Fourth Down
Mateo had practiced the kick a thousand times, in the backyard, in the school gym, even in the hallway at night until his dad said to stop. Now the whole season came down to one play.
The stadium lights blurred. His teammates were shouting something, but the words sounded like they were underwater. Mateo took two steps back, then one to the left, exactly as always. He thought of Coach's advice: “Don't aim at the goalposts. Aim at the one blade of grass in front of you.”
His foot met the ball with a sound like a snapping branch. For one long second nobody moved. Then the crowd's roar rolled over him, and Mateo realized he had been holding his breath since the whistle.