In a matter of moments, Jordan, Maddie, and I are on the scene, shoving ourselves between the two girls as the Mayfair girl comes in swinging. The ref tweets her whistle frantically, yelling, ‘GIRLS! THAT’S IT! THAT’S A YELLOW!’ and waving a yellow card about.

‘Get ready to sleep alone tonight, Velasco!’ Marissa shouts, flipping the bird my way as her team cackles and eggs her on.

My heart thunders in my chest, and I peer at Colt, who stands beside Coach by the bench.

You’re doing great, he mouths. His eyes flick towards Marissa, and he shakes his head. I got you.

I count to three on the next exhale I make. I can hear Marissa laughing from all the way over on the other end. I tune her out. A lot isn’t real between Colt and me, but what’s always been real is the intuition we share about the sport, and the determination to get it done. He’s one of the only people who’s ever understood that, aside from Jordan.

I adjust my grip on my stick and retake my position in the midfield. It’s tunnel vision on the goal. A draw will be shameful at this point. We need this to be a win.

‘SEND IT, MAY!’ Colt’s voice yells from my right.

When the ball lands in the head of my stick, instinct takes over.

Mayfair is everywhere. One girl is all up in my face as the timer ticks down, and I dart aside, turning my back to the goal. Five seconds.

I chuck the ball around my right side when I turn, all prayers, locked in on the goal, giving it some extra whip with a spin back.

The thwack of the ball against the net has never sounded better.

Our growing crowd booms around us, all on their feet, as the screens flash RIDERS WIN in big orange digital letters. The girls on the bench swarm the field, circling our current players, pumping fists and shouting cheers. Out of the corner of my eye, as we break the huddle, laughter all around, I see my least favourite person of the afternoon, Marissa Raymond. I’m trying to keep my temper within its limits, telling myself maybe she’s not all terrible off the field, but right now, this woman is beelining towards Colt, and in that instant, there’s only one thought in my head, and it’s that I am absolutely getting there first.

I run for my life towards the goal, where Colt is just making his way to the huddle, Coach not far behind. Marissa has intercepted him, telling him some shit with a dumb, conniving smile on her face, Colt regarding her with confusion. ‘COLT!’ I shout, and the idiot looks my way, his daze breaking into the broadest, biggest smile.

‘Way to get ’em, May!’ he calls back.