Chapter Sixteen - On The Sidelines

Aura sat just beyond the edge of the soccer field, the late October sun cutting through the crisp autumn air with a pale, golden light. The grass was still damp from the morning dew, and the faint scent of earth mixed with the sharp tang of rubber cleats and sweat. The girls' soccer team moved fluidly across the field, passing and sprinting, their voices sharp with encouragement and fierce determination.

Aura's eyes followed their every move. The way they chased the ball, the quick flicks of their feet, the triumphant cheers after a goal—all of it made her chest ache with a complicated mix of longing and frustration.

She wanted to be out there.

She really did.

But the season had already started weeks ago, and she had missed tryouts. The coach had told her it was too late, that the roster was full. So instead, she sat on the cold metal bleachers, watching the seniors—the girls she idolized—play like they owned the world.

Aura was almost fifteen, a little younger than most on the team, and sometimes she felt like she was living in a shadow cast by her older siblings, especially Harriet. Harriet was the head cheerleader, the "golden girl" that everyone loved and noticed. But Aura? She was a lot quieter, sharper, a steel thread of determination wound tight beneath her calm exterior.

She had actually more trophies than Harriet—more than anyone in their family—but no one celebrated that. No one put her achievements on display or praised her for her discipline and grit. Instead, she tucked them away in her room, in neat rows on shelves that were rarely seen by anyone but her.

Every morning, she woke up and pushed herself harder. Running drills before school, hitting the weights after class, studying the plays of professional athletes late into the night. She wanted to be the best. She needed to be the best. Because if she wasn't, what was the point?

Her family didn't seem to notice the hours she sacrificed. They barely asked how her games went, never stopped to watch her play, or asked her about college scouts or scholarships. It was as if her victories were invisible.

Aura sighed, folding her hands in her lap. The leaves drifted down in slow spirals around the field, and a cold breeze teased at the edges of her jacket. She hugged herself tighter.

Maybe next year she'd get a chance. Maybe next year she'd make the team and finally prove something—to her coaches, to her family, but mostly to herself.

Her dream wasn't just about trophies. She wanted to be an athlete when she grew up, to compete professionally, to travel and win and be recognized for her strength and skill. The girls she watched now were the first steps on that path, and she hoped with every part of her that she would soon be walking alongside them.

"Hey, Aura!"

The sharp voice of one of the senior players pulled her from her thoughts. Beth—captain of the team—was jogging over, a smirk playing on her lips. Aura's heart skipped, half from excitement and half from nerves.

"Wish you were out there, huh?" Beth teased, tossing her ponytail over her shoulder.

Aura forced a smile. "Yeah. Maybe next season."

Lena shrugged, checking her watch. "Well, keep working. You've got the drive. That's half the battle."

As Beth ran back toward the field, Aura watched her go, a spark of determination flaring inside her.

Every now and then, a flicker of hope sparked inside her. Maybe—just maybe—one of the players would get injured. A twisted ankle, a pulled muscle, something that would open the door for a last-minute call-up. A chance to prove herself.

She caught herself wishing for it—an awful, secret hope she knew was selfish—but the hunger to be out on that field was too strong to ignore.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, remembering the last family dinner. Harriet had announced she'd made captain of the cheer squad. The room had erupted with congratulations, laughter, and smiles. Aura had sat there, pushing her salad around her plate, the tight knot in her chest growing.

She wanted to be proud of Harriet. She truly did. But the ache inside her was different—a pressure cooker of wanting to be seen, to matter, to have her hard work acknowledged beyond the walls of her own room.

She rubbed her fingers over the edge of her jacket sleeve and glanced down at her hands.

Sometimes she wondered if she was too quiet, too serious, too "different" for her family. Maybe that's why she was invisible to them.

But the truth was, she was the one who pushed herself hardest. Every morning, before the sun rose, she ran drills in the park near their house. Every night, she pored over training videos and nutrition plans. Every weekend, she practiced alone because the others didn't have the same fire.

She wanted to be an athlete, not just for herself, but to break the cycle—show her family that she was more than the younger child who always faded into the background.

A cold breeze swept across the field, pulling Aura from her thoughts. She pulled her jacket tighter and stood, brushing the dirt from her jeans.

One day soon, she promised herself, they would all see her.