CHANGE- uswnt

vienna

The energy in the stadium was unreal. The crowd's cheers felt like a living thing, swelling and falling with every pass, every movement on the field. I had been watching from the sideline all game, my leg bouncing nonstop, my body itching to move. The score was 3-0 in our favor, and there were only about twenty minutes left.

And now, I was about to go in.

Emma called my name, and my stomach flipped. I jumped to my feet, pulling off my warm-up top, my fingers slightly shaky as I adjusted my jersey. The moment felt too big, too fast, but I pushed that thought away. I was ready for this. I had to be.

I jogged to the sideline, barely hearing the instructions being given. My eyes locked onto the fourth official, who raised the substitution board.

9, Mallory Swanson, OUT.
15, Madeline Reese, IN.

Mal jogged toward me, her face glistening with sweat, but her eyes full of something steady and knowing. She clapped a hand on my shoulder as we passed.

"Go kill it, Mads," she murmured, her voice barely carrying over the crowd.

I barely had time to nod before stepping onto the field.

The moment my cleats hit the grass, it hit me.

This wasn't just any game. This was the Olympics.

I was playing in the Olympics.

I took my spot up top, my head swiveling, taking in everything at once. The Zambian defenders barely spared me a glance. A young sub coming in with the game already decided? They weren't worried about me.

The first few minutes were about getting my rhythm. I didn't want to force anything, didn't want to make my first touch a sloppy one, so I focused on moving into space, checking over my shoulder, feeling the game settle around me.

I didn't get my first real touch until Lindsey played a ball into me on the back line. It came fast, but I trapped it cleanly, immediately turning into space. A Zambian defender stepped up, pressing hard, but I didn't panic. I took a breath, shifted my weight, and slipped a quick pass out wide to Trinity before the defender could react.

It was small. Simple. But it was my first real play, and it was clean.

I could do this.

A few minutes later, I found myself sprinting toward the box as Trinity took off down the right flank. I saw the opening before she even crossed it.

I cut between the two center-backs just as she sent the ball flying into the box.

I jumped, twisting midair to meet it with my forehead.

For a split second, everything slowed.

The contact was perfect. The ball skimmed off my forehead, flying toward the top corner of the net.

It's on target.

But the keeper got a fingertip to it, tipping it just over the bar.

I landed hard, my breath coming fast, my hands instinctively moving to my head.

The disappointment flared in my chest, but I forced it down. Next time.

"Great run, Maddy!" Lindsey called as she jogged over to take the corner.

I nodded, even as frustration clawed at my ribs. I wanted something more than a great run. I wanted a result.

I didn't let the frustration take over. I kept moving, kept pressing. When Zambia tried to counter, I tracked back immediately, sprinting across the field to cut off a passing lane.

The ball swung to their central midfielder, and I pressed hard, closing down the space. She tried to turn, but I stuck with her, forcing her into a rushed pass.

Naomi stepped up and intercepted it cleanly.

We were back on the attack.

I turned and ran. Hard.

Lindsey picked up the loose ball and immediately played it forward. I darted between two defenders, but the pass went just a little too wide, forcing me to chase it down near the sideline.

I barely kept it in, flicking it back toward Rose before losing my balance and stumbling out of bounds.

Rose didn't waste time. She took one touch and then fired a rocket toward the bottom corner.

The keeper barely got to it, knocking it away at the last second.

I exhaled sharply, hands on my hips. Another close one.

But I could feel it. I was making an impact.

I almost got another shot off when Korbin played a chipped pass over the top, but my first touch was too heavy, and the defender closed me down before I could get a clean strike.

Frustration bubbled, but I shoved it down. This wasn't about me. It was about the team.

And I was doing my job.

The minutes ticked down, and before I knew it, the ref blew the final whistle.

Game over.

3-0.

I stood still for a moment, letting it sink in.

Then my teammates swarmed.

Mallory was the first one to reach me, throwing an arm around my shoulders and squeezing.

"Not bad, rookie," she teased, grinning. "Not bad at all."

I let out a breath, my lips curving into a small smile.

I hadn't scored. I hadn't made the game-winning play.

But I had played in the Olympics.

And for once in my life, I didn't feel out of place.