy…”

Debbie pointed out the building to the left as Otis slowed down to enter the parking lot.

“We’re here, Evie. Ready for your interview?”

We thanked Otis for the ride and went around the building to go in through the front entrance. In the lobby, the security guard at the desk greeted Debbie as the VMS tablet scanned the QR code in the email invitation on my phone. Grabbing the visitor’s pass that was quickly printed out, I followed Debbie through the turnstile.

“Stop flirting with every guy you meet, Evie. It’s annoying.”

“I’m not flirting! I have no interest in Otis at all.”

“Well, he certainly seemed to be interested in you. Just stop it. Whatever it is you’re doing.”

“Hey, he just said he’d give us a ride every morning if I get this job. You should be thanking me.”

At that moment, just before the elevator doors closed, a young man in a business suit, carrying an attaché case, hurried in. He pressed a button for a floor above ours and turned to nod to us.

“Ladies. Nice day. Do you work at Sisters Sportswear?” He looked straight at me. I shrunk imperceptibly, backing into Debbie.

“Not yet. I mean, I’m interviewing today—”

“Well, I hope they give you the job. You’ll certainly brighten up my morning elevator ride if they do. I’m Kirk. You’re…”

“Her name is Evie. My name is Debbie.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him. The elevator opened onto our floor.

“Let’s go, Evie. It’s our floor. Nice to meet you…uh…Kirk.”

“My pleasure totally—” as the doors closed off the rest of his sentence.

“I think he’s new. Never seen him before. You know, he was staring lasers at me all the way up. I love a man in a nicely tailored business suit.”

“I don’t. Anyway, no one’s here yet, Debbie. Where is everyone? It’s past nine—”

“They’re pretty lax about the hours here. People stroll in whenever, they leave whenever. As long as they put in their 35 hours, not counting lunch. And we can choose to work a 4-day week if we want. So you work 8.75 hours a day instead of 7. Cool, right?”

The office was divided into cubicles, its perimeter lined with the office plants Otis maintained. The walls were emblazoned with cartoon portrayals of men and women playing a variety of sports from soccer to baseball to football to hockey to tennis and golf. A giant logo above the executive offices at the far end read: Sisters Sportswear – Sisters Are Doin’ It For Themselves.

Since my interview was scheduled for 10AM, Debbie and I wandered into the kitchen area, which turned out to be the size of a cafeteria, to have breakfast. There were a dozen tables with chairs for 40 or more. A handful of employees, all women, were munching away on stacks of pancakes and crackling bacon. There was a chef behind the counter, whistling a Metallica song. He turned around and waved at Debbie. When he saw me, he wiped his hands on his apron and approached our table.

“Debbie! Good morning! And who is this lovely young lady?”

“Oh, Lyle, this is my sister Evie. She’s interviewing for that marketing position.” Lyle shook my hand, placing his left hand on top of mine.

“Well, good luck, Evie. You’ll certainly be a lovely addition to our workplace. In the meantime, is there something special you’d like for breakfast? I can make some delicious breakfast tacos for you. Ten minutes max.”

“Yum. Sounds good. Thank you.”

“I’d like that too, Lyle,” Debbie called after him.

“I know what you like, Debbie. You’re a pop tart fan. I’ll put two in the toaster for you.”

“Just stop whatever it is you’re doing, Evie.”

“I’m not doing anything. I swear.”

I was sitting in Debbie’s cubicle outside her boss, the HR director’s office, shooting the breeze with her and Otis, who was making the rounds, watering the plants. Debbie and Otis were discussing the benefits of aspidistra as a house plant.

“It would be perfect for you. It tolerates neglect very well.”

“Is my sister neglecting something or someone else, Otis?”

“Well, let’s just say, I hope it doesn’t run in the family.”

“Drop it, buster. Evie doesn’t date…uh…guys…who…uh…you tell him why you don’t, Evie.”

I was about to answer when some young woman who I assumed was an executive assistant by her haughty demeanor suddenly appeared at the entrance to Debbie’s cubicle.

