“Who?”
She turned Arthur’s head toward the scoreboard. On the video screen, a giant black raven mascot wearing a purple jersey was running up and down the sidelines, pumping up the crowd.
“Oh, Poe, Raven. I get it. Jeez, they really leaned into this whole motif, didn’t they?”
“I’ve always wanted to meet him. Shake his wing,” Wren said wistfully, almost starstruck. There was not so much as a hint of irony or sarcasm in her voice.
“So why don’t we?”
She laughed like it was an idiotic question. “You don’t just ‘meet Poe.’ He’s very hard to get to.”
Of course. Some people were just untouchable. Taylor Swift, the Rock, and Poe.
“Let’s freaking go, boys!” Wren yelled out as the kickoff team took their place on the forty-yard line and the kicker positioned the ball on the tee, ready to start the game.
“Why’s the kicker so far away from everyone else?” Arthur asked. He’d rarely watched closely and, seeing it all in person now, was incredibly confused.
“It’s the new rule.”
“But why?”
“So there are fewer injuries or something.”
The crowd roared as the kicker launched the ball off the tee and into the air. A Commanders player caught it and chargedforward, the Ravens players now sprinting full speed looking to take him down.
“Huh. So they’re trying to make the game safer?”
“Yeah, isn’t that great— YES, GET HIM! KILL HIM! TAKE HIS HEAD OFF!”
Arthur couldn’t help but notice a few heads turn in their direction, a few furrowed brows.
“First and ten, Washington,” the PA announcer mumbled. Arthur sat down as the Commanders offense jogged onto the field.
“What are you doing?” Wren said.
“Sitting? My legs are tired.”
She looked at him, silently reminding him of the golden rule. Thou shalt not complain to the pregnant woman about aches and pains, and if you do, you’d better be dying.
“You don’t sit.” She hoisted him back up. “Especially not when the other team is on offense. Your job is to scream and make their job as difficult as possible. Like you’re the twelfth man on defense.”
He groaned. “And you have to do this the entire game?”
“Yes.”
“So when do we sit in the seats that we paid for?”
“Ideally, we don’t.”
“OK, makes sense.” The Commanders quarterback fired a short pass that fell incomplete.
“TAKE THAT WEAK SHIT BACK TO DC!” Wren yelled. Another incomplete pass on second down. “YEAH, YOU SUCK! THIS IS WHY YOU DON’T HAVE CONGRESSIONAL REPRESENTATION! Oh, look, they’re panning to the crowd.”
She pointed to the massive video board that stretched theentire length of the opposite end zone. On it, close-ups of fans around the stadium: a shirtless kid with his body painted Ravens colors. Pan to: a guy who looked straight out of Mad Max with spiky purple armor. The crowd went wild for them.
“What exactly is your plan?” Arthur asked.
“What do you mean? I’m passionate, pregnant, and adorable. I’m a shoo-in.”
