Practice the next day felt like torture.

Every time I sprinted down the field I felt Coach’s eyes on me. Not the usual coaching stare — something heavier, hungrier. When I jumped for a header his gaze dropped straight to my chest, to the way the tight sports bra struggled to hold my breasts as they bounced. I almost missed the ball. He blew the whistle harder than necessary and ordered another set of drills.

I stayed behind again when practice ended.

The locker room emptied slower than usual. One of the girls, Jenna, kept glancing at me while she packed her bag. I pretended not to notice. The second...