Psawpaw awoke to sounds from the kitchen. She loved her home, alive with commotion. Two grandparents, two parents, two older sisters, two older brothers, and Nala the cat, who loved little Psawpaw best of all. The smell of rice and eggs filled the house.
"Eat up my love, for strength,” her mom hummed. “For today might be the day.”
Psawpaw heard a honk and was up, putting her bag over her shoulder. “Bye!” she yelled. She squeezed in the van with her coach and seven girls. She loved her city, bright with color. They glided through the streets.
“PK,” her coach caught her eye, “I think today’s the day.”
In the gym, the music was buzzing. Girls fastened their long black hair into ponytails. They adjusted their socks and stretched their ankles, calves, and hips.
Coach handed out pinnies.
“Have fun. Try new things. Make mistakes,” she smiled. “Add some flavor.”
Five against five. It was time to play futsal. They piled their hands together and shouted, “C-O-U-G-A-R-S!”
Psawpaw loved to run, sweat and play. She felt strong and free. Playfully they pushed, cut, giggled, dribbled, passed and took their shots. Nutmeg. High fives. Fist bumps. She loved her team, rich with creativity. And then, after weeks upon months, just like that, it happened.
“Goal! PK, you did it!” Her teammates cheered. Today was, indeed, the day.