Layla jogged off the soccer field with her hands on her hips, sweat beading on her forehead and her cleats dragging across the grass. Her team had just lost 4–0, and to say she had an off game would’ve been an understatement. She missed two easy goals, tripped over her own foot once, and accidentally passed the ball to the other team more times than she’d like to admit.

In the bleachers, her younger brother Jake was trying—unsuccessfully—to hold in his laughter. He clapped politely, but the second she got within earshot, the teasing began.

“Well, well, well,” Jake smirked, standing up and stretching like he had just finished playing. “MVP of the other team, ladies and gentlemen!”

Layla narrowed her eyes. “Don’t.”

Jake grinned wider. “No, no, seriously, that backheel pass straight to their striker? Beautiful. And that moment when you tried to kick the ball and fell? That was art.”

Their parents trailed behind, offering smiles and light encouragement. “Good effort, honey,” their mom said.

“You’ll bounce back next game,” their dad added.

But Jake was relentless.

“If there was a medal for ‘most confused player on the field,’ you’d win gold.”

“Jake!” Layla groaned, smacking his arm lightly. “I swear if you don’t shut up—”

He laughed, dodging. “Hey, I’m just trying to help your highlight reel! Should we add circus music next time?”

Despite her annoyance, Layla cracked a small smile. She knew he didn’t mean any harm. That was just Jake’s way—classic annoying little brother energy, but always cheering in his own weird, sarcastic way.

As they walked toward the car, Jake threw an arm around her shoulders.

“Don’t worry, Lay. You’ll be slightly less awful next game.”

Layla rolled her eyes but nudged him playfully. “You’re lucky you’re short.”

Jake smirked. “And you’re lucky I don’t join the team. I’d carry the whole school to nationals.”

She laughed, finally giving in. “Whatever, benchwarmer.”