Chuck's not much of a conversationalist. Or maybe he's figured out that I couldn't name a single professional baseball player if my life depended on it. Either way, he doesn't say a word to me. And I, panicked and confused as I am, don't say a word to him. I feel like I should comment on the game, to at least try to make this work, but I know that I'll reveal my lie as soon as I open my mouth. And all I can think about is how Roman is watching me, waiting for me to make my move. The pressure ...