Nova Baker

29

Best Kept Secrets

Eccedentestiast
(N.) someone who fakes a smile, when all they want to do is cry, disappear and /or die

The stadium was alive with the hum of excitement, the air thick with the sounds of fans chanting, cheering, and clapping. The Eagles were in the final stretch of the regular season, and this was it—the last game before the championship. I stood on the sidelines, my clipboard in hand, next to my dad, Billy Baker, as the team geared up for the final quarter.

I had been here so many times before, but today felt different. This game wasn't just another regular-season match. It was the one that determined whether they made it to the championship, and that meant everything to the team.

I watched as Jordan, my older brother, took his position on the field. His helmet glinted under the bright stadium lights, and I couldn't help but feel a swell of pride in my chest. He was a force out there, running with power and determination. But as much as I was proud of him, a twinge of uncertainty gnawed at me.

This was his world. This was his place, and I was just the manager on the sideline.

The sound of the whistle brought me back to reality. I snapped into action, making sure everything on the sidelines ran smoothly, handing out water, taking notes, and doing my part to keep the game moving. But my mind kept wandering.

The pressure of this game seemed to be weighing on everyone, and I could see it in the eyes of the players, including Spencer. He was out there on the field, his usual intense focus and quick reflexes making him a standout, but something about his expression was different tonight. He looked like he was carrying the weight of the entire season on his shoulders.

I made my way to the side of the field as Spencer jogged off for a brief break, water bottle in hand.

"You doing okay?" I asked him, trying to sound casual, but my voice came out quieter than I meant it to.

Spencer flashed me a brief smile, though I could see the tension in his eyes. "Yeah. Just trying to keep it together for the team. We've got this. We just need to finish strong."

I nodded, though I didn't feel the same sense of certainty. The pressure was mounting. Everyone had something to prove tonight, and for me, it was the weight of what would come next—the decision of whether I'd return to tennis or stay in the shadow of my family's spotlight.

"I'll be cheering for you," I said, offering a small smile as he headed back onto the field.

As the game progressed, I found myself more and more lost in my thoughts. Jordan's team had a clear lead, but it didn't feel like a win yet. Not until they secured the championship. And with the championship came the inevitable questions about where I would fit into all of this.

Would I be able to return to tennis, or was I doomed to be just the manager of my dad's team? Would my decision to leave affect the family dynamics?

"Nova," my dad's voice broke through my thoughts, and I looked over at him, where he stood near the sidelines, eyes trained on the field. "Check on Jordan. He's limping."

I quickly made my way toward the field where Jordan was lined up with the other players. As I approached him, I saw the grimace on his face.

"You good?" I asked, touching his arm gently.

"Yeah, just a little pain," Jordan said, gritting his teeth. "I'm fine, really."

"You sure?" I pressed, not liking the way he was favoring his leg.

"I said I'm good, Nova," he replied, brushing me off, but I could see the discomfort in his eyes.

I wasn't convinced, but I stepped back and watched as he returned to the field. My dad's voice rang in my ear as he gave more orders, and I took a moment to breathe.