AGAINST THE ODDS

The following Monday, Alonso felt the stares as soon as he stepped into the schoolyard. The air buzzed with an electric tension, as if everyone knew what had happened on Friday—and what was coming next.

Javi hadn't spoken to him since that final goal. But Alonso could feel his anger, coiled tight beneath the surface. The kind of anger that didn't fade with time.

Alonso wasn't stupid. He knew what happened to kids who made enemies of Javi.

Still, he didn't regret it.

At recess, the usual crowd gathered for the match, but there was something different in the air. The easy laughter was gone, replaced by murmurs and glances.

Javi stood on the far side of the yard, his friends clustered close. When his eyes met Alonso's, his lip curled in a sneer.

Alonso ignored him.

He focused on the ball at his feet, dribbling through the scattered cones he'd set up. Left foot. Right foot. Keep it tight. Keep it clean.

"Hey," a voice called.

He looked up to see Martín jogging over. Martín wasn't one of Javi's boys. He wasn't one of anyone's boys—too scrawny to stand out, too quiet to fit in.

But he was fast. And, more importantly, he didn't care about the rules Javi tried to set.

"You playing today?" Martín asked, nodding toward the forming teams.

Alonso hesitated. He knew what Javi wanted—to humiliate him, to put him back in his place. But hiding wouldn't change anything.

"Yeah," Alonso said, his jaw tightening. "I'm playing."

The teams formed, the way they always did. Javi picked first, as usual. Alonso was last.

As the game kicked off, Alonso stayed quiet, letting the others rush ahead.

The ball bounced between players, fast and hard, but he didn't chase it. He waited.

Javi wanted him to crack. To panic.

He wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

When the ball finally rolled his way, Alonso pounced. His first touch was smooth, pulling the ball away from an oncoming defender. He pivoted sharply, cutting through the chaos with an ease that felt almost automatic now.

Javi came at him next—faster, harder. But Alonso didn't flinch.

A quick feint. A flick of his ankle.

Gone.

He heard Javi's growl of frustration as he slipped past. But the sound only fueled him, driving him forward.

By the time the whistle blew, Alonso's team had won. Again.

And Javi? He didn't take it well.

"Lucky," he spat as the others drifted away. "That's all you are."

Alonso wiped the sweat from his brow, meeting Javi's glare with a steady gaze. "If you say so."

Javi's fists clenched at his sides, his knuckles white. For a second, Alonso thought he might swing.

But instead, he smiled—a slow, dangerous smile that sent a chill crawling down Alonso's spine.

"This isn't over," Javi said softly.

And for the first time all day, Alonso felt a flicker of fear.

The sun hung low in the sky by the time Alonso started his walk home. His muscles ached with exhaustion, but his mind buzzed with restless energy.

Each step echoed with the memory of the game—the weight of the ball against his foot, the thrill of leaving Javi in his dust.

But beneath the pride, that cold weight still lingered.

He knew Javi wasn't done with him.

The streets were quieter than usual. Alonso kept his head down, his bag slung over one shoulder.

The shortcut through the empty lot would get him home faster, but something made him hesitate.

He took it anyway.

The air felt heavier as he crossed the lot, his footsteps crunching softly against the gravel. Shadows stretched long across the ground, twisting around the broken fences and rusted goalposts.

A prickle ran down the back of his neck.

He wasn't alone.

Alonso glanced over his shoulder, but the lot seemed empty. Still, he picked up his pace, his heart thudding harder with every step.

A faint rustling came from behind the old shed near the edge of the lot.

He told himself it was nothing.

He didn't believe it.

Behind the shed, Javi crouched low, his breath slow and steady. Miguel and Carlos flanked him on either side, their faces tense in the fading light.

"He's coming," Miguel whispered.

Javi didn't answer. His eyes stayed locked on Alonso's retreating figure, watching the way he moved—so sure, so untouchable.

Too untouchable.

His teeth ground together as he remembered the way the others had cheered for Alonso. How they'd looked at him—like he was someone. Like he was better than Javi.

Javi couldn't let that stand.

"Are we doing this or not?" Carlos muttered, his voice edged with impatience.

Javi's fingers curled into a fist, nails biting into his palm.

"Yeah," he said quietly. "We're doing it."

A slow smile spread across his face as he watched Alonso disappear around the corner.

This wasn't over.

Not by a long shot.