We stare at the cheerleaders, doing their booty-shaking dance. It’s strange, for the first time in my life, to be sitting beside someone who knows what I’m looking at is not the flounce of Janna’s flaring skirt, but Adam’s rippling arms and chest as he raises her overhead. He’s looking up her skirt, exposing a column of muscled throat and shoulders like boulders. He wears stretchy leotard pants that leave little to the imagination.
“I was never into team sports,” I admit. As a player, I mean. But athletes have great bodies and I’m content to watch them move and bounce. When I used to come with Alex, he would always want to talk about the game. Matt and I sit in near silence, watching.
“That’s because you’re honest,” he answers. Our team runs back onto the court, and we rise, waving our arms along with the cheering crowd.
“What?” I don’t get it.
The echoey bounce of the basketball resumes. The squeak of sneakers.
“Being on a team makes people feel like they’re in it together,” Matt says. “But really everyone is alone.”