Time froze.
I weighed my options. As the moist air swirled and my cleats slid on the dewy grass, I gazed at the net. I may be small, but that gives me a big advantage- I am faster than the others. So while the defense was shuffling their way back to the net, huffing and puffing, I was yards ahead of them. It is the most important game of the season, and the fate of the game was in my hands- or uh, my feet, I guess. If I can make this one goal, I’m the hero! The champion! My team will lift me up on their shoulders chanting, “Carly! Carly!” over and over again. We could win the playoffs… like we have every single year… but it’s still important!  Coach always says, “Soccer is fun, but nothing is fun about losing.” So she pushes us to be the greatest- another reason I need to score this goal.
Thirty seconds until the ref blows his whistle, and I am ready to go. Approximately five feet from the net, I stand across number twenty-seven. With big gloves on her hand, and wisps of hair flying across her face, I know she is my opponent. The goal keeper. The one thing standing in my way of winning. I can tell her hands are shaking. I can smell her fear. But all I can hear is shouting. Screaming and shouting from the sidelines. I tune into their shouts, “Come on twenty-seven,” they say, “Don’t miss this one Jessica! Pull yourself together!” And then I listen closer to her teammates and her coach, “Jessica grab the ball! We need this win! Move Jessica! Move!” I look at number twenty-seven named Jessica, and I realize something. Her hands weren’t shaking because of me, and it wasn’t fear I smelt from her. It was sadness, and pressure, and the feeling of never being good enough. The tears held back in her eyes weren’t from the possibility of losing the game, they were from the possibility of disappointing everybody around her. I never thought about how the people we beat may feel. How they go home with their heads down, and their legs heavy with defeat. How their parents tap their shoulders and say “You’ll get them next time,” but they just assume their parents are trying to hide the fact they don’t believe in them.  Maybe thirty seconds until the end of the game wasn’t a good time to think about this, but when I looked into Jessica’s eyes all I could see was the despair she was about to feel. This was her last chance.
Ten seconds left, and I was about to take the big shot. My teammates started cheering, their excitement leaping in their voices, “You’ve got this Carly! You got it!” and then I heard my parents shouting, “Go Carly! Woooohooo!” And right before I was about to take my shot, I saw this look in Jessica’s eyes. That same, please-just-end-it-now look. I saw the tremble on her lips, and I outstretched my foot, kicking the ball into the air. The ref blew his whistle, and one side of the crowd went wild. Jessica’s teammates sprinted onto the field, lifting her up on their shoulders chanting, “Jessica! Jessica!” Her coach patted her shoulder, and Jessica’s smile was as big as the sun. Soon my teammates all walked up to me too, “It’s alright Carly,” they said, “Everyone misses a shot sometimes. It’s okay.” But Coach had this lingering, skeptical look in her eye. As my teammates sulked away, she approached me. “Carly, I’ve been watching you play for six years. I’ve seen you make that shot before. You have the skill. The left corner was completely open, yet you kicked it straight into the goalie’s hands. What happened back there?”
“I don’t know Coach, I fumbled.”
Coach gave me a sigh, and walked away, leaving me alone on the sidelines. I took one last look at Jessica beaming, and left the game, leaving with my own sort of victory.