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She unrolls her blanket and stretches across the two people sitting between us. “My daddy says it’s nice to share.”

My heart melts into a little puddle.

I accept the hot-pink offering. When I unroll it, I see a bunch of Hello-Kitty cartoons over the fabric. It might not exactly be my taste, but itiswarm.

“Thank you,” I say. “What’s your name?”

The two people between me and the little girl scoot back to facilitate our conversation.

“Gordie.”

“Gordie? Is that short for something?” I ask.

Everyone in our vicinity gasps.

The woman in the row behind us shoots me the stink eye.

Rebel smacks my arm. “It’s for Gordie Howe. As in ‘Mr. Hockey’?”

I stare blankly at her.

“He pretty much invented the Gordie Howe hat trick?”

I got nothingis what my stilted expression says.

Rebel throws her hands up with a disappointed sigh.

“Well, thanks anyway, Gordie.” I tell her, settling the blanket on my lap.

“Oh, you had a blanket?” A haggard voice sounds above me.

I look up.

Bobby is bent over our row, panting with enough force to crack a rib bone. He grips the back of a chair.

“Chance…” he gasps, “wanted me…” he sucks in a breath, “to bring you his jacket.”

I blink pensively. “Are you okay, Bobby?”

“Yeah. Just…” He straightens and stretches his back. “Not as sprightly as I used to be. Anyway, can you take this? I need to go help Max.”

“Sure. And I’m sorry about all this, Bobby.”

He waves away my words and stumbles up the stairs like a drunken deer at midnight.

The stares, this time, are ten times more judgmental than when I walked in wearing a bright red dress.

I sink lower in my seat.

The spectators at the beginning of the row pass Chance’s jacket down to me.

I hear someone mumbling,“Who is she? A princess?”

“This is why I’m never getting a girlfriend. You just turn into their slave.”

“Like you could ever GET a girlfriend.”

The comments get fainter and fainter until the jacket finally lands in my lap.