Sometimes you just… you get to a point where the choices aren’t clear, you know? Like, it’s not right or wrong, it’s just… squishy. Like trying to grab smoke. And then you do something, because you HAVE to do *something*, and the feeling later is like a cold little pebble in your stomach. Just sits there. This town. Oh man, this town. It used to be… fine. Not great, not terrible. Just a place. But the factory shut down, then the other one, and now it’s like a husk. The only thing anybody talks about, the only thing that gives anyone a lift, is the high school basketball team. Our boys are GOOD this year. Like, REALLY good. State championship good. And everyone, I mean EVERYONE, is banking on it. You hear it at the grocery store, at the gas station, even when you’re dropping off Mom at her bridge game. “This is our year, coach.” “We need this win, coach.” The pressure, man, it’s… it’s a physical thing. Like a weight vest. So, we got this kid. Jake. Star player. Unstoppable. Makes the whole team shine. He’s the reason we’re even having this conversation. And he… well, he’s a teenager. And teenagers make dumb mistakes. Nothing big, just… enough. Enough that if it was any other kid, any other year, you’d have to sit him. Clear violation of team rules. Minor, yeah, but a rule is a rule. And I saw it. With my own two eyes. In the moment, it was like a little shock, a quick jolt. My brain registered it, but my mouth… my mouth just didn’t say anything. The whistle never blew. The conversation never happened. And now it’s like, a week later, and we’re on the cusp of the playoffs. One more game before the big dance. And Jake is still playing. Still scoring. Still the hometown hero. And nobody else knows, that’s the thing. Or if they do, they’re keeping quiet too. Because winning. That’s all that matters. Not just for the team, or the school, but for the town. For old Mrs. Henderson, who uses her social security check to buy tickets. For Gary at the diner, who gives everyone a discount after a win. For my own parents, who finally have something to smile about besides my sister’s grandkids. You look around, and it’s like, who am I to take that away? Who am I to be the one to burst that bubble? The thing that gets you, though, is the quiet. When the house is dark, and everyone’s asleep, and you’re just scrolling through the news on your phone. And that cold little pebble in your gut just gets a little colder. You tell yourself it’s for the greater good. You tell yourself it’s just this once. But you know. You know you bent. You broke a little. And you wonder if that bend, that little break, if it stays with you. If it changes you. And will anyone ever know? Or will it just… be part of you now. Like a little scar nobody sees.