In Between Codes

Chapter 11

The crowd stirred.

Inspired by the courage of one girl who refused to quit, the stands began to clap, then cheer, then roar. The energy surged back into the field like a tidal wave.

The Dragons felt it.

Their heads lifted. Their pace quickened. And then—off a corner kick—they scored. The ball sailed into the net and the crowd exploded. Hope was reborn.

Five minutes later, they won possession at midfield. A swift counterattack unfolded—Jake slicing through defenders with precision and power. He fired.

Goal.

2–2.

The stands were going crazy now—chanting, clapping, roaring, jumping. Tamy stood among her squad, heart swelling with pride. She had helped reignite the fire. But deep down, she knew: a draw wouldn't be enough. The Dragons had to win.

Both teams surged forward, desperate to break the deadlock. The Wild Cats, emboldened by their earlier lead, pressed hard. Their offense was relentless, and the Dragons' goalkeeper became a wall—diving, stretching, deflecting shot after shot with miraculous saves that kept hope alive.

And then, with only minutes left, the Dragons launched one final counterattack.

Jake broke free, slicing through defenders like a blade. The crowd rose to their feet. But just as he entered the penalty area, a Wild Cat defender lunged—Jake went down. The whistle blew.

Penalty.

This was it. One kick. One chance. Do or die.

Jake was chosen to take it. He stepped forward, but his body betrayed him—tense shoulders, clenched jaw, eyes darting. He was rattled.

In Tamy's ear, Samantha's voice crackled through the earpiece. "Statistically, the keeper dives left or right 75% of the time. Best odds is to shoot straight down the middle."

Without hesitation, Tamy dashed onto the field. She reached Jake, breathless, and relayed the intel. He didn't speak. Didn't nod. Just stared ahead, stoic and unreadable.

Tamy returned to her squad. The stadium fell into a hush.

Samantha's voice came again. "His stress levels are spiking. He's 87.2% likely to miss."

Tamy's eyes widened. She couldn't let that happen.

She raised her pom-poms, took a deep breath, and began a new chant—improvised, raw, and full of heart:

"One shot, one soul, Jake leads, he'll score!"

Her voice rang out, and the cheer squad joined in. Then the crowd. The chant echoed like a heartbeat through the field.

Samantha whispered, "It's working. His stress is dropping."

Jake stepped back. The world held its breath.

He ran forward—and with a calm, calculated touch, chipped the ball gently upward in a Panenka. The goalkeeper dove to the side.

The ball floated, kissed the net.

GOAL.

The stadium erupted. 3–2. The Dragons had done it.

Tamy screamed with joy, tears in her eyes. Jake turned, arms raised.

The final whistle blew, and the crowd erupted.

The cheerleaders, Tamy among them, sprinted onto the field, their pom-poms forgotten as they threw their arms around the players. The crowd spilled from the stands, a wave of celebration crashing onto the pitch. Laughter, cheers, tears—it was chaos, beautiful and wild.