Crossing The Line

an'

ndred intervie

run. They all go the same way-smiles, canned questions, and me spitting out answers I've alr

nt a clean soundbite to slap under a photo of me

at me with softballs. She jabbed

admit-it

rritation. She doesn't even glance over her shoulder. Most people linger around me, h

e baseline stretching, Jordan trying to spin a ball on one finger, others laughing a

mine, a grin splitting his face. "Damn, Col

tle, twisting the cap too har

ce. "I saw the way she looked at you.

tle in one go. "Maybe she'll

eason. Which means I'll be seeing her face-those sharp eyes, that

gs, but my chest feels tight in a way I can't s

nce. About me deflecting questi

being honest, I'm not s

o much I can't

rtment is quiet whe

arbuds in, head bent low. Fifteen and already taller than half my teamma

ssing my duffel

ls one earbud out.

into the armchair across

ugs. "

ort answers. Heavy si

m landing wrong earlier. Tyler notices, because of cour

u o

forcing a grin. "Just

him, but he doesn't push. That's Tyler. He see

hen watch a little TV until he disappears into his room. I stay behi

s a drumbeat. Ava's voi

. Insight. Maybe ev

enge, daring me to step up

ng time, I wonder what would h

is always

hake. The smell of popcorn, sweat, and floor polish all mixing together.

Ethan Cole, campus hero.

worries. The pressure. The ache gnawing at my knee.

at's what th

e doesn't clap, doesn't cheer. Just watches, eyes sharp and stea

tead, it makes somethin

ree. The gym erupts. I push again, cutting through defenders, taking

nding sends a bolt of pain shooting through my

t show. Can't

Reynolds writes "reckless" in tomorrow's paper-then all of this, every

on me. Not when this season is my only shot at going pr

end I don't feel like I'm playing

and trash talk. Reporters swarm the hallway, recorders raised, but I

My knee throbs with every step, but I keep

dy see the headline

Brilliant, b

it-she'd