Page 9

During cooldowns, Willie steals a ball from Zach. He parades around the pitch like an MVP. “Bro, you make it too easy!” Willie guffaws. Drills are a joke to Willie; he claims it’s the Irish half of his lineage. For three seasons, he’s played sweeper, the last line of defense between an attacker and the goalie.

“All-star moves, Willster!” Sebastian shouts.

“Don’t encourage the idiot.” Mason is doubled over, hands on his knees. When he can inhale, he says, “I’m the only one who can have an ego around here.”

“Of course,” replies Sebastian, bouncing a ball from the toe of his shoe to his knee, then his chest. Rinse and repeat. “No one can out-Mason you.” He ignores Mason’s sarcastic response to focus. Like Mason, he wants to be the best. Soccer is his life; it’s where he belongs.

Zach waves at him, shouting, “Heads up!” while he waits for Sebastian to pass him the ball.

Sebastian says, “Keep up this time, okay?” before head-butting the ball to Zach.

“Watch out!” Zach calls. He dodges the coaches carrying Tom off the field.

“Another one down.” Mason sighs. “Amateurs.”

“Just give them a chance, Mace,” Willie whines.

“For what?”

“Because we need them. They’re trying.”

“Seriously, this is you using your brain right now?” Mason asks.

Willie mouths something back.

Eventually, Sebastian will step in before it gets out of hand. He’s not theircaptain, but Sebastian has spent most of his life being called “Super-Dad” and “The Responsible One.” This particular trait was inherited from his dad, the middle child of six, who looked after his younger siblings while also covering for his older sisters when they snuck out to parties with their boyfriends. Despite being the youngest child, Sebastian has an urge to protect his friends and teammates.

“A good heart doesn’t need a reason; take care of people the way you’d want them to take care of you,” his mom always says.

Yeah, he’s doubled down on the responsible thing, and this is Sebastian Hughes: first guy to take care of a sick teammate, ensure everyone does their studies, and prevent the wilder ones, mainly Zach and Mason, from getting arrested. He’s the peacemaker. This pack of misfits ishis misfits.

“It’s okay if they suck right now. You did too,” Willie tells Mason.

Mason was a disaster his first few games. He missed passes more than he came close to scoring, and a bad case of nervous upchuck sidelined him for the second half of a big game. Now, Mason is their best attacker, justifiable ego included.

Swiping off sweat, Sebastian drags his wrist over his forehead. “We’re gonna be champions this year, remember?”

“You’re gonna make a great captain.”

Sebastian flinches and sputters when he says, “I’m just a decent goalie, man.”

“Get a life, loser.”

“You first.”

Laughing, they fake like they’re going to punch each other.

“Why am I friends with you two?” Willie asks, limping away.

A skateboarding injury screwed up Willie’s knee a few years ago. It flares up every season, but Willie refuses to sit out, no matter how much Coach Patrick begs him. Willie believes soccer is his one great contribution in life, a thought all the players share. None of them are super-scholars, ruling out law or medicine. This is what they can offer this world: kicking ass at soccer. No one wants to pass up that opportunity.

“Is that it? Is that all you’ve got?” Jack taunts someone from the penalty box.

It’s Emir.

Jack is their second string goalie. He’s adequate at best. Emir’s lack of skill is clear when he struggles to get around Jack’s shitty defense.

With his beanie pushed back and his dark fringe catching in his eyelashes, Emir says, “Shut up.” His formless kick sends the ball sailing wide.