“Ms. Rivers? Evie Rivers. Not you, Debbie. If you’ll come with me. They’re ready for you.”

As we took a circuitous route to the executive offices, I noted that everyone, including my sister, the assistant, and everyone else in the place was dressed extremely casually: sweats, ripped jeans, t-shirts with various school or team logos front and/or back, and sneakers. I felt distinctly over-dressed in the white linen jacket and blue floral print dress I had bought just this week at Macy’s. Now I understood why Debbie looked at me askance when I finally came out of the bathroom after managing to not make my face up like a clown this morning. It wasn’t the mascara. But she didn’t utter a word.

At the door of the COO’s office, two women who I surmised were the eponymous sisters of Sisters Sportswear were just leaving. Misty and Christy Connors were two of the most famous and highly decorated female soccer players in North America if not the world. Born a year apart but looking nothing like twins, the Connors sisters were co-captains on two World Cup winning teams and a Gold Medal Olympic side. Misty, the elder, was a goalie; Christy was a striker. They stopped when they saw me approaching, slightly to the side of the assistant. Unsurprisingly by now, they were both wearing workout togs emblazoned with the logo for The California Surf, LA County’s women’s pro soccer club.

The assistant introduced me to them and returned to her desk. After shaking hands, I assumed they were going back into the office with me.

“Oh, no, dear. We’re heading out to the stadium. Practice starts in half an hour.”

“Oh, sorry for the brain fart. Debbie told me you owned The Surf. But, if you’re leaving right now, who am I interviewing with?”

“Our little brother Chuck, the COO. We leave all the hiring and business stuff to him. He’s really smart—”

“For a man, that is.” They both laughed. I smiled cautiously.

“All jokes aside, Chuck is a really good judge of character.”

“Yeah, you can’t believe all the applicants who falsify their resumes so they can work here.”

“Well, sis, after that write-up in Women’s Business Monthly, no wonder. We’re sizzling hot right now.”

“Good luck…Evie, is it? Maybe we’ll see you back here soon.” They walked briskly to the elevators. I waved but they never turned around to see. Knocking on the office door, I heard the clop-clop of what sounded like flip-flops approaching. The door swung open and I was met by Chuck Connors, looking like a member of a Beach Boys tribute band: wearing a gray Newport Beach t-shirt and khaki cargo shorts.

“Evie Rivers, I presume?”

“Chuck Connors, I presume?”

“Well, presumptions out of the way, have a seat while I peruse your resume. Debbie gave me a copy of it yesterday but I haven’t had a chance to look at it. Oh, you can toss me that nerf football. Unless, of course, you like sitting on prolate spheroids.”

I flipped the football to him. He deftly snatched it out of the air and tossed it onto the floor.

“Can’t say I’ve had much experience with prolate spheroids. Baseball’s my sport, as you can see on my resume.”

“MBA in marketing from Rutgers. Impressive. And yet you worked as an analyst-slash-coach for the NY Titans’ AAA affiliate in Somerset.”

“I pitched in high school but didn’t make the varsity in college—”

“Softball, right? I heard MLB was trying out women from softball to see if it can translate to baseball. So, why leave baseball?”

“Well, to tell you the truth, baseball left me. Seems the major league players weren’t too receptive to me telling them how to hit or pitch better.”

“Yeah, sucks that there’s so much anti-women bias in sports. With two older sisters in the industry, I see the hurdles they’ve had to jump over to be taken seriously as team owners and sportswear entrepreneurs.”

“Your sisters said they leave the business stuff to you. Do you have an MBA?”

“No such luck. On-the-job training all the way. I’m just starting to get the hang of the way this industry works. My background is in contract law. I was planning on becoming a sports agent when my sisters retired and decided to start Sisters Sportswear. Funny thing is I’ve never actually practiced law a single day. But knowing contract law does come in handy.”

“So you wanted to be a sports agent? You don’t look the type. You know, fast-talking, arrogant, ambulance-chasing personalities…”

“Honestly, I wanted to be a point guard in the NBA. I was on the varsity at UCLA.”

“Really? I’m not much of a college sports fan. Were you good enough to be drafted?”

