Our team huddle unfurls into a flock of girls thundering toward Coach Kitt. Even with Gatorade dumped and dripping over her back, Kitt directs traffic toward the handshake finale, the Windsor Prep players waiting politely in a line, tears smudging eye black.
I make it a point to say every girl’s name as we pass, a flip-book of my old life gaining speed with each stop and face. And when I hit the end of the line, there’s Danielle, her arms thrown wide. When I fall into them, they feel like home.
“I’m so proud of you, champ.” And now I’m crying, tears bracketing the grin I can’t lose. My sister is the first person I always want to impress, and nothing will ever change that. We’ll always be a team, even if we aren’t on the same side. “You’re totally going to rub this in for the next 365 days, aren’t you?”
I laugh as we unfold just enough—arms across each other’s backs, hands landing on outside hips—that we can both face Mom and Dad, calling for a picture. Mom is looking good, her cheeks almost full, hair thickening up. Behind them, Ryan has his hands up, grin a mile wide, while Heather gives him a deep hug.
“Eh, winning isn’t everything.”