. . . salute her

. . . And then it was her name they called.

From far up near the top of the stadium bleachers, I watched her face turn from polite attention to confusion, embarrassment, pleasure.  But the rest of the crowd were not watching her.  They were watching their own.  Each young face the locus, the focus of a highly partisan party of supporters. . . .
.
[story: “rutherford cup“]
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