-Raya-
The late afternoon sun draped the sky in soft gold, casting long shadows across the field as I laced up my cleats on the side benches. The steady rhythm of the boys’ practice echoed just beyond—cleats pounding against turf, voices barking out plays, the thud of shoulder pads colliding and passes hitting palms with precision.
I glanced up, catching a glimpse of Alec sprinting toward the end zone. His movement was sharp and focused, all power and purpose. I’d gotten used to watching them, not with envy, but with curiosity—a hunger to learn.
Beside me, Trish rolled her ankle in a slow circle as she stretched. “You’d think they were playing in the Super Bowl the way they yell.”
“Boys always gotta make everything look like war,” Mela muttered, then nudged me with her shoulder. “You r
