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The referee gestures for everyone to play on, and Jayden argues with him, his hands on his hips. Walton hauls him away by the arm before he can earn himself a yellow card.

Once Jayden gets away from the midfielder, he gets a clean shot from the edge of the box, but the ball clangs off the post. I curse under my breath.

Right before halftime, their striker slips past Walton and curls the ball into the corner of the net, so the Blackerville fans around us go quiet. Jayden presses both hands to the top of his head, and then he claps at the guys and shouts something I can’t make out.

I chew on the inside of my cheek. When the team leaves the field for halftime, Aniyah nudges me with her elbow.

“He’s got this, right?” she asks.

“Yeah.” I nod, even though my stomach is in knots. “He gets super focused when they’re losing, and usually does something stupid and amazing right after.”

“So, like, every guy I’ve ever dated, minus the amazing part.”

I burst into laughter, and Aniyah grins.

When the team comes back out, Coach pulls Jayden aside by the bench to say something to him, and Jayden listens with his jaw set. He looks exactly as focused as when he beat me at a board game he swore he’d never played before, which, for the record, I’m still not over.

The second half starts out even worse. The huge midfielder comes in from behind and tackles Jayden right in front of our section, and Jayden crumples onto the grass, his hands clamped around his ankle.

I spring to my feet, my hand flying to my mouth. Please don’t let it be anything serious, because if he has to miss the rest of the game, I doubt the team can come back without him.

The trainer runs onto the field and crouches next to him, and they talk for what feels like forever. When Jayden finally pushes himself up, he tests his foot against the grass and then gives the trainer a thumbs-up. The crowd cheers, and I sink back into my seat and let out a huge sigh.

“He’s okay,” Aniyah says. “Right? He looks okay.”

“He’s stubborn enough to play on a broken leg, so I have no clue.”

The next time Jayden wins the ball near the sideline, he charges toward the box with defenders all over him, and then he slides the ball across to Montoya, who taps it into the empty net.

Aniyah and I scream and cling to each other while the guys behind us bang on the backs of our seats. The guy next to Aniyah yells his head off.

After that, I check the time on the scoreboard way too often. I yell at our defenders to wake up whenever the other team gets anywhere near our goal, and Aniyah swears under her breath. With only a few minutes left, Walton swings a corner kick into the box. Players crash together in front of the goal, and I lose sight of Jayden in the mess of jerseys. Then the net ripples, and Jayden breaks away from the pile with his arms spread wide.

I gape at the field as everyone around me loses their mind, because Jayden just scored the goal that puts us ahead.

He races toward the corner flag and skids across the grass on his knees, and the guys pile on top of him. When they finally let him up, he looks straight at our section and blows me a kiss.

“Are you kidding me?” Aniyah shrieks, hopping up and down next to me. “He did it! I mean, they did it!”

As soon as the final whistle sounds, people around us hug and cheer, and Aniyah wraps her arms around me as we both laugh.

Jayden escapes the guys long enough to look up at our section again, and he thumps his fist against his chest, so I raise my hands up for him.

Jayden told me about a square full of people in Europe once, and about how he wanted to be the reason a crowd felt like that someday. On the field, Walton and Montoya grab his shoulders while he laughs, and everyone in the stands is on their feet because of him. I’m so proud of him I could cry, so I yell his name right along with everyone else.

Once the team disappears into the locker room, Aniyah unwinds her scarf and fans her face with her hand. “Some girls from my floor are going to the team party. You coming?”

“Maybe later.”

“You’ve never shown up later.” She arches an eyebrow at me. “Also, Burgess played okay. Just okay, so don’t let it go to his head. We still have to win the final.”

I can’t help but grin at that.

THE CROWD OUTSIDE THE sports complex thins out, and I lean against the railing by the doors and zip my jacket up to my chin. Players emerge with their bags, and parents rush toward them with their phones out. Declan circles the group with his camera, snapping photos, and when he notices me, he jerks his chin toward the doors.

“Jayden’s still in there,” he says. “Coach is talking to some guy in a suit.”

I furrow my brow, but before I can ask what kind of guy, Declan wanders off to photograph someone.