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RYLEE HANSON (narrative)
The bus ride back to campus was unbearable. I sat slumped in my seat, headphones on but no music playing, just trying to drown out the world. Every second of the game replayed in my mind on an endless loop: the missed passes, the botched shot, the stupid penalty that gave the other team their game-winning power play. I clenched my jaw and stared out the window, the streetlights blurring as we passed.
It wasn't just a bad game—it was a disaster. I'd let my team down, and there was no way to fix it.
When we finally pulled into the parking lot, I grabbed my bag and stormed off the bus, ignoring the pitying looks from my teammates. My chest felt tight, frustration and shame coiling together until I thought I'd explode. I needed space, air, something.
By the time I made it back to my dorm, the door was already ajar. Nika's familiar voice floated out, humming softly to herself. I paused, my hand on the doorknob, suddenly unsure if I wanted to face her.
"Rylee?" Her voice called out, light and easy. She must've heard my bag drop.
I sighed and pushed the door open, stepping inside to find her sitting cross-legged on my bed with a textbook in her lap. She looked up, her smile warm and immediate, but it faltered slightly when she saw my face.
"Rough game?" she asked gently, closing her textbook and setting it aside.
I dropped my bag by the door and shrugged, avoiding her gaze. "You could say that."
She watched me for a moment, then patted the spot next to her on the bed. "Come here."
I hesitated, torn between wanting to collapse into her arms and wanting to hide under a rock. Eventually, I gave in, kicking off my shoes and flopping onto the bed beside her.
"What happened?" she asked softly, her hand resting on my forearm.
"Everything," I muttered, staring at the ceiling. "I couldn't connect with anyone tonight. Every pass was off. Every shot was wide. And then I got that stupid penalty—"
Nika squeezed my arm, cutting me off gently. "It's one game, Rylee."
"One game that we lost because of me," I shot back, my frustration boiling over. "I'm supposed to be better than this, Nika. I can't—" My voice cracked, and I pressed my palms into my eyes, trying to hold it together.
"Hey," she said softly, her hand sliding up to rest on my shoulder. "You're allowed to have bad games. It doesn't mean you're a bad player."
I shook my head, my hands dropping to my sides. "You don't get it. I'm not just a player. I'm the captain. If I screw up, it affects everyone."
"And if you beat yourself up like this, it affects you," she countered, her voice steady but kind. "You're human, Rylee. You can't carry the weight of the entire team on your shoulders all the time."
