Dez looked at the signature for a long time.
"Okay," he said.
That was all. Not *thank you,* not a hug. He slid the form back into the sleeve and zipped it into the backpack and went back to the notebook. She understood that she had not been forgiven. She'd been given a receipt.
Over at the window, Walter didn't turn around. But she saw him take his glasses off and press his thumb and finger against his eyes, and she looked away to let him have it.
---
The Queen City Showcase was held in an air-supported dome in Cheektowaga, eight courts under white fabric, so loud with whistles and sneakers that you had to put your mouth to someone's ear. Renita sat in folding bleachers with a coffee going cold and watched her son play three games in his old black shoes, with a white strip of glue showing at the left toe.
She made herself watch him the way Amari had apparently watched him, the way Dez had. She saw that he was not the fastest on the floor, or the strongest, and that he would never be the one the coaches with clipboards leaned forward for. She saw a stranger in a Hobart College polo write something down when Jalen took a charge and popped up clapping. And she saw, for the first time in maybe three years, that her son was happy out there. Not performing. Happy. He laughed after a missed layup. He pointed at a teammate after an assist as if he'd been given a present.
Between games her phone buzzed from Pittsburgh.
Walter wasn't a texter. He typed with one finger and signed every message like a letter. *Qualification match 3. Won 88-61. Gear is holding. Dez called the auto start. Hector says hello. — Dad.*
Then a photo, slightly blurred: a convention hall the size of an airport hangar, blue carpet, a dozen fields under hard white light, and in the foreground Dez in safety glasses and a Lake Effect T-shirt with the controller in his hands, mouth open, shouting something.
Then: *Match 6 lost. Our partner tipped over. Not his fault. — Dad.*
Then, at 4:50 p.m.: *Final ranking 7th of 36. The number 2 team picked us for their alliance. Eliminations tomorrow 10am. He is very calm. I am not. — Dad.*
She looked at that photo longer than she watched the fourth game.
That night, at a Tim Hortons off the Thruway, Jalen ate a chili bowl and two donuts and said, not looking up, "Hobart guy talked to me. And somebody from Clarkson. They both said summer camp."
"I saw. Baby, that's wonderful."
"It's good," he said. "It's real." He pushed the cup around. "Pittsburgh's three and a half hours."
"I know how far Pittsburgh is."