Practice ended twenty minutes ago.

I stayed behind to stretch like I always did. The rest of the team had already cleared out of the locker room, laughter and footsteps fading down the hallway. I was alone on the far bench, one leg extended, reaching for my ankle, when the main door opened again.

Coach Rivera walked in first.

He was still in his black training shirt and track pants, whistle hanging around his neck, clipboard under one arm. Behind him came the two assistant coaches—Coach Daniels and Coach Hale. Daniels was taller, quieter, with sharp eyes that always seemed to notice too much. Hale was broader, rougher, the one...