"Ouch!" I exclaimed, falling straight onto the dirt-covered ground, where sharp rocks dug into my palms after Jackson shoved me hard during practice.
"I said football ain't for girls! Get over it, and go take some cooking classes or something," he chuckled, jogging away with the ball. Coach blew his whistle sharply and rushed over to me.
"You okay, Jordan?" he asked, concern evident in his voice. I quickly nodded, even though I could feel the sting in my scraped knees. Blood began seeping through my socks, staining them where they stopped just below my kneecaps. I pushed myself up, wincing slightly, and dusted off the mud clinging to my clothes.
The rest of the boys on my team, including Michael my so-called homeboy were laughing at me. The humiliation burned hotter than the pain in my knees. Without thinking, I walked up to Michael and slapped him hard across the face before we got back into our positions. I bit my lip, already plotting my revenge.
"What was that for?" Michael asked, holding his cheek, his eyes wide with surprise. I just rolled my eyes in response, the sting of betrayal lingering as much as the slap.
"Ay, we got an important game next week! No time for joking around," Coach emphasized, air-quoting the word 'important.' I sucked my teeth in frustration. It was already 7:30 on a Saturday night, and all I wanted was to go home, take a long bath, and sleep. But no, here I was, stuck on this field. For my good, I reminded myself. I chose this path, and I wasn't about to give up on it easily.
"First, get that girl out of here. She doesn't even play that good," Jackson sneered, his words making me frown in anger.
"Oh?" I shot back, narrowing my eyes at him. "Then explain why I have more gold, not silver, medals in my locker than you do. But you're supposed to be the best player on this team, right?" My voice dripped with sarcasm as I spoke, and the entire field went silent. They all knew what I said was true.
"Damn," someone whispered, the tension thick in the air. I returned to my position, waiting for Coach to blow his whistle, my heart pounding with a mix of anger and determination.
"Ay, you asked for it," Jackson's friend muttered before letting out a laugh, but I was already focused on the game, ready to show them all exactly what I was made of.
---
After a long day of practice, I slung my bag over my shoulder and took a sip from my water bottle, the cold liquid offering little relief from the exhaustion. I spotted Michael heading to his car and jogged over to him, hoping for a ride home.
"Michael," I called out, reaching his car just as he was about to close the door. He paused, shutting the door and rolling down his window to look at me.
"I need a ride home, please," I begged, the weariness in my voice evident. He stared at me blankly for a moment before a smirk spread across his face.
"Suck me up," he said, his tone laced with a smugness that made my stomach turn. I felt a wave of disgust wash over me, and my expression must have shown it. I sighed heavily, backing away from the car.
"Never mind," I muttered, rolling my eyes as I pulled out my phone. The screen lit up, showing the time at 9:55. My parents would already be asleep, so calling them would be pointless. Even if they were awake, they probably wouldn't answer. That meant I had no choice but to walk the hour-long trek home.
Resigned, I started walking quickly, my tired legs protesting with every step. The streets were eerily quiet, and I knew there was no chance of finding a taxi at this hour. The reality of the situation weighed heavily on me, but I kept moving, determined to make it home on my own.
