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“I don’t understand. Where’s the real Sebastian Hughes?”

I have no idea.

Sebastian’s not actually answering Coach O’Brien. He’s been letting O’Brien chew him out for ten minutes now. It’s hot, day-old vomit looks better than he does, and, to top it off, they had another scrimmage. It was a repeat of Team Drews versus Team Hughes, but this time they lost epically. Hell, he let Robbie make two goals on him.Robbie. He never lets Robbie sink one in. Sebastian has no explanation.

Their hard work over the summer is circling the drain.

His brain can’t come up with a damn thing to say to O’Brien or Rivera to make himself look better.

O’Brien sighs. “We can’t beat the Spartans like this.” He squeezes Sebastian’s shoulder, then says, carefully, “And you’re just—this isn’t good for you.”

Obviously. Sebastian hardens the line of his mouth and stares at the pitch. He doesn’t want to have this conversation. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“Okay.” O’Brien stares at him. “You’ve got this, Sebastian. You do.”

Sebastian doesn’t agree. He feigns a smile and skulks off. Cement is in his shoes as he climbs the bleachers. Willie passes him a water. Sebastian collapses and tries to absorb Willie’s genuine positivity as their shoulders knock.

“Feeling the burn yet?”

Choking on his first gulp of water, Sebastian flips him off. Willie’s humor could cure the zombie plague. Sebastian wipes his mouth with his wrist. “How about you?” His eyes drop to Willie’s knee.

“Best I can be.”

Sebastian’s not going to pry, because it’s Willie’s business and because Sebastian hasn’t been the best at telling people his own secrets.

Willie’s spine is curved on the empty bleachers behind him. “It’s bullshit, but I’m okay.” Oakville’s cloudless sky means the sun embellishes the blueness of his eyes, like the petals of forget-me-nots. “Coach says I can still suit up every game, cheer you guys on from the bench.”

Sebastian squeezes Willie’s good knee.

“It sucks,” Willie says, “but it’s not the end of the world.”

Sebastian envies Willie’s confidence. Itisthe end of the world, to have something you love taken from you. Sebastian’s suffocating all the time, trying to get his head around what’ll happen in a couple of months when soccer’s over. He has no ideawhohe is without this sport.

It takes some effort, but Sebastian manages not to frown. Willie’s mind-reading talent has probably already figured him out. He asks, “When?”

“Mom’s gonna try to schedule the operation before school starts.”

Sebastian is ripe with sweat, but he doesn’t care; he drops an arm around Willie’s shoulders. “We’ll figure it out.”

“You’ll bring my homework while I recover?”

“Yep. As long as you don’t ask me to help you with Shakespeare.”

“Because you suck at Shakespeare.”

“Webothsuck at Shakespeare, Willster.”

Willie’s smile tucks into his eyes, creasing the corners. “True story.”

Sebastian rests his chin on the top of Willie’s hair so Willie is half folded in a brotherly embrace. Leave it to Willie to take Sebastian’s mind off a shitty day.

* * *

“Mason Riley, front and center!”

Grey stands at the center of the pitch. She’s wearing a poorly-fitting team uniform, soft curls in a messy ponytail, cleats, and a warrior’s face. It’s very badass.

Most of the team’s spread out on the bleachers, still licking their wounds from practice. They lift their heads as soon as she barks. Gio whispers, “¡Qué mierda!” and Rivera points a warning finger at him with slit eyes.