“Drafted? No, I barely got off the bench. 12th man on a 12-man team. At least I got a free ride on my degree. Our parents made out pretty good. All three of their kids got full athletic scholarships. They took advantage too. Did a lot of world travelling when we were in school.”

I pointed to the framed photo on the wall. Chuck turned his head.

“The guy your sisters are groping. He’s not another brother, hopefully.”

“No,” Chuck laughed. “That’s Misty’s husband, Clark Ruskin. He owns the LA Drillers, you know, the new NFL franchise in town. Biggest investor in the company AND the soccer team.”

“How did he make his billions?”

“Waste management. I think he collects industrial trash and dumps it in some Nevada landfill. Must be legal. Or he makes regular payoffs to the local authorities—”

“You don’t seem to like him very much.”

“You’ll see for yourself. He makes infrequent visits to the office. Roving eye. I guess you’ve noticed that, besides me and our chef Kirk, there’s only 2 other men working for the company. Misty and Christy insisted on giving women preference for job opportunities. I’m sure you’ll appreciate that—”

“Uh…sure. There’s no such thing as over-compensating when it comes to giving women a fair shot when you consider all the discrimination—”

“Just last month, I interviewed someone for your prospective position. It turned out she was a he. Imagine that? Had me completely fooled! Then our HR department did some digging and sussed it out. Debbie is one heck of a detective. Phew! I almost hired her…uh…him. Can you believe someone would go to those lengths just to get a job?”

I shook my head and tried to look as puzzled as he did. I even let out a small giggle that sounded more like a burp.

“You had a few of Kirk’s breakfast tacos, didn’t you? I avoid those. Too early in the day for that shit. Pardon my French. Now, here’s what we do.” He reached into one of the piles on his messy desk and pulled out a handful of 8 by 11 sheets of paper. “These are sample sheets with the kinds of athletic wear we make. Some are generic, some are custom made.”

I looked at the pictures of the models and couldn’t help but gasp.

“That’s Debbie! She never told me she did modeling—”

“Misty and Christy thought she’d be perfect to model some of our lines. Excuse me for saying this but, honestly, I think you’re even prettier than your sister. If you get the job, you might consider doing some modeling for us too. Of course, you’ll get paid—”

“You’re joking, Mr. Connors.”

“No, no. You’ve got…”it.”

“Well, whatever “it” is, I can assure you Debbie’s got it, not me.”

“We can agree to disagree, no? Anyway, we’re trying to expand our business, grow our consumer base, develop relationships with the whole spectrum of pro sports franchises. But I’m not an idea guy. We need someone who’s got some clever ideas and knows how to market them. Have you thought about how a company like ours could grow?”

For the next 45 minutes or so, Chuck and I threw some ideas against the wall, so to speak. Some of them stuck, others slid to the floor, leaving a trail of brainstorming slime. Although Chuck paid close attention to my ramblings, he did look out the window wistfully several times. He struck me as very bright but, somehow, not fully committed to the business. A square peg in a round hole. No doubt he idolized his sisters but there was no sign that he loved making sportswear. Finally, he stood up and reached out his hand.

“I’ve never done this. Hiring someone before the interview is even finished. But, Evie, you’ve sold me. With your background in marketing and sports, you’re perfect for the position. I love some of your ideas. Can you start Monday morning?”

“Yes, yes, of course.” I jumped up from my chair and shook Chuck’s hand. “Thank you, Mr. Connors. I’m sure I’ll enjoy working here.”

“Call me Chuck. As you’ve probably already noticed, we’re all rather informal here. And one more thing, Evie?”

“Yes…Chuck.”

“You might want to dress a little more casually on Monday. You look nice in the dress but we want everyone on our team to be comfortable. Helps the mind loosen up. Okay?”

When I told Debbie Chuck hired me on the spot and would start Monday morning, she practically jumped into my arms, which made for an embarrasing display before I extricated myself from her grasp. She signed off her computer and tidied up her desk, slinging her purse over her shoulder.

