Her cleats are neon pink, a black swoop to give them credence. She hustles onto the field, tackling her girlfriends in a playful gesture. They run drills, found on the internet by the volunteer coach. Games to teach them teamwork, footwork, skills for basic play.

We bring our camp chairs, a bag of snacks, two water bottles to quench their thirst. The littles run on the perimeter, beeline to the playground where they can swing and slide and dig in the sand for a temporary distraction.

I see the girls from afar, their ponytails wagging as they scrimmage, green jerseys tangled up in the fray. They take turns kicking into the net, ball shanked to the left, to the right. Their legs scissor across the grass, some controlled, some gangly, some running to the goal with intention, comfortable in their bodies, aware of where thye’re going and who they want to be.