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I freeze in my tracks, heart pounding, nerves rising, gut rolling.

The girl skips over and hugs me around the middle—not even a hello first.

“Oh,” I grunt with the collision. “Um, hi, there.” My hands flail—I’m unsure what to do with them. I’m getting fearful that her hug will never end when I lower my hand and give the girl a quick pat on the back.

She loosens her arms around me. “I didn’t see you at field day,” she says. “And Miss Andrews said you were sick.” Her eyes widen. “She was nice, and third grade was okay. But I still like second best.” She grins, a tooth missing on her bottom row. “It’ll always be my favorite.”

“That’s so nice.” My throat swells. I want to cry, and I’m not even sure why except that I’m being bombarded by strangers. But it’s not even that. I don’t understand why I feel so sentimental toward a little girl I don’t know.

“Hello, Miss Conrad,” the girl’s dad says.

“You’re here to watch the game?” the girl says. Then she nods, answering the question for me. “Me, too. Dad said he’d buy me a Lucca Cruz jersey.” She bounces her brows once.

“That’s really fun,” I tell her. “I’m—I’m so glad I saw you.”

“Me, too.” She hugs me once more around the middle. “I love you, Miss Conrad.”

People are just coming out of nowhere to tell me that these days. What in the world?

“Let’s get that jersey, Millie,” her dad says. “Kickoff is in ten minutes.” He nods my way.

“Bye!” Millie croons with a wave.

I watch her go, my thoughts at this strange crossroad: I can’t escape anyone, and that girl was my student. She loved me. I taught her something and made her year special.

It’s a strange sensation. My heart thumps like a jackhammer and my breaths come a little more ragged, but it isn’t awful. It’s been worse—so much worse.

Still, I stop at the next stand and, as if I were Zendaya attempting to hide in plain sight, I buy a Red Tails baseball cap and throw it on my head. If only I had sunglasses, surely I could hide from all the strangers who know me.

I find section D without any more incidents. My hat is doing the trick. In fact, when I walk down to that front row to find Fran, she doesn’t even notice me at first.

“No,” she’s saying to someone next to her. “That’s the same day as Callum’s family’s summer garden party.”

Okay, not someone, but the blonde with the baby. Stella and Ivy are here. There’s a brunette on the other side of Stella. She sees me first, and by the way her eyes land and don’t leave, and by the way she pinches Stella next to her, I know that she knows me.

Crap.

Why did I come again?

Why did I think Fran would be all by herself? That we’d be able to talk, that there would be room for me and Zev and we’d have this special introduction and moment. That I’d feel somewhat normal for a second.

I suppose Zev and I can go up to our cheap seats if he ever gets here.

“Fran,” the brunette says, calling attention to my bestie, but she’s still looking at me.

Fran turns around and gasps when she sees me. “Rosalie!” Her arms wrap around me, pulling me in and squeezing me tight. With both hands on my shoulders, she steps back. She tries and fails to hide the tears in her eyes. “I can’t believe you’re here.” She shakes her head as if remembering that we aren’t alone. “Oh, um, Rose, you know Stella.”

I nod. “Hi.”

“And this is Maggie.” She points to the brunette, who clearly knows who I am.

Cute Maggie with freckles on her cheeks and the most fabulous eyelashes ever holds out a hand to me. It’s awfully sweet of her, seeing how her expression completely gave away that we know one another.

“Hi,” she says. “So glad you could make it.”

“Thanks. Um, is there room for me? I have a ticket for a different seat. I can always⁠—”

Fran loops her arm through mine. “There’s always room for you.”