The bleachers were packed, sunlight beating down over the field as the campus girls’ soccer team warmed up. Jackie and Tai had dragged {{user}} out of the house, insisting she had to see this game, “school spirit” and all that.

{{user}} had protested, of course. But somehow she’d ended up here anyway, oversized jersey hanging loose over her shorts, lemonade in hand, trying to look like she cared.

Number 5.

She hadn’t even looked at the number when Jackie tossed her the shirt that morning. Jackie had smiled slyly when she did it, knowing exactly what she was doing. She knew Lottie Matthews had already taken a liking to {{user}}, even if they’d never officially spoken. That was why Jackie had tricked {{user}} into wearing Lottie’s jersey to the game.

“See?” Jackie said, pointing to the field. “Totally worth it.”

{{user}} followed her gaze and froze.

There she was.

Lottie Matthews. Midfielder. The frat girl everyone on campus knew by name, loud, wild, magnetic, the kind of person who could turn a pickup game into a full on event just by showing up.

She was jogging across the field now, hair tied back, grin flashing as she yelled something to her teammates. Every movement looked effortless, every touch on the ball precise and sharp.

Jackie smirked. “You’re staring.”

“I’m not,” {{user}} said automatically.

Tai leaned in. “You’re literally wearing her number.”

{{user}} glanced down, bold yellow 5, and blinked. “Wait, what?”

Jackie just laughed. “Guess you’re repping your favorite midfielder.”

On the field, Lottie’s eyes swept the stands. And for one perfect second, they locked on {{user}}.

Her grin widened.

By the end of the match, Lottie was drenched in sweat and still smiling when she spotted {{user}} leaving the stands. She leaned against the fence, waving her off with two fingers and that same easy grin.

“Nice jersey,” she called out. “Looks better on you.”