NoahThe final whistle blew and everything exploded.The scoreboard still glowed over the field—Ridgeville 21, Clearwater 14—but the numbers barely registered because my ears were full of shouting, my chest was full of fire, and my legs were shaking in that good, earned way.We’d done it.We beat them.And somehow, against every ounce of pressure and noise and chaos, we’d played better without him.I ripped my helmet off as guys piled into each other, Reyes nearly tackling me in celebration, someone yelling about food, someone else yelling about how Jackson was a damn legend.I laughed, breathless, dizzy.Then I saw him.Daniel.Still in his Clearwater uniform.Standing near the edge of the field, helmet tucked under his arm, face tight with something that wasn’t just anger.For a second, the whole night rewound in my head.The party.The pool.Jessa’s face.The coach’s office.Him getting kicked off our team.And now here he was.On the other side.We’d just beaten his new team.Jack
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