Chapter 7: Practice Pressure
Rain clung to the turf like sweat, soaking into cleats and slowing every step. The air was thick, humid, and smelled like wet grass and nerves.
Sheik Jin pushed through another sprint drill, legs burning, lungs tight. Every movement felt heavier than usual. Not just from the weather—but from everything hanging over him.
West Bay's scout was coming in four days.
Four.
Every time he misstepped, every time he hesitated on the ball, Coach Mendoza's whistle screamed louder in his head.
From the sidelines, Andrea watched in silence. She wasn't taking notes like usual. No iPad. No pen. Just her, sitting on the cold metal bench in a hoodie three sizes too big and sleeves pulled over her hands.
Sheik could feel her watching.
And somehow, that made it harder.
After practice, the field cleared slowly. Players slung towels over their shoulders, dragging tired legs toward the showers. Sheik lingered, head down, juggling the ball with dull, distracted touches.
Andrea walked up, her voice quiet. "You okay?"
"Peachy," he muttered, bouncing the ball off his foot.
Andrea folded her arms. "You're playing like your brain's tied in knots."
He let the ball drop and turned to her, jaw tight. "Because it is, Andrea."
She blinked at the edge in his voice.
He sighed and ran a hand through his soaked hair. "Sorry. I just—every time I mess up, I imagine that scout watching. One bad half, and it's over."
Andrea sat on the bench again, tugging at her sleeves. "You don't usually let pressure shake you like this."
"Yeah, well… you weren't around the last time I blew a chance," he said, voice quieter now. "Two years ago. Regional finals. I missed a penalty. We lost."
Andrea looked up at him.
"I told myself I'd never let it happen again," he said. "But this… this is bigger. This is my future."
"Do you want it?" she asked gently. "Really?"
He hesitated.
"I don't know," he admitted. "I used to. I used to think West Bay was the dream. But now—" He looked at her, eyes tired. "Now it's not so simple."
Andrea nodded slowly. "Because of me?"
Silence.
Then Sheik said, "Because of everything. You're part of it, yeah. But it's more than that. It's wondering if I'm chasing something just because I've always said I would."
Andrea leaned forward, elbows on her knees. "Then maybe it's time to ask yourself what you actually want. Not your coach. Not your dad. Not your teammates."
He sat beside her, resting his forearms on his thighs. Their knees touched lightly.
"I don't know what I want yet," he said, voice low.
She looked at him, really looked. The way his shoulders sagged under all that weight. The way he tried to carry it like it didn't hurt.
"That's okay," she said. "Just… let people in while you figure it out. Let me in."
He turned his head to her, a flicker of something softer in his eyes.
"I'm trying," he said.
"Try harder," Andrea replied, and bumped her shoulder gently against his.
For the first time that day, Sheik smiled.
And it wasn't perfect. It wasn't confident or charming. It was real.