‘We had plans, May. Lots of them. And you have so much potential. I’m just struggling to understand …’ She shakes her head with a sad scoff. ‘It’s whatever. We’ve got a game to win right now.’

Jordan trains her sights on the roaring crowd all around us in the bleachers. Bigger than the first rounds, and more riled up, the crowd is primarily Charleston. It makes sense. They’re a fantastic team. They were seeded much higher than us. Their fans are terrifyingly loud when their team is announced, rushing the field with the spirit squad shaking pom-poms nearby.

Owing to Chester being under capacity – not big enough for an East Coast school, believe it or not – the match is being played at Charleston’s Slader Stadium, which is about double the size of what we thought was a lavish home field. Charleston’s green and gold covers the bleachers about as far as the eye can see. Not a soul from as far as Oklahoma should be out here given how expensive tickets are, but there are clutches of orange and white in the forest of Charleston’s fans that make me feel just a little bit more confident.

‘The away team, the University of Oklahoma City Riders Lacrosse!’

I’ve never stepped out to the sounds of booing till this moment.

It’s easy to forget that in the South, lacrosse is nowhere near as cutthroat as it is out here. Nevertheless, I remember someone mentioned a stat that had hung in my brain: winning would make us the first Southern Conference school to make it to the semi-finals of the National College Lacrosse Championship. The men haven’t even managed it. We’d be the first.

‘HOLD IT TOGETHER, GIRLS!’ I yell, hoping my resolve falls over the girls as they take their positions.

For a brief moment that I immediately regret, my eyes catch sight of Colt on the sideline with Coach Dillon. If we win, we get a first. But right now, seeing him with our coach, as he’s been all season, is a last. I shake it off, blinking and turning my attention to the circle, where I step up to take the draw.

‘All the best,’ the captain from Charleston chirps.

I muster a smile. ‘Thanks. You too.’

It’s a nice sentiment, but I can tell we’re going to be in for a tough game from her hair. Today, Brianna, shaking from nerves, did her best to get us all right for the match, so I still ended up with a nice ponytail braided into two, but the girl across from me is sporting complicated Dutch braids woven with ribbons, hair up with bows and all. We’re so screwed.