The coach's voice stopped me in my tracks just as I was about to escape to the locker room. I turned around, trying to suppress my groan and summon a polite smile. Chloe paused beside me, looking equally curious and amused.
"Vargas, wait a second," Coach said, jogging over, her clipboard tucked under one arm.
"Yes, Coach?" I asked, bracing myself for another lecture about aggression or some unexpected punishment for my lackluster soccer skills.
But instead of the stern expression I expected, her face softened into something almost... sheepish?
"I, uh, need to ask you for a favor," she said, glancing around as if to make sure no one else was within earshot.
"A favor?" I repeated, my curiosity piqued.
She shifted uncomfortably, clearly not used to being the one asking for things. "It's for my daughter," she finally said. "She's a big fan of yours. Watches all your shoots, keeps a scrapbook of your pictures—she even tried to recreate one of your runway walks last month."
