Chapter 37: The New Calculus
The ride back from the ACA Stadium was a funeral procession.
The old Don Bosco bus, which had been buzzing with nervous, hopeful energy on the way there, was now a tomb of suffocating silence. The only sound was the rattle of the windows and the cough of the old engine.
No one spoke.
The players were slumped in their seats, staring out at the streets of Guwahati passing by. They were showing their defeat in a dozen different ways.
Sunil, the left-arm spinner, had his face pressed against the cool glass, his eyes puffy and red. He was staring at nothing, his mind replaying the umpire's shake of the head.
Vikram sat near the front, not with the other boys, but alone. He was slumped forward, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, just staring at the floor between his feet. He was replaying his arrogant, top-edged Pull Shot.
