After lunchtime, Harry returned to class for a double lesson in Maths. His teacher, Mr. Hadley, was also the P.E. coach — a fact that made today feel even more significant.
As Harry settled at his desk, Mr. Hadley glanced over and asked quietly, "So, you coming to the trials after school, Brewer?"
Harry's heart jumped. "Yeah, I am. I'm really looking forward to it."
The teacher's usual stern expression softened for a moment. He tried to remain professional, but a spark of excitement flickered in his eyes. "Good. We'll see if yesterday was just a lucky game or if you've really got something to offer. Next year's cup is a big deal — never won by a school like ours before. Getting second this year was something, but I want us to push all the way to the top."
Harry nodded, his mind spinning. He tried to focus on the math problems on the board, but his thoughts kept drifting back to football — the way the ball felt under his feet, how quickly he'd picked up juggling with Liam's help just minutes ago.
Mr. Hadley noticed Harry's gaze wandering and the way he doodled equations in his notebook. With a slight smile, he gave Harry a free pass. "Don't worry about the work today. Just focus on what's ahead. You're usually quiet, but I can see you're fired up. That counts for something."
Relief washed over Harry. He refocused for a moment, then packed up as soon as the lesson ended.
He hurried to the children's bathroom, heart pounding. The cold tiles bit into his thin socks as he emptied his rucksack. His oversized shorts — frayed and faded from years on the farm — hung loose on his skinny frame. His trainers were battered, scuffed from endless farm chores. He laced them tightly, the worn leather creaking beneath his fingers.
Catching his reflection in the cracked mirror, Harry straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath. You've got this.
Outside, the school football ground was filling up. The team that had finished second in the tournament were already there, warmed up and stretching. Around six or seven other children, including Harry, arrived, eager to show their skills.
Some girls from their class watched from the sidelines, their trial scheduled for tomorrow. They cheered quietly, exchanged whispers, and glanced toward Harry with curious eyes.
As Harry approached, whispers rippled through the group. Several snickers followed when Malik caught sight of Harry's worn shorts and scuffed trainers.
"Oi, Brewer," Malik jeered loudly, "nice lookin' kit. You sure you belong here?"
Harry's cheeks burned, but before he could reply, Liam stepped in. Towering over Harry by nearly half a foot, Liam put an arm around his shoulder and steered him away from the onlookers.
"Don't worry about what they say," Liam whispered. "Doesn't matter what they think. If you can play, you can play."
Harry swallowed, a small smile breaking through his nerves.
Just then, Mr. Hadley arrived, brisk and businesslike. He quickly set up a line of cones and called the group together.
"Alright, one at a time. Dribble through the cones, keep the ball close. Show me what you've got."
Malik went first. His feet moved like lightning, the ball glued to his soles as he weaved expertly through the cones. Halfway through, he scoffed, "This is too easy — should put the cones closer."
A few girls watching murmured their approval, eyes wide at Malik's skill.
Next came Liam, smooth and steady, his control near flawless. Then others followed — some good, some fumbling.
Then came Trevor, nicknamed "Meatballs" by many, arriving late and out of breath. His round belly strained against his shirt as he clumsily took the ball. Almost immediately, he stumbled, nearly falling over and knocking several cones down in a chaotic tumble.
"Why're you even here?" Malik sneered.
Trevor shrugged, panting. "My mum made me come. Says I need to get off my backside."
The group laughed, but Trevor simply waited for it to end, unbothered.
Harry watched quietly, nerves twisting tighter in his stomach. Malik's ease was intimidating, and the group's energy made his small frame feel even smaller.
Finally, it was Harry's turn.
His breath hitched as he stepped forward. The ball felt heavy beneath his foot. For a long moment, he froze, his mind blank but for pounding nerves.
Then, steadying himself, he nudged the ball toward the first cone, slow and cautious.
Step by step, Harry's confidence grew. His feet found a rhythm, the ball dancing at his control. By the end, he was moving faster, weaving smoothly through the cones.
From the sidelines, Liam nodded approvingly. Mr. Hadley gave a faint smile, barely visible but unmistakable.
Malik tutted loudly. "Took you twice as long as me and you barely got started."
Harry didn't respond. He didn't have to. Today wasn't about beating Malik. It was about proving to himself he belonged.