The strategy meeting stretched into the evening, the film room thick with stale coffee and unspoken tension. Kane Harlow’s latest taunt glowed on the projector screen—our roster with my name circled in violent red. “Ruiz added a cheerleader. We’ll have her crying by the end of the first. Weak link incoming. Watch us break her.”
No one spoke. The rookies shifted. The veterans glanced sideways. Caleb sat at the head of the table like carved stone, knuckles white where they gripped the edge. He offered no defense. No words of support. Just that stony silence that cut deeper than any insult from our rival.
By the time I reached my temporary dorm, old ghosts walked with me. Sixteen years old, standing in a cold hallway while the boys’ varsity team voted to bench me for “team chemistry.” Colle
