“Really?”

“No. It sucks.”

She was uncomfortable, she didn’t believe him. Nina was too smart for lies. “Is something wrong, Ronny?”

“No. It’s just I work Saturday afternoon and night, you know?”

She sighed. “Well, I know how that is. What do you want me to tell Ben?”

“Nothing. I mean, I’ll probably call him.”

“Probably?” She laughed. “This is my brother we’re talking about, Ronny, do you want him breaking into your house to find out what’s going on?”

He tried to laugh; but it hurt so much, the thought of Ben and Kathy again. “Listen, I have to go. I’m really sorry for the trouble. Tell Kathy hello for me.”

He hung up the phone. It was more than he could take. He must have started hoping, this hurt so deep. He had liked Kathy, she was smart, she was the girl who maybe would be good for Ben. But the idea of it, now. He sat still for a long time. His stomach was hollow, he felt as if he would fly apart if he had to sit still. He picked up his backpack, shoved a book into it, grabbed the ticket at the last second, ran down the stairs and out the door. Images of Ben with Kathy tucked under his arm. Who was your best girl? Maybe Kathy, he had said.

Ronny was walking, but not toward the campus. Because he couldn’t bring himself to miss the game. To the bus station. An hour later he was on the way to Durham on Continental Trailways. Looking out the window, trying not to think, bar after bar, strip malls end on end, fast food, a scattering of old houses that nobody had bought or torn down yet. The bus smelled of piss. The bathroom door banged open and closed. An old lady with ringworm on her shoulder, sleeping. A fellow with the lower part of his arm missing. Two girls popping chewing gum, talking about somebody they knew. Sitting still made him crazy, he couldn’t shut off the thinking. When the bus arrived he burst through the door. He had cash for a taxi to the stadium. By early afternoon he was walking through the gates of Wallace Wade, ticket in hand, concentrating on the faces around him, the shapes of hats and sunglasses, women in their sweater wraps, stout men wearing fake athletic jackets. Beat Duke, he thought.

In the crowd he lost himself, waiting near a concessions area until just before kickoff, approaching the seat number assigned to him, counting down the row till he saw them, Nina with her dark hair tangled over her shoulders, Kathy copper haired, cut short and practical, smiling, the two of them with their heads together, surrounded by other Carolina fans. He was close enough to see them and recognize them but only because he knew where to look; he climbed past them, to the top of the stadium, where he stood against the back barricade. An usher came up to him, asked, “Do you need help finding your seat?” Bright as the day was, the usher used a little flashlight to check his seat number, told him where it was, and he nodded.