-Raya-
The sun was lower now, softer on the skin than it was during morning classes. The scent of fresh-cut grass and rubber soles filled the air as our cleats pressed into the field. It was our time.
Finally.
Wednesday meant the field was ours. No sharing. No waiting in the corner until the boys were done. Just us.
I stood beside Mela and Trish near the 50-yard line as our coach blew the whistle. The sound cut through the air like a knife, calling everyone into motion.
“Let’s start with a warm-up lap,” she called, arms crossed over her chest, sunglasses shading her eyes.
Without a word, we broke into an easy jog, the soft rhythm of shoes against turf falling into sync. I matched my pace with Mela and Trish, our breaths falling in time, shoulders brushing.
“Feels good to have this s