“Come on, girl, let’s go celebrate with a Boujee lunch!” She grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the elevator.

“Whoa, Debbie. Aren’t you going to tell your boss you’re leaving early for lunch?”

“It’s Friday. I’m not even supposed to be here. 4-day week. Remember?”

In the elevator, I was reminded of the fact Debbie didn’t own a car.

“Are we catching a bus to this Boujee lunch?”

“Nah, Otis is waiting for us in the parking lot. He wanted to stick around just in case Chuck hired you on the spot.” Debbie grunted in unladylike fashion. “He never does that for me. It’s like a miracle when he agrees to pick me up once in a blue moon after work.”

“I’m sure the restaurant staff will get a good chuckle from seeing Otis drop us off in his van.”

“Oh, he’s having lunch with us. He’s paying. His treat. And then, after lunch, he’s taking us to the mall to go shopping!”

“Shopping?”

“Well, duh, you’re over-dressed for the office. It’ll be so cool. Shopping for clothes with my sister!”

“I’m your brother!”

“Shhh! Not anymore, sis. You’re a big girl now!”

---

Otis drove us to the Nordstrom Rack on South Figueroa in Downtown LA and insisted on following us around as we shopped. While we looked over all the casual clothing on sale and heavily discounted, Otis gave us a running commentary on the selection and placement of plants throughout the store. He asked one of the salespeople if the manager was available to discuss the topic. Sadly for Otis, the manager was not.

Dad had sent some money to Debbie’s Venmo account so, with nary a financial care, we campaign marched through the battlefield of Nordstrom’s casual wear department, achieving some hard-fought victories with cute outfits just perfect for the laid-back Sisters office.

Just before Debbie was ready to slam the door to our apartment shut on poor Otis, who had paid for our lunch, driven us around town and home, and ultimately carried the spoils of our shopping spree from his van to our doorstep, I thanked him profusely while shaking his hand. Impulsively, against my better judgement, I gave him a light peck on the cheek. His eyes lit up and he was about to say something when Debbie slammed the door in his face. She turned to me with an annoyed look.

“Stop it. Just stop it!”

“What? He was nice enough to buy us lunch and drive us—”

“That’s what guys are supposed to do, Evie. It’s in the instruction booklet. Girl, you’ve got so much to learn about being a woman.”

Debbie dragged me out of bed (I was sleeping on her couch for the time being) early Saturday morning. She had picked out an outfit for me to wear. Where were we going?

“I go to the Dog Park in the Arts District most Saturday mornings. You have 20 minutes to get ready. The buses in LA are few and far between especially on weekends.”

“Unless you’ve been hiding it in your room, I’m not aware that you own a dog. Why are we going to a dog park?”

“You’ll see. Vamos, vaga!”

“What?”

“That’s what Consuela used to say to me when I overslept on school days.”

We took two buses to reach the Arts District from Debbie’s building on Eastlake Avenue. The 78 to 1st Street & Broadway and then the 30 to 1st & Vignes. After half an hour on two buses, we still had to walk 10 minutes to arrive at the Dog Park. It was underwhelming. It looked like an empty lot, devoid of grass (for ease of clean up), smack dab in the middle of a warehouse district. There were a few dogs and dog owners scattered about. Debbie led us to a bench and handed me a pair of sunglasses.

“What are we doing here, Debbie?”

“It beats dating apps, Evie. You can see the quarry in the flesh. Think about it. Young, single, eligible artists who own dogs. It’s like manna from heaven. Talented AND sensitive!”

“You’ve never heard of starving artists, Debbie?”

“You’re a cynic, Evie. Look, he’s here again.”

“Who? Where?”

“That cute guy with the bulldog. I’ve seen him a couple of weekends recently. He’s always alone so he doesn’t have a girlfriend or wife.”

“Maybe he’s gay?”

“Shhh! He’s coming over.” Out of the side of her mouth, she half-whispered, “Don’t flutter your eyelashes at him.”

“We’re wearing sunglasses, Debbie.”

“Good morning, ladies.” He nodded at Debbie. “I’ve seen you here before.”

