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“Don’t worry, we’ll score the rest.”

Sloane took her place in the line of players, arms around shoulders.

Layla squeezed her shoulder.

The opposition scored their next, as did Salchester. But then their opponents scored again. Each side had taken two spot-kicks. Salchester were down.

1-2.

The next two penalties were expertly put into the bottom corners by both sides. Welshy hit hers low and true.

2-3.

Crunch time. Sloane wasn’t sure she could watch as Nat stepped up. Her family had to be playing on her mind. She took five steps back, just like they practised. However, instead of placement, as they’d also practised, Nat went for power and put her laces through it. Right down the middle as the goalie sailed left.

The net billowed.

3-3!

The Salchester line yelled and punched the air as one.

They were level. As Nat sprinted back to the line, everyone hugged her. Sloane placed a kiss on her forehead; in return, Nat gave her a grin.

“What did I tell you?”

Sloane wasn’t going to speak and jinx it. This was far from over.

Next up, the opposition’s number 10 walked slowly to the spot and placed the ball. She’d scored the goal in normal time. She was experienced, and this shouldn’t ruffle her. But Sloane would have said the same about herself.

Sloane closed her eyes. She couldn’t watch. She willed her rival to miss, or Becca to pull off a save. She’d given her enough practice every day. Surely it had to pay off? If their striker scored, it meant Layla had to score their final kick to keep them in it. If they lost, it would be down to Sloane.

She squeezed her eyes tight shut and tried to steady her breath. Adrenaline hurtled through her. Beside her, Nat gripped her shoulder.

The next noise Sloane heard was her teammates screaming all around her, bodies leaping nearby.

Sloane opened her eyes, and saw Becca yelling, while waving her clenched fist in the air.

“Did she save it?”

Nat shook her head, eyes wide. “She blazed it over the bar.”

Wow. It really was never over until it was over.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sloane saw the opposition forward trudged back, head in hands. Sloane knew how she felt. But she was too elated to feel sympathy. Relief swamped her as she looked to the sky. Then to the bench. Lucy and Ella stood side by side, stoney-faced.

The score was still 3-3. Both teams had missed one penalty. Now they each had a kick to avoid sudden death.

The final penalty was down to Layla, because they’d elected to put their strongest kicker, Sloane, first. They’d practised together for the past week, but would it work out? Sloane gave her a fist bump and a “You got this!” before she walked to the spot and placed the ball.

Sloane made herself watch this one. She owed it to Layla. Every muscle she owned tightened as she willed her friend to score.

Layla’s shoulders went up, then down. She took three steps back, then with a trademark burst, she arrowed the ball into the top right-hand corner. Bang! Nobody was going to save that.

For the first time since the shootout started, they were ahead. Sloane allowed herself to believe. She clenched her fist by her side, let out a yelp, but it wasn’t over. The whole team knew that. It was down to the next kick. If the opposition scored, the game went to sudden death. If they missed, Salchester were through to the final.

Layla returned to a flurry of hugs, then took her place back in the team line. All ten outfield players had their arms around each other on the halfway line, all facing the goal.

Now it was the turn of the opposition number five, a stalwart defender who’d marked Sloane with authority throughout the game. Her walk was slow. This was the ultimate pressure penalty. Way more than Sloane’s, because from her miss, there was still a way back, as her team had shown. But for this defender, miss and they were out.