She pressed her hands to her ears and cried out as a platoon of uniformed men rushed toward her. She was frozen to the spot while the Stars’ player carrying the ball charged toward her. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. The crowd went wild as he raced toward the sidelines pursued by a pack of white-and-orange-clad monsters from hell. She saw that he couldn’t stop—he was going to run right over her—but she couldn’t save herself because her knees had locked. At the last moment he swerved and charged into his teammates on the sidelines.

Her heart was in her throat, and she thought she was going to faint. Fumbling with the catch of her tiny shoulder bag, she groped inside for her rhinestone sunglasses, nearly dropping them as she clumsily slipped them on for protection.

The first quarter ticked by with agonizing slowness. She could smell the players sweat, see their sometimes dazed, sometimes crazed expressions, hear their shouted obscenities, one profanity after another until repetition had stripped even the filthiest of words of any meaning. At some point, she realized she was no longer standing there because she had been told to, but as a test of strength, her own private badge of courage. Maybe if she handled this challenge, she could begin to handle the rest of her life.

Never had seconds felt more like minutes, minutes more like hours. Through the corner of her eye, she watched the Star Girl cheerleaders in their sleazy gold costumes with blue spangles, and applauded whenever they did. She dutifully clapped as Bobby Tom caught one pass after another against what she would later hear described as a strong Broncos’ defense. And more frequently than she liked, she found her eyes straying to Dan Calebow.

He paced the sidelines, his dark blond hair glazed by the bright sunlight streaming through the center of the dome. His biceps stretched the short sleeves of his knit shirt and veins throbbed in his muscular neck as he shouted out instructions. He was never still. He paced, raged, bellowed, punched the air with his fist. When a call late in the quarter angered him, he yanked off his headset and began to charge the field. Three of his players leapt from the bench and physically restrained him, their response so well orchestrated she had the feeling they’d done it before. Even though this team was legally hers for the next few months, she knew that it belonged to him. He terrified her and fascinated her. She would have given anything to be that fearless.

The whistle finally blew, signaling the end of the quarter. To everyone’s surprise, the Chicago Stars were tied with the Broncos, 7-7.