I kept my eyes on the basketball hoop at the far end of the court.

The white rope net was frayed at the bottom, hanging by four plastic loops from the rusty iron rim.

“She keeps track of every nickel,” Rory added, louder now, leaning closer to my ear.

“Have her check her budget pad.”

No one said anything on the bleachers around us.

The mother with the clipboard turned a little, her eyes falling to the worn handle of my purse.

Rory jingled the keys in his coat pocket, a quick metallic rattle that went on for seven long seconds while the meeting carried on.