I NEVER IMAGINED in a million years that this many girls would show up at the airport, and it fills my heart to near capacity. Larry being here is another plus. He sent me a text about the fans with pink footballs waiting for me. I didn't receive it until we landed, so I had no time to mentally prepare.

Eventually, the crowd dwindles and I'm able to autograph the last few balls. I give Larry a quick squeeze before joining the team on the waiting bus.

"Fan club finally thin out?" one of the players asks when I board.

For the most part, the players ignore me, so I'm surprised there's no animosity in the words. I offer a faint grin and move to the empty seat beside Lane. He puts his arm up. "No big heads allowed in this section. You might want to move to the back."

I bat his hand away and sit down. "This big head needed relief from first-game jitters. Now I feel better and oh so popular."

"Pink footballs are something I never thought I'd see."

A voice from behind us adds, "Yeah. What's this world coming to?"

"Next we'll have pink goal posts," volunteers another.

This is the type of ribbing I took from the college team and it gives me the warm fuzzies. Thinking about all the little girls who now have hopes of playing professional football almost brings me to tears. It's everything I need to put my game face on and meet the challenges ahead.

***

It's a warm day in Seattle and the stadium is packed. To me it doesn't seem like a preseason game. I'm in my new number nine away jersey and I'm ready to puke. Lane and I stretch on the sideline as he talks and tries to keep my mind off all the ridiculous thoughts running through it. "God," I groan. What happens if my cleats stick and I fall flat on my face? I need this day over. Cameras track every move I make. They don't make this easier.

The starting whistle blows and the game begins. Lane has the opening kickoff. He's decent, but I'm better. Giving Lane the ball for kickoff is a Pronghorns' media strategy that the front office formulated for some ridiculous reason. They want my first time on the field to be a scoring situation. All I want is to get rid of my game jitters. That won't happen from the sideline.

Seattle runs the kickoff to their thirty. They follow up by steadily passing and running the ball downfield. It eventually culminates in a touchdown. I know today's game and the next three don't count as far as team standings go, but there's a lot riding for most of the players and I just want everyone to look good. Me included.

The next kickoff goes into the end zone for a touchback and the Pronghorns start play on the twenty-five yard line. I jump in place on my toes trying to keep my nervous energy under control while spacing out the crowd and cameras. I catch myself staring at Aiden's tight ass as he pulls the guys in for a short huddle before the ball is hiked. He throws a short pass and the Pronghorns advance six yards. The next play is a handoff to the tight end and results in a first down.

I glance at the goalposts in Seattle's territory and my stomach rolls. "Shit," I say and cover my mouth. Lane lifts a bucket up from beside the bench and hands it over. On national television, with the world watching, I puke for the cameras. "Don't laugh," I say in horror when I see Lane's grin.

"Happens to the best of us, shorty. What makes you think you're different?" He slams his hand against my back, which doesn't help. "You ready?"

I look to the field and see that during my upchuck episode Aiden has moved the ball to Seattle's thirty yard line. His next pass is deflected and it's second down and six. Aiden goes for another handoff, but it results in the loss of a yard, making it third down and seven. This is it, and butterflies attack me again. Aiden moves back in the pocket and passes a torpedo at Randy Byer, who catches it for a touchdown. I don't have time to cheer or feel relief that I'm kicking the extra point instead of a three for my first time on the field as a professional football player.

I'm on.

"Go get 'em," Lane shouts when I run out on the field with the special teams' players. I wish Lane was holding the ball and not Kelson Miller. Not that I have time to dwell on it. It's strange. Only moments before I could hear the fans in the stadium. Now there's a whoosh in the distance as I focus on the goal. I take one moment to look up at the stands. Everyone is on their feet. This is it. The center hikes the ball and Kelson catches it at the same time I'm running forward. Shoulder pads clash and players groan on impact. I only have eyes for the ball. Kelson catches it and places it perfectly. My foot connects. The cheers are deafening as the ball flies high between the goalposts.

History is made and the first woman to play in the pros scored her first extra point.

I'm high as a kite when I run off the field. I want to throw myself into Lane's arms and kiss him but that would be unfootball-like, so all I can do is grin. He meets me halfway and slaps my ass. He's evil and made sure every camera in the stadium got the footage. All I can do is laugh.

"That was nice. I hope you keep scoring so I can do it again."

"Smartass," I tell him.

"Congratulations, number nine."

I did it. Several players offer praise. I look down the sideline at Aiden. He gives a quick smile and a thumbs up. Kelson takes over as QB and Seattle scores again in the second quarter but we don't.

We're down by seven when we hit the locker room at halftime. Coach Mitchel and Coach Morely give pep talks and outline what they expect in the second half. When they're finished, I barely have time to use the bathroom before we're back on the field. Kelson threw an interception in the second quarter and the third string quarterback is playing the third quarter. He manages to squeak out another touchdown and I have a shot at the extra point. I'm surprised when Aiden runs out on the field with special teams. He's my ball holder.

"I asked Coach," he says at my inquisitive look.

I can't believe he's holding the ball for me. I'm sure there's an unwritten rule somewhere that a starting QB can't do this, but who am I to argue? Right now it's time to do my job. Aiden's ball handling skills are good and the football sails through the goalposts after the kick.

"Do I get to slap your ass?" Aiden asks as we run off the field.

"Nope, Lane's my designated ass slapper." I grin as Lane runs up and gives me a solid pat that's hard enough to sting. Yeah, I'm grinning. I can't help it.

We lose by three. I scored a forty-yard field goal in the fourth quarter but Kelson came back into the game and threw another interception that resulted in another Seattle touchdown. As soon as the final whistle blows, I'm surrounded by media. I'm hot, sweaty, and elated that I did my job. When the press finally backs off, I sign more pink footballs.

Girls can rock pink footballs and play professional football. I just proved it.