Chapter 213: On The News
SEDONA
Maria had told me it would go live at nine.
I was in the kitchen at eight fifty-three, which was not a coincidence. My mother was at the stove doing the morning thing—the particular industry of a woman who processed the world through feeding it—and my father was at the table with his newspaper, and I was sitting with my phone face-up on the counter and a cup of tea I was not drinking.
Eight fifty-nine.
My mother glanced at me. Said nothing. Went back to the stove.
Nine o'clock.
I picked up the phone.
The circuit's official page had refreshed. The competitor list for the Chicago bracket sat at the top of the feed—a clean graphic, names and photographs arranged in the format I'd seen on other announcements, the professional design of something that had
