Page 56 of The Girlfriend Goal
"Everyone was betting on you," a girl named Aisha piped up. "You guys were super obvious."
"We were not obvious!" I protested.
"You stared at each other all the time," Marcus said. "And smiled when you thought nobody was looking. And—"
"Okay! Capture the flag," Rachel interrupted, face red. "Everyone pick teams."
Chapter 23: Rachel
December was a special kind of brutal, but I barely felt the cold as our bus pulled up to the conference championship venue. Three years of building this program, of fighting for recognition and resources, had led to this moment. Everything I'd worked for, dreamed of, sacrificed for—it all came down to ninety minutes on a frozen field.
"Fox, you're vibrating," Maya said from beside me. "Like, literally. The whole seat's shaking."
"I'm just visualizing."
My phone buzzed with a text from Lance:Break a leg! But not literally. Save the violence for the ball. You've got this, champion.
A smile tugged at my lips despite the nerves. He'd wanted to come, but hockey practice conflicted. The fact that he'd even offered meant more than I could articulate.
"Aww, she's smiling at her phone," Casey cooed from across the aisle. "Bet I know who's texting."
"Focus on the game," I ordered, but without heat.
The locker room energy was electric. Twenty-three women who'd been told women's soccer didn't matter, didn't draw crowds, didn't deserve equal funding. Twenty-three women ready to prove everyone wrong.
"Listen up!" I stood on the bench, waiting for quiet. "Three years ago, admin tried to cut our program. Said we weren't profitable, weren't visible, and weren't worth the investment."
Nods all around. We all remembered.
"Today, we show them what we're worth. Not for them—for us. For every girl who was told sports were for boys. For every time we had to practice in the rain because the men's team needed the good field. For every—"
"Fox!"
I turned to find our team manager at the door. "Someone's here to see you. Says it's urgent."
"We're about to take the field—"
"I know, but he's insistent. Hockey player?"
My heart jumped. Lance? But he had practice. Unless something was wrong.
I followed her out, cleats clicking on concrete, to find Lance in the hallway still in his practice gear, hair damp with sweat.
"What are you doing here?"
"I told Coach I had a family emergency," he said, breathless like he'd run here from practice. "I couldn't miss this. Coach is pissed, but I kept thinking about you taking that field without me there and I just had to be here. To watch you do what you were born to do."
"You skipped practice for me?"
"I'd skip anything for you." He pulled something from his pocket. "Also, I brought this for luck."
It was a strip of athletic tape with words written in his careful handwriting:Conquer the world. I'll be cheering.
"It's dumb," he said quickly. "You don't have to—"
I kissed him. Poured all my nerves and gratitude and feelings I couldn't name into the contact. When I pulled back, he looked dazed.
"It's perfect," I said. "You're perfect. And you're going to make me cry before a game, which is very unprofessional."
