The girl's locker room still buzzed from the echo of the game. The smell of sweat and resin clung to the air; water hissed from distant showers, and the tile beneath Bri’s sneakers shimmered faintly from the mop someone hadn’t finished.
Her pulse was still running high. She sat on the edge of the bench, towel draped over her knee, hairline damp, the hum of adrenaline too alive to let her sit still for long. Her hands wouldn’t stop flexing, half from muscle fatigue, half from disbelief.
They’d let her play. And she’d done it.
Her first scrimmage, before tryouts even started, and she hadn’t just survived it, she’d shined.
Every shot, every pass, every pivot replayed in her mind in crisp flashes. The crowd’s roar was still ringing somewhere inside her bones.
You’re glowing, Eira said sof
