CHAPTER 2: OFF TO A POOR START

You can still remember the first day the high school tournament started. Your coach was ecstatic, jumping around so much the students thought he had just gotten a girlfriend, though with his looks and with how picky girls on these parts are, we knew it would be quite the feat.

The burning desire that filled the locker room that day was contagious, winning the tournament in itself would be great but what made everyone's brain do a rewind was the news that there was going to be a scout.. A god-damn friggin scout.

We played our hearts out for every ninety minutes, trained like every game was our last and now here we are in the actual last game of the tourney.

"-don't let them move the ball around, stay close to your ma.... Get it, move it upfield, we don't want... Let's get out there and-" we all stared at the coach as he called us in to run out a few last minute tactics but to be honest, my mind wasn't there, where all my teammates were gathered. No, my mind was in that direction checking out that guy in the stands.. no, not because I know him or what not but because he was the rumoured scout.

He was sporting a red polo covered by a sleeveless puffed out jacket and jeans. His looks pretty much spell out 'bloke'.

I zoned back in just as the coach finished up and we headed to the locker room to change into our jerseys. The floors of the dressing room squeaked disorderly as we all put on our sets. Our team in particular was always known to wear the old Manchester United jersey, our coach says it's for good luck but we all know it's just because he supports the club.

"Hey Parker" I hear someone yell out my name and I freeze,'oh no, it's that fatso again'  I turn around to spot him standing behind Charlie like an obedient little dog.

"You know, this whole bullying stuff, it's getting kinda old now, don't you think." I shrug 

Charlie walks up to me wearing his usual annoying smirk, he stops in front of me and then proceeds to glare at me.

Charlie has always been the embodiment of a rich, arrogant kid who thinks he owns the world. Where does it come from though? Oh, that's from the fact that he's the mayor's kid, makes him think he can do whatever he wants.

"I know you're thinking about getting the spot for that scout, I mean I wouldn't blame you.. everyone's thinking about that same spot" he strides closer until he's only inches away from my face. 

"Isn't that spot for the best player from the team? If you think you have a shot at taking it then take it, but I won't sit back and watch.. I'll do everything in my power to take that-"

"That spot is mine!" he cuts in "if I see you trying to show off one of those lousy skills you learnt from wherever the hell you came from, I'm gonna break those little dancing feet of yours" he turns to stride off "take this as a warning and stay out of my way." he says right before fatso's punch connects with your jaw.

{Let's take a short break so our boy Ethan can collect his thoughts…}

A groan comes from your lips, 'Yep, this is how your school days have been going by ever since you came to this school. 

You shake your head and rub your hands over your face and flinch a bit 

'great, now my eye is swollen' you heave a sigh and try to finish up as fast as you can.

The referee blows the whistle to get everyone out on the pitch. You head out to the pitch with the rest of the team.

The coach catches your eye but doesn't say anything. (Yeah, he's been doing that a lot)

The whistle blows to get the match started, the opposing side passes the ball back all the way to the defence and swings it forward to their over-eager forward who fails to trap it letting it go out for a goal kick to which he blatantly blames the power of the ball.

The match eventually settles in as we all get in a few touches, string together a few passes and make some misses and interceptions.

I was just getting into the pace of the game when Dayo (our left back) smoothly passed the ball to me from a run down the by-line.

I cover up the ball, try to pick out a few open spaces before turning a 360 and nipping the ball with the outside of my left foot curling it back to Dayo who continues his run, he takes a touch too many allowing the defender to keep up pace. 

He eventually crosses the ball but it goes over everyone's head and out for a throw.

The noise around the pitch starts to get a little more lively and I watch as the crowd starts to trickle into the stadium. The high end tournament seems to be living up to its name at least for the moment. The only potholes to that enjoyment for the crowd were the occasional solo plays by Charlie (left winger) and the opposing striker that always seems to end in failure no matter how hard they try.

The ball.... like many others before it, was dispossessed from right under Charlie's nose though unlike normal the opposition did not send it to their overbearing striker but instead to the winger with a beautiful curling pass. The ball met his feet and the counter proceeded. The ball rolled and lulled and popped from one corner to the other in a display of technique that left the supporters mesmerised.

The ball finally found its way to where some fans would certainly say is it's rightful place - at the back of the net.

1-nil down and only 12mins left in this half.

Coach looks absolutely livid, Charlie keeps yelling out something about no open players (yeah Charlie, keep telling yourself that)

The halftime whistle blew and the players from each team went back to the locker room with vastly different expressions.

We cooled ourselves down for a bit, got a lot of scolding from the coach, well.. not as much as a certain left winger who keeps wasting plays. (yeah Charlie I'm talking to you) 

The coach storms off angrily but not before saying a few words of encouragement and then the whistle blows.