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The boy beamed, being careful not to touch the canvas. It hadn’t set yet, so the handprint could still be disturbed by another.
“My name’s Carler!”
“Hello, Carler,” Rane smiled. “It’s nice to meet you. Are you a fan?”
“Yeah! You’re so awesome! I’ve watched, like, all of your games! And that move you do?! With like the twist and the hya and then you spin and kick like wah!”
Rane could only smile as the kid did a very uncoordinated recreation of his moves. It was one of the greatest things he’d seen in a long time that wasn’t related to Sandy. This kid was gushing about him, and all he could think was how nice it all was.
The parents, seeing that he wasn’t fall down drunk or high out of his mind, approached cautiously. They gave him perfunctory, polite smiles, as the father put his hand on his son’s shoulder.
“We’re going to see your next home game!” Carlet declared, bouncing on the ball of his heels.
“Oh, yeah?” Rane beamed. “Well, in that case, can I dedicate my first goal to you? I usually give them to my mate, but I’m sure she won’t mind letting you have one.”
“No way!” Carler jumped up and down. “Yeah! That would be so awesome!”
“Where are you sitting?”
“Section twenty-three,” the mother said softly.
“Great.” Rane smirked. “I’ll point your way after my goal. You’ll know it’s for you!”
The boy let out a cry of excitement, babbling to his parents like they hadn’t just heard. It was really the smallest thing he could do, but Rane couldn’t recall the last time someone had been genuinely, innocently excited to watch him play.
The parents thanked him, pulling their ecstatic son away.
But, as if people had just been waiting for someone else to approach him first, more families began coming up and asking him for handprints as well. It was kind of bewildering. He was used to picture requests, but no one really wanted his handprint anymore. His mother also actively kept him away from younglings, saying that he was a bad role model, and she didn’t want bad press involving those underage – again, that was more bad PR she could potentially lose control over him for.
Sandy however, encouraged it. She gestured forward those who were young and shy. She promised concerned adults that neither of them minded when they expressed concerns that they were intruding.
Word got out quickly then. They only got to play a few more games, and between each one, they were swarmed by people asking for pics and handprints.
He gave them all. Smiling at everyone. Talking to them with reservation that turned into comfort then, eventually, genuine joy.
Rane knew he had fans. Even amongst everyone that called for his downfall, demanded he resign, calling him a has been and a weak player, there were, somehow, still those that insisted he was good and that he needed help. He didn’t know why they bothered. He certainly had never done anything for them before, so their devotion to him was baffling.
But the younglings didn’t know of his seedier exploits. Their parents shielded them from those. So all they saw was their favorite player, or a player from their favorite team, or even just a player from the current Levtiram trikball champions.
It was refreshing.
He’d never been swarmed by young fans. Or even fans that just wanted to wish him well and get pics instead of berating and chastising him.
Quite a crowd had gathered when Sandy got his attention by taking his arm.
He turned from the family he had been speaking to – all six of them wanted pics and were busy excitedly recounting the last game – and smiled at her.
She grimaced apologetically at the family. “Sorry. We have to go.”
“Already?” Rane asked, frowning. Had it already been a mark and half? He felt like they had just walked through the door.
“Afraid so,” she nodded, still looking at the family. “Sorry about this, but curfew is coming up. We have to get back home.”
“Curfew?” The father repeated, confused. “Oh, right, because… Oh…”
The parents glanced anxiously at him. As though concerned that he would be disturbed by what they had just realized. His adult guardianship wasn’t a secret. It was, however, something that others considered shameful.
But Sandy just nodded, smiling like nothing was wrong. “That’s right. Oh! But how about we give you five hundred credz to make up for it?”
