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What troubles Sebastian is, he thinks he should apologize. Will it matter? Were things going to continue once the season was over and Emir wasn’t out to impress his dad? Sebastian doesn’t know.

And here he is again, unsure of what happens to his life after soccer. Sebastian just needs someone to give him an answer.

A clipboard thwacks on the grass next to Sebastian, followed by a groaning, disgruntled Coach Patrick. “Too old for this,” says Coach, hairy legs stretched out in front of him, brim of his snapback pulled low to shade the sun.

Sebastian lifts an inquisitive eyebrow.

“I can’t figure out why you always do this.” Coach leans back on his hands. “What seventeen-year-old has so many moments of self-reflection?”

Coach reminds Sebastian of a TV dad, all deep speeches, then a bear hug. He goes from vicious wolverine on the pitch to Mr. Rogers without blinking an eye.

“Uh, I—”

Coach holds up a finger. “It’s not bad, Sebastian, except it only happens after a bad practice or a tough game.” Coach’s smile deepens his crow’s feet. “Remember when we played that amazing school from Chicago?”

Sebastian will never forget.

After the disastrous loss the Lions suffered, Sebastian spent an hour coughing up his guts in the stalls. Then he staked out a spot in the stadium’s empty bleachers and sat for hours with his headphones, sulking. He didn’t say a word for twenty-four hours.

“You’re good at beating yourself up, kid.” Coach drops a meaty arm around Sebastian’s shoulders. “But enough is enough.”

Sebastian nods, blowing out a breath to get the hair off his forehead.

“The other coaches and I have been talking.” Coach pauses, staring at Mason. Sebastian’s stomach clenches. Coach shakes his head, and says, “You’ve grown, kid. There’s a bullseye on you across the conference; everyone’s talking about the goalie from BHS.”

Sebastian’s throat is dry. He gets out, “Wow!” but it’s hoarse.

“You’re better than Riley,” Coach says without levity. “We weren’t expecting that after freshman year.”

Sebastian says, “I’m not,” by instinct, but Coachtsksat him, so he shuts his mouth.

“It was a unanimous vote. You’re captain.”

It doesn’t sink in immediately.Captain. Then, the goosebumps break out like a bad rash. Numbness and relief hit Sebastian at once. He scratches his temple, trying to piece together a “thank you,” but Coach beats him to it.

“They follow you,” he says, nodding toward Mason and Willie. “You’re the only leader they want.”

Carl definitely wouldn’t agree.

Coach considers him. “College scouts want you, Bastian. Treat this season right, and you can have a scholarship wherever you want.”

Sebastian breaks eye contact to gaze at the sinking sun. The sky is edging toward pink. His fingers curl around prickly grass. The waning warmth cools against his neck.

Bloomington High’s soccer team has a new captain.Captain Hughes.

A whooshing breath finally escapes him. “Thanks, Coach.”

Coach grunts; his arm goes lax on Sebastian’s shoulders. He’s rough around the edges, intimidating, but Coach considers every one of the players his son, including pranksters like Mason. Sebastian is proud to be part of that.

Coach changes the subject. “So.” Sebastian’s neck hairs stand up at Coach’s insightful look. “Shah, huh? Never suspected him as your type.”

This moment would be much funnier if Sebastian wasn’t positive he’s a second away from a heart attack. He’s damned, flinching at his pathetic “me neither” laugh and Coach’s speculative, but amused, glare. He doesn’t know what’s worse, being caught by his mom making out with a girl or Coach’s awareness about his pining for the guy who hates his guts. Both?

Andpining? Jesus, Sebastian hates how his brain works.

“He’s my,” Sebastian chokes, tries again. “He’s my friend.”And he’s my type, too. Maybe it wasn’t apparent when he first realized he was into guys, but those childhood memories make Sebastian think something was there, lying dormant.

Coach hums.