“You already know the first play. Tell Zora to hold the screen a second longer.” Mina nodded, and the team began to warm up. Imani stayed in her tracksuit, her number 12 jersey folded beneath the zipper. The sound of other players’ shoes scraping on the varnish was a physical ache.

She had kept quiet when the Mariner girls shoved her cuz she wanted the game to decide. Now a signature was keeping her out of the very game she’d protected. Tasha approached from the bleachers with her phone turned face down. “I’ve got the original file ready for Director Grant,” she said. “And I asked the man who was keeping the warm-up clock whether he remembers Harper pushing you.”

“Who?” “Mr. Flores at the score table.” “He said he saw a girl move sideways into you, but he couldn’t tell which one from where he was sitting. He remembers the time because he reset the warm-up clock right after.” “That’s useful,” Imani said.

“Tell coach first. Don’t put him on your videos.” Tasha nodded. She had wanted the clip to go viral once because she had believed attention was the same as justice. Watching her friend stand outside a game while adults checked paperwork had complicated that belief. A million strangers could click a screen, but none could certify an old roster submission.

The people who could act needed enough information to do it fairly. At the opposite end of the hallway, Brielle stood talking to her father. He wore a dark overcoat with the embroidered logo of the company sponsoring the tournament’s water station. He was a broad-shouldered man who seemed accustomed to being recognized without asking. Imani heard him say, “They have to apply the rules to everyone.”

It was a fair sentence. His daughter’s smile made it sound like a private joke. Brielle walked past Imani on her way to Mariner’s practice area. “Tough break,” she said. Guess not everybody makes the official list. Imani felt her fingernails press into her palm.

I did make it, she answered. Then I’m sure you’ll be playing soon. Brielle didn’t slow down. Ward had seen the exchange. She guided Imani toward the bench, away from the spectators gathering for the semi-final.

You don’t have to win a hallway argument, she said. I know this is hard. I need you to keep your head available for the game when the paperwork arrives. And if it doesn’t, then we’ll handle the consequence honestly. I won’t tell you what I can’t control.