“Good morning,” Amylee said. Oliver glanced at her. She furrowed her brow at the coffee, then looked over at him, lost, confused. “Oliver, something feels weird.”

The raccoon stopped, feeling a shiver run down his spine. “What kind of weird?”

“I… I don’t know,” she said. “We are all here. We are all healthy. You are actually Oliver Trashcat, yes?”

“I am,” Oliver said. Amylee had always been sensitive about their situation, but she always went with it, like they all did. But this felt urgent. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” Amylee repeated. “If you notice anything, will you tell me? Please?”

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It was the top of the sixth, the Hustle led 3-2, and Annabella Ewing’s socks were soaked. Olean had tripped the flood, a double breaking the levee in the outfield. The team climbed up on top of their dugout as the water burst into the arena, covering the field, sweeping away Hustle fielders who weren’t ready for the wall of water. They were fine, probably. They came back the next inning, anyway.

Annabella never signed up for this. She stood on the mound, the Levee full to standing room only, the crowd a frothing mix of Hustle and Flood fans, all screaming for blood.  One team was leaving with the trophy, and she was fighting as hard as she could to make sure it was the Flood.

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Oliver scanned over the players. Janet and Dash were both on the field. Janet pointed to Dash and said something, and Dash flipped her the bird, but he laughed, and she did too. It felt like them back on the field together, back when they were just the Leftovers, and Oliver’s heart ached. He looked away, off at nothing in particular.

“They miss you too,” Amylee said.

Oliver’s ears perked. “Oh! I wasn’t-”

“I watch everyone,” Amylee said. “That’s what I do, because I am always looking for weakness and strength. I notice when people are distracted. When they play us, your friends are always looking around the stadium, and they do not stop until they find you.”

Oliver pulled his jaw tight, his ears flattening out on his head.

“This is temporary,” Crasher said. “Whatever happened, you’ll get past it. There’ll be something to bring you guys back together. I’m sure of it.” They put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed.

Oliver nodded. He looked down to the field, at the players as they went back to their respective dugouts. Janet and Dash, separately, were looking up at the suites. Dash’s eyes landed on him, and he nodded up at Oliver. Janet looked where Dash was looking, and did the same, looking right at Oliver. He nodded back. The Leftovers left the field.

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Oliver could hear the fans before they even made it out to the dugout, the fans in the Levee chanting harder than they ever had before. Hal had them stand at the hall to the dugout.

“Listen to that,” he said to his team. “This is what you’re playing for. They’re the visitors, and they’re cheering louder than the home team. You’ve given them something to cheer for. Let’s not let them down!”

The Clark Avenue United cheered in unison, and they collected their gear and headed out to the field. Oliver did his best to concentrate. United versus the Flood. They were tied for wins, and it was down to the wire: whoever won this, the last game of the season, went on to the playoffs.

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They paused at a print of “The Great Wave off Kanagawa,” and Aston looked as if he was going to cry. It made Oliver smile — Aston was always full of surprises, and the genuine emotions he was showing warmed his heart. Aston and Mariya fawned over the print, and Oliver stood back, looking around, taking the chance to breathe freely. He glanced at Rammy, catching her watching Mariya carefully, her hands in her pockets, her shoulders down. Not tense, not closed off. He hadn’t imagined this when he followed Aston here.

“How are you doing, Oliver?” Rammy asked quietly, low enough that Aston and Mariya didn’t notice.

“Uh…?” Oliver said, suddenly feeling caught and exposed. “I don’t know.”

Rammy checked Aston and Mariya, who were moving on without them, and motioned over her shoulder with her head for him to follow in the opposite direction. Oliver nodded, and they stepped out of the exhibit, back into the halls of the museum.

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“Razija Hemon, Ultimate League Corkball game 31, Clark Avenue United at Lemp Poltergeist. I have stayed behind while the team travels to the stadium. If my hypothesis holds, when the team enters the visitor locker room, I too will enter the visiting team locker room. Current time on stopwatch is one minute and thirty-seven seconds.”

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