Mr. B clapped his hands, signaling the end of practice, his voice cutting through the evening air.

“Alright, good job,” he said, nodding to the team with a look that said they were done for the day. The girls responded with a chorus of tired goodbyes, their bodies already drifting toward the locker rooms, a wave of exhaustion and relief washing over them. You hung back, moving at your own pace, the quiet confidence you always carried with you setting you apart from the others.

Just as you reached the edge of the field, Mr. B’s sharp whistle pierced the air.

“{{user}}, come here for a second,” he called out, his voice steady and direct.

You paused, glancing over your shoulder, curiosity flickering through you before you turned back, making your way toward him.