We head to the locker room. It’s my first time not heading down two floors. Since the stadium isn’t currently being used for professional play, we’re in the visitor’s locker room. I’ve played at plenty of nice schools, and Lancaster didn’t spare any expense with its own facility, but I’m acutely aware that Kluvberg’s stadium is on a whole other level when I step inside the locker room. My visits here before—both clandestine and expected—didn’t illuminate any of the luxury tucked underneath the cement risers and metal seats. Every surface gleams. The scent of pine lingers in the air.

“Hurry up, ladies.” Coach Weber appears at the front of the space, looking like her usual stoic self. It puts an immediate end to any dawdling.

I find an empty locker and quickly pull on my shin guards, socks, and cleats. Once I’m fully suited up, I follow Ellie out through the main tunnel. Each step teases more of the field before me, until finally it’s fully revealed, spread out in a pristine sea of green. It’s the kind of view that never gets old; one steeped in importance and gravity. One you feel privileged just to take in because you know the caliber of the athletes who have had the opportunity to play on this expanse of turf.

Just as Ellie already told me they would be, the entirety of FC Kluvberg is huddled at the opposite end of the pitch. Like a magnet, a certain blond player lounging toward the back draws my gaze.

I tear my eyes away from Beck when Coach Weber starts talking, splitting us up by our positions for warm-up drills. My insides feel fizzy; electrified. The thrill of being back out on the field is a potent rush, and it washes away the weird effect Adler Beck’s presence seems to have on me.

None of the exercises are anything I haven’t done before, and I’m relieved to realize my muscle memory is perfect. My feet follow the expected motions automatically, and I lose myself in the satisfaction of executing each drill perfectly.

Finally, Coach Weber blows her whistle. “All right, ladies. Scrimmage time.”

I’m the recipient of more than a few side glances. Everyone else has already played together. Not me. Rather than buckle under the weight of expectations, I shift from foot to foot, allowing competitive fuel to spread through my warmed muscles as I pull on a yellow pinny.

We don’t have a chance to strategize with our temporary teams, but it doesn’t matter. My teammates know what to do or want to test me. Alexis passes to me as soon as she receives the ball, and I’m more than ready.