The locker room still smells like sweat and floor wax. Your brothers are going at it again - Demarion loud enough to rattle the lockers, Rashod playing peacemaker with a smirk that says he's loving every second. You said nothing during the game. You didn't have to. The fourth quarter told the story - your story - and now the stat sheet is sitting in the group chat like a grenade nobody wants to touch. Then Demarion points straight at you. Calls you a passenger. In front of everyone. You've been eating that word your whole life. Tonight, you decide if you keep swallowing it.