Laura tugged off her swimsuit and wondered if it was weird to be so excited about watching a baseball game while eating chips and dip. Throughout her teenage years she’d watched her friends go nuts about proms, dances, house parties, and other social events. She’d join them to get ready and be mildly amused by all the clothes and makeup and tissues in bras. Laura wasn’t antisocial; she went to everything and had a reasonably good time. But she didn’t like drinking or smoking pot, and she really, really hated drama of all kinds. While her friends seemed energized by scandals and intrigues and romances, she got a stomachache and the urge to run for miles. Her happiest times were spent at Yankee Stadium with her grandmother, or curled up in front of the TV, yelling at the game. Her parents ignored her sportiness as long as she was the best at whatever she was doing and kept her grades up, much as other parents ignored occasional drunkenness or a deep and abiding commitment to Korean boy bands. She’ll grow out of it, they assured themselves, she’ll narrow in on an area of academic study and all this running around and sweating will fade away. It hadn’t.

When she came out of her room, she nearly ran into Bob, who was on his way back from the kitchen carrying a tray and hurrying to return to the game. She opened his bedroom door for him, and the two of them sat on the sofa and gazed at the score.

“I was out of the room for four minutes,” said Bob. “How did I miss two home runs?”

“They’ll replay it,” said Laura confidently. She reached for a chip and dipped it, looking at the score. “I’m amazed the score is this close, the Phillies have been having a terrible season.” She laughed, and popped the chip into her mouth. “The second game against the Rays was mortifying, but that’s what happens when you play small ball against a big team, right?”