“And why haven’t you said hello before today?”

“I figured you were waiting for someone, like maybe your husband or boyfriend. Why come to a dog park if you don’t own a dog?”

I laughed and swung my leg at Debbie’s foot, striking her a glancing blow.

“Owww! I…love dogs. My landlord won’t let me keep a dog so I go to the park here to watch them run around, communing with nature—”

“You live nearby?”

“She lives in Alhambra.”

“That’s a long way to go to watch dogs run around. Aren’t there dog parks closer to home?”

“Better breed of dogs here.” I gave Debbie a side-eyed glare.

“And who is this?”

“That’s my sister. She just moved out here from Jersey this week. By the way, I’m Debbie. She’s Evie.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Juan.” He shook our hands. He held onto to mine extra-long. Debbie noticed. I felt Juan’s bulldog rubbing up against my calves. It wasn’t a particularly enjoyable sensation.

“Rico, stop that. I’m sorry, Evie, but he seems to have taken a shine to you. He’s usually pretty reserved when meeting new people.”

“Unlike my sister, I’m not much of an animal person. It kinda freaks me out when the little critters get touchy-feely.”

“Does that extend to critters of the human kind as well?”

“Are you flirting with my sister, Juan?”

“The only one who’s flirting here is Rico and I don’t think our species are compatible,” I joked.

“Are you an artist, Juan?”

“Well, Debbie, what makes you think that?”

“It is the Arts District,” Debbie said in an arch tone.

“I have no artistic talent at all. Can’t even draw a straight line to save my life. No, I’m an agent trainee in the Film & TV Department at CAA. I’m living in my brother’s loft on East 4th. He’s an animator for DreamWorks. You ever see Kung Fu Panda?”

“Do you represent anyone really big?” I asked.

“Well, the agent I’m training with handles Margot Robbie and Nicole Kidman. Lots of other TV actors as well.”

“My sister has done some modeling for the sportswear company where we work,” I nudged Debbie, who was pretending to be shy.

“Really, I can see why. You’re both very pretty. You don’t model, Evie?”

“No one’s ever asked.”

“If you’re interested, Evie, I could set up something with my boss. She’s always looking for new talent. Just get some headshots done. A couple of commercial shots and a couple feature shots. You probably don’t have a reel she could look at—”

“I have no idea what you just said.”

“It’s a little inside baseball for show business—”

“Baseball I know.”

“I can explain it to you. Maybe over dinner sometime?”

“Gosh, I don’t know. We’ve just met and you’re asking me out on a date…”

“Don’t think of it as a date. Think of it as career counseling. Take off your sunglasses, Evie.”

I did as he asked. He formed a frame with his hands and whistled.

“Oh, you’re special, Evie. My boss will jump at signing you up. I can’t believe you’ve never thought about acting. Here’s my card. Can I have your number as well?”

After perusing his card (it looked legitimate with the CAA logo embossed on it), I punched my number into his phone.

“We’ll talk. Right now, I’ve got to go. Taking Rico back home and then off to the health club for a racquetball match with Brick Lawson. He plays the pimp on NightTown, the hit show on GlobalNet. No, never seen it? You should catch it. Binge watch it!” The last part was shouted at us as he trailed Rico scurrying out of the dog park.

Debbie’s face was a burnt orange mask of irk. Is that a noun? I’m making it one.

“Even the stupid dog was trying to hump your leg. I’m not taking you to the dog park anymore.”

“I’m not doing anything. I swear.”

Otis drove us to work on Monday morning, my first day at Sisters Sportswear. After dropping us off in front of the building, he drove off almost immediately.

“Not even a goodbye, good luck on your first day?”

“Otis normally doesn’t drive me to work on Mondays. He’s got an early morning job in Santa Monica on Mondays. It’ll take him an hour to get there. He’s going to be late.”

“No wonder he booked it the second we got out of the van.”

“He didn’t even wait for his thank you kiss.” She rolled her eyes.

