Onto The Trial (1)

"David, get up... David, get up... David! Get the fuck up!" Anne's voice rang out in the darkness of David's room, the crescendo of her voice increasing as the sound of hand hitting flesh echoed through the space.

"What? I'm up! What?" David jerked up from his bed after Anne tapped him the third time. It took him a few seconds to process what was happening. When he did, he hurriedly sat up on his bed. "Fuck, the trial. What's the tim--"

"It's still early." Anne rolled her eyes at his frantic reaction. "Something as important as this, and one would think you'd remember to set an alarm."

David rubbed his eyes and checked his phone, which sat on the small table beside his bed. "I did set an alarm. It wasn't supposed to ring for another hour."

"Ohh." Anne scratched her nose awkwardly. "Well, you know what they say. You can never be too early."

"Mmhmm." David let out a low hum. He wanted to say a lot more, but he figured it wouldn't end well for him.

Anne left the room silently, and David got up from his bed. He did a few push-ups on the floor before going into the toilet to brush his teeth and take a shower.

Thirty minutes later, David emerged from his room dressed in a black top and black trousers, complemented by plain white sneakers. He carried a duffel bag containing his football kit, his towel, his shin guards, and most importantly, his cleats.

As he stepped into the living room, he was met with an unexpected sight—James and Oliver lounging on the couch, chatting like they lived there. His brows arched in surprise.

"What are you man doin' here?" he asked slowly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Fam, you really think we was just gonna let you roll out by yourself?" Oliver said with a smirk.

"Yeah, blud," James chimed in, stretching his arms. "We asked your aunt if we could tag along, and she said it's calm."

"Nah, fuck that sentimental bullshit. You wastemen just want free food from my aunt!" David accused, pretending to be angry.

"Times are hard, bro." Oliver didn't even try to deny it.

"Man's gotta do what man has to do to eat, bruv." James shrugged again. "Also, when we cutting?"

"In about an hour," Anne answered, stepping out of the kitchen and into the living room. She carried a tray with three bowls, along with a jar of milk and a box of cereal. "Here's breakfast."

James and Oliver nearly teared up at the sight. Their heads turned from the tray to Anne, then back to the tray again.

"You're the angel I never thought existed in this world," Oliver said, clutching his chest dramatically.

"God bless you!" James added immediately after, his voice filled with emotion.

Their reactions made Anne chuckle. "That's how you appreciate food," she said, side-eyeing David, who just shook his head, speechless.

The trio ate in silence, apart from the occasional sounds of spoons clanking against bowls. Every now and then, either James or Oliver would try to start a conversation, but David was too tense to properly engage.

After a while, Oliver leaned back in his chair, rubbing his stomach. "So, big man, how you feeling?"

David exhaled slowly. "Dunno, blud. Jittery, I guess."

"Nah, nah, you got this, bro," James said, pointing his spoon at him. "I seen you ball out in cage games. If you move like that at trials, Arsenal's gonna beg you to sign."

"Yeah, but cage ball and proper eleven-a-side football ain't the same, fam. Man can't just flick ball over heads and rinse man on vibes alone, init? Coaches want structure and all that."

"Fuck structure, blud!" Oliver leaned forward, animated. "Bro, real ballers break structure! Look at Grealish, man still moving like he's playing with mandem in Birmingham."

James nodded. "Facts. But still, don't do too much. Man like you? You're naturally cold. Keep it simple, get me?"

David sighed. "Man's gonna try, init? But still… it's Arsenal, fam. Bare talented ballers there. And they been in academy from day."

"And?" Oliver shot back. "So what? Them man been comfortable. You? You been grinding on concrete pitches where one wrong fall can end your whole ting. You built different."

David cracked a small smile. "Yeah, maybe."

"Nah, no maybe, fam. You got this. Say it with chest."

David chuckled, but deep down, he appreciated the support. Even if he wouldn't admit it out loud, their words meant a lot.

Anne re-entered the room, looking at the time. "Alright, boys, wrap it up. We're leaving in twenty."

David finished the last of his cereal, then stood up. "Let me go get my boots sorted."

He went back to his room and unzipped his duffel bag, pulling out his cleats. They weren't brand new, but they were his favorites—black with gold accents. He ran a finger over the laces, feeling the familiar texture. This was it. Everything he had worked for led to today. The extra sessions in school all by himself, all the times he cut himself playing on concrete pitches with older boys, every single thing he ever gave, everything led up to that trial.

A deep breath. One last check. He was ready.

David glanced at the small mirror on his desk, staring at himself for a moment. His reflection stared back, filled with both excitement and uncertainty. This trial could change his life. He tightened his grip on the cleats, inhaled sharply, and nodded to himself.

He grabbed his bag and headed back out. "Aight, let's go."

Oliver clapped his hands together. "Say no more, my drilla! We ridin' for you today."

James laughed, slapping David on the back. "Man's about to show these academy yutes what real ballers move like!"

David couldn't help but smile as he followed them out the door. The weight of the trial still loomed over him, but with his boys backing him, he felt ready for whatever came next.