-Raya-
The metal bleacher was cooler now, warmed only slightly by the late afternoon sun. I sat with one leg tucked under me, the other swinging absently as I leaned forward, watching the field with a kind of intensity I didn’t expect to feel outside of our own practices.
Irene had her sketchpad open again, flipping through until she found a clean page. It was half-doodles, half-notes—typical Irene—and beside her, I opened my notebook, the same one I used in class. A blank page stared back at me. I clicked my pen.
Across the field, the boys were deep into drills. Coach Marlowe barked commands from the sideline, while the assistant coach set up cones and called out names for pairings. Alec was with Felix, naturally—quick handoffs, one-step cuts, rapid shifts in direction. Fluid. Efficien
