My pulse ticks up.
Not fear.
Disappointment.
She doesn’t look at me at first.
Just watches the team pack up.
“You’re one of the strongest players I’ve coached,” she says calmly.
My throat tightens.
“But?”
She finally turns to face me.
“But you’re distracted.”
I swallow.
“I’m handling it.”
“Are you?”
Her eyes are sharp but not unkind.
“This isn’t high school, Stella. This is Stanford. This is scholarships and NIL and national ranking.”
“I know.”
“Then act like it.”
That one stings.
“I have acted like it,” I say quietly. “I’ve given everything.”
“You have,” she agrees. “Which is why this surprises me.”
I look down at my hands.
“I’ve never…” I exhale slowly. “I’ve never dated. Not really. I’ve never just been a normal college girl.”
Her expression softens a fraction.
“Then quit,” she says evenly.
My head snaps up.
“Quit the team. Go be a normal college girl.”
The words hang heavy.
“Or,” she continues, “come back tomorrow and give me the Stella Cortez I recruited.”
Silence.
My heartbeat pounds in my ears.
