Maya saw the camera flashes recording the critical moment where her torn jersey exposed everything she'd worked to hide, and she knew that some secrets were too big to keep forever.
The final whistle blew somewhere in the distance, but Maya barely heard it through the rushing in her ears.
Her hands still pressed against her chest with desperate pressure, holding the torn fabric tight, holding herself together through sheer will. Around her, Coach Rivera was shouting instructions about the post-game handshake line, the crowd was roaring their approval of Riverside's 3-1 victory, and the scoreboard flashed numbers that should have meant triumph.
We won. I scored twice. None of that matters now.
