I level him with a stare. “Anyway, it’s fake. End of story. So, you can quit with the commentary.”
“Statistically speaking,” Finn says, his perfect imitation of his sister making the guys laugh, “people who are faking it have a one hundred percent chance of fooling themselves.”
That earns a full round of laughter from the guys. As for me, I just shake my head and pull on my shin guards.
“Okay,messieurs,” François announces, gliding into the room in his usual theatrical fashion. He’s flanked by the assistant coaches—and Millie.
She’s wearing a plain team jersey with skinny jeans, camera in hand, and my heart gives a stupid little lurch. Our eyes meet, just for a second, and she gives me a small smile before focusing back on her phone.
“Gather around,” François continues, dragging the rolling whiteboard toward him.
Archie leans toward Finn. “What’s it going to be today, you think?”
“Please be another animal,” Finn whispers to no one in particular. “Please.”
François begins sketching furiously. We all squint at the board, and it looks like Finn’s wish might come true. I think it’s… some kind of rodent?
“What is this?” François asks, a hand on his waist.
“A rat?” ventures Archie.
“Non.”
“Oh!,” Cameron says slowly. “It’s a squirrel.”
“Oui!”François beams. “Un écureuil! Do you know what squirrels are? They’re instinctive creatures!”
He spins back around and starts scrawling more frantically now—circles, arrows, little piles.
He glimpses at us again, his expression more serious. “Does the squirrel plan his nut-burying route with maps?Non! He goes by instinct! He sees a nut—he digs! He sees another—he buries!” François punctuates each sentence with a loud tap of the marker.
I catch Millie struggling not to laugh, trying to keep her camera hand steady. This is prime content, for sure.
“Today, you are all squirrels!” François continues, stabbing his finger at us. “Unpredictable. Chaotic. Full of energy.Instinctive. Be the squirrel,messieurs. Go, find the nuts... well, the goals!”
There’s a brief silence, then we all start to clap and cheer.
“Let’s go win this game,” Wade shouts, and we follow him into the tunnel. The stadium is buzzing with anticipation. Packed stands, flags waving, fans already chanting. The kid who’s escorting me can barely keep still—he’s practically bouncing next to me. It’s like hanging out with a human version of Fergie, except the kid is way nicer, and he even assures me we’ll win this match.
After the anthem, fans break into roaring applause, and we jog into position. Millie is still lingering on the sidelines, and I give her a little wave as I sprint past. She smiles back, and as she turns around to face the field, I suddenly wish she had my name across her back.
***
Millie
I watch the first half of the game from the sidelines, and the atmosphere is electric.
The pitch looks at least twice as long from this angle, the players’ sharp movements somehow even faster, the tackles more aggressive. Everything feels amplified.
François is a whirlwind, pacing the length of the bench like a man possessed. He shouts instructions in a breathless mix of French and English—half coach, half poet, all passion. Honestly, I’m starting to think he’s the real social media star of the team. I’ve barely finished posting the live from the locker room, and the comments are already flying in—hundreds of them. Most featuring squirrel emojis.
The fans in the stadium are pushing hard behind the Regents, their voices building to a louder crescendo than the first time I was here. Their chants roll like waves, crashing over the playing field, and I swear I can feel it in my chest. The players clearly feel it as well. The Regents are on fire—dominatingpossession, moving as one, and getting three times more shots on goal than Birmingham.
Just as things are heating up, a scramble in the box leads to a deflected clearance, and the ref signals for a corner.
Wade jogs to the top left corner of the pitch, the other players bunching and breaking apart near the penalty spot. I squint through my phone, recording the moment, just in case something happens.
The crowd holds its breath, blanketing the stadium in a surreal stillness. Wade raises a hand, then sends a soaring, curling cross into the air.
