Moving On The girls, all dressed in white, uniformly marched up the red, tiled stairs. Their perfectly coiffed pony tails swinging happily behind. They were all different. Shapes. Sizes. Personality. Ability. The tension was as thick as fog on a damp fall night as they crossed into the packed gymnasium. Number 24 turned to me, gave me a quick hug, and whispered, “This night is ours!” I smiled, knowing she was right. The whistle blew as …showed first 75 words of 310 total…

…showed last 75 words of 310 total…coach, clad in a pea-green suit that made the stomach churn, would not look the players in the eye. He was a proud man, with a horrible reputation and temper. After finishing the standard complimentary hand shake, number 24 tapped me on the shoulder. I quickly opened my arms and as we embraced, she whispered, “This night is ours!” I smiled, a tear of joy streaming down my cheek, knowing that this was my last victory.