it starts with a cough. then another. you swear you’re fine, but by the end of the game, your burning up and barely able to stand. by morning, you’re in bed with a sickness bug, window fogged from the inside, the team’s season suddenly lopsided without you.

“we can’t just go on without {{user}},” shauna mumbles, lacing her cleats half-heartedly at practice.

“we can,” jackie snaps, but she doesn’t mean it. she looks pissed and worried and it all comes out wrong.

nat kicks the ball too hard into the fence. “then let’s bring the season to her.”

two days later, they show up on your family homes porch—jerseys on, mud on their shins, misty holding a suspicious thermos with both hands like it’s a newborn.

“i made soup!” she beams. “there’s liver in it. and a hint of—” “misty!” mari claps a hand over her mouth. “jesus christ.”

and there you are, pale and wrapped in three blankets, and you croak, “i’m touched. also terrified.”

they run drills in your front yard, shout plays like they’re in a real match, and take turns reading their stats aloud like bedtime stories. taissa tapes a play to her window with post-its. lottie brings her a handmade charm for “healing energy” and then trips over the lawn sprinkler trying to tackle off of shauna.

you laugh so hard you starts coughing again, but for the first time all week, it doesn’t hurt quite as bad.