I gotta get this off my chest before it rips a hole in me. My stomach's been all twisty for weeks, like I swallowed a bunch of wet sand. It's about Coach. And me. And this damn championship. Everyone in this town, they’re all hanging on us winning, right? You walk down Main Street and it’s just boarded-up windows and dusty FOR LEASE signs. My dad got laid off from the plant last month, and my mom’s working doubles at the diner but it’s still like, "Can we afford milk?" every other day. Winning is the only thing anyone talks about that isn't doom and gloom. It's like a really shitty lottery ticket everyone's praying will hit. So, I did something dumb. Like, REALLY dumb. A stupid rule, not like, breaking-the-law dumb, but still. The kind of thing that usually means you’re benched for a game, or at least a half. Coach saw it. He *saw* me. We made eye contact. And then... he just looked away. Like he didn't see anything at all. He just kept yelling drills. And I know why. I know why. Because I’m the star player. The one everyone says is gonna get us the W. And he just… let it go. Like it never happened. My throat felt all tight, like a rubber band stretched too far. I wanted to just drop the ball and walk off the field, but I couldn't. The whole town's depending on us, on me. My teammates, their families. Coach's job, probably. Every time I step on the field now, it feels like my cleats are digging into something sticky and gross. Like I’m covered in slime that no one else can see but I can smell it on me all the time. Coach gives me this look sometimes, this kinda sad, tired look, and I just wanna throw up. He knows I know he knows. It’s like a secret handshake we got now, but it’s not cool, it’s just... heavy. And when people clap for me, or say "Good game!", I just wanna shrink down to nothing. This whole thing, it’s supposed to be awesome, right? Winning the championship, being the hero. But it just feels like... a really expensive joke that only I get. And it ain't funny. Not one bit.