I was just about finished filling out all the forms they make you complete on your first day on the job. Every time I had to check the box for gender, I flinched, hoping Debbie wouldn’t get us both in trouble if and when they found out I was really a guy. But she assured me that she could handle it. I told her Chuck had mentioned the applicant who was found out—by her—just recently. She smirked and said if she didn’t want to find out, they’d have never known. Ipso facto, they’ll never discover the truth about me. I don’t think ipso facto means what she thinks it means.

“Evie?” The officious assistant was standing outside my small corner office. “There’s a meeting in Conference Room A in two minutes. Everyone’s supposed to come.” Before I could answer, she had disappeared. Now, where the heck was Conference Room A? And where was Debbie?

Luckily, there was a column of people marching toward the room in question. I just fell in line. When we entered the room, it was like no other conference room I’d ever seen. First of all, it was twice the size of a normal conference room. Secondly, there was no conference table, no chairs, and the floor was a green carpet with gridlines resembling a football field. In fact, that’s what it was: a miniature football field.

In the middle of the room, switching a nerf football from one hand to the other, stood Clark Ruskin, Misty’s husband, and part-owner of the company. Chuck was standing off to his left, his eyes meeting mine, a goofy smile on his face.

“Good morning, everyone. Chuck suggested I drop by to boost company morale.” There were scattered snickers. “I don’t come by often but when I do, I love to build some organizational unity by playing a little touch football with you all. Friendly competition and teamwork are the foundation of any thriving human undertaking. In sports and in business. Chuck, you and I will captain the sides. Since I’m not familiar with the football skills of everyone in the company, I will defer to Mei Ling, our super-efficient office manager—”

“Executive assistant, sir.”

“That’s right. Executive assistant. Sorry about that. Mei Ling will draft my team. Since my team won the last time, Mei Ling, please proceed with our first pick.”

“Evie Rivers, please stand next to Mr. Ruskin.”

“Wait. What? I’m not good at football. Believe me.”

“It says on your resume that you coached baseball for The New York Titans—”

“Oh, we’ve got a ringer. Good choice, Mei Ling.”

“Baseball not football, Mr. Ruskin.”

“Same difference. An athlete’s an athlete. I played lacrosse in college. Chuck here played basketball for UCLA. It’s all about eye-hand coordination. Stand here…uh…Evie.”

Reluctantly, I found myself standing next to Mr. Ruskin, looking across the “field” at Chuck, who was trying to cover up his giggling while simultaneously shrugging his shoulders in my direction. Within five minutes, both teams were chosen. Five against five.

The rules for Ruskin’s modified touch football game were pretty simple: two 15-minute quarters, 4 “downs” to try to score a touchdown, two hands were needed to qualify as a touch, the quarterback for each team had 5 seconds to throw the ball, and there were no punts, kicks, or runs with the ball.

Chuck won the coin toss and his team started the game. It took four passes but Chuck’s team scored a touchdown on a nice one-handed catch in the end zone by Janet, our webmaster.

“Evie, I’m going to throw a bomb to you on first down. Looks like you’re quicker than anyone on Chuck’s team. Line up on the right side, hold up for a couple seconds, then release and I’ll hit you on a fly route. Got it?”

I nodded. Mr. Ruskin clapped his hands together and we lined up. It took 5 Mississippi before he hoisted the nerf football my way. Just before I reached up over my left shoulder to catch the ball, Janet’s left hand passed in front of my eyes. I didn’t see the ball hit me on my left temple and I stumbled in the end zone, crashing into the white board at the far end of the conference room. A glancing blow on the head knocked the lights out for me.

When I opened my eyes, a minute or two later, everyone was standing around me. Chuck was cradling my head and looking to see if my eyes could focus. Mr. Ruskin had his hands on his hips, a look of concern on his face. Debbie was calling my name from somewhere to my right.

“Evie, Evie! Are you okay? You went limp for a minute there.”

“Richie? You gotta lay off those sliders down and away.”

“Who’s Richie?” Chuck asked Debbie.

“An old boyfriend,” Debbie answered.

“Hey, we still got three downs left. She’ll live. Let’s resume the game.” Mr. Ruskin clapped his hands and looked around at everyone.