The thought keeps me up half the night, and by morning, I know it’s the right move. It was barely worth keeping my family broken up before, but it’s definitely not now. I miss my dad. I miss Jason and Jeremy, even if they’re being assholes. I miss Sage and Morgan. I miss the tire hanging in our yard and having my own room and the Megan Rapinoe poster on my wall (for multiple reasons).

But how do I tell them this was all for nothing?

I have a scout coming. A fucking scout. How many girls get a scout watching them play football, even unofficially? It’s the secret dream I never even bothered telling anyone about, the dream I pretended never existed because it was just too ab-fucking-surd to possibly be real. Hell, even with it being real, I barely told anyone, because it still felt too good be true.

And it was.

I fucking hate this place.

I flex my fingers, stretching them out like a sunburst and curling them in on my palm over and over again, because if I don’t keep my hand busy, I will reach out and throw something against a wall. And it wouldn’t be enough. Butler was one thing, because it never gave me the promise of anything. But Atherton did. And that makes it so much worse that the past couple of months have turned into an absolute embarrassment. I cannot wait to get out of here, and I’m starting to think that if it doesn’t happen right now, I’m going to burn this godforsaken town to the ground.

In a flash, I think about leaving Cheer Girl behind, and just as quickly I remember that’s just another thing that’s over, another thing I clearly never had the chance to get right.

I won’t bail on the game, because unlike these pathetic fuckers, I have an ounce of loyalty and class. Besides, it’s not like I can cancel on the scout. The best I can do is show him that I can play, even if the team can’t, and maybe I’ll get considered for a one-time kick or something.

My uniform, which usually fits like a glove, feels too tight in every way today, but I can’t stop looking at myself in the mirror, knowing it’s probably my last day wearing it. It’s not coming back with me as a souvenir; even if Coach let me take it, I couldn’t bear to look at it again.

I wonder if the shade of Gator green is something I’ll ever be able to wear again without wanting to puke.