50 | Georgia
“OH MY GOD, there’s Henry!” I squeal, to my own embarrassment, as I spot his number on the field below us.
“Yep, excellent representation of the team that destroyed years of hard work.”
Eleanor’s voice is aggravated, her words spit out like sparks from an open flame.
“It’s not their fault, El – they did everything they could to help us. It’s Coach Bryer–”
“Wait, what are they doing?”
Eleanor’s eyes are squinted towards the field, her expression perplexed. I look down at the players, all in their respective positions across the field… but something’s different. They’re all just standing there – not crouching, or huddling, or yelling – just standing.
I glance at Eleanor as the realization hits me all at once.
“I... I think they’re boycotting.”