I noticed my mom, deeply involved in a conversation with Ms. O’Connor, among forty or so of my classmates. It was a decent turnout, considering it wasn’t a league title or state game. Eliza was stationed with Hannah and a few of the other junior girls who had brothers or boyfriends on our team. All of them wore our school colors: maroon and gold. Eliza looked good in those colors.

Go Owls.

Austin’s texts flooded back to me.

I squatted on the dewy grass and laced up my cleats. That was part of my ritual—not to lace them up until game time. I threw my sweatshirt next to my water bottle and jogged to my new position on the right side of the penalty arc. Kevin Light, the next closest player, pounded my fist. It was time to play.

Carter did the ceremonial coin flip with Ben Johnson, the captain of Littleton-West, to see which team would start with the ball. Ben had a reputation for being a dirty player; not officially, of course, since he’s never been called on it. Once he checked Carter so hard that Carter had to sit out the rest of the game because his nose wouldn’t stop bleeding, and the ref, who was looking directly at it when it happened, somehow didn’t see it.

Yeah, right.

After a quick check to see who was refereeing that day, my mood dampened. What were the odds it would be the same guy? He was still hairy, short, and wearing a faded white-and-black jersey that should have been taken off his back years ago.

Wonderful.

I jumped, trying to stay loose. I knew Ben’s moves. Jeff Karvotsky, the new, standing center-forward, didn’t have a clue.

“Maguire,” my dad called. “You’re on corner kicks.”

Translation: You’re playing defense, and you’re going to play it like your life depends on it.

That was when I saw them. They wore Clarkebridge-color windbreakers—blue and white. Their clipboards hung loosely at their sides and they both chomped gum, like they’d been chewing when I’d tried out for them. They weren’t the coaches but were the administrative coordinators. We’d had our tryout. Now the coaches would be conducting their due diligence to see if we really deserved the spots on their team. The team administrators go around to confirm scholarships.

They stood close enough to the half-line that they could have been scouting players from either side.

My fists clenched. Today was the day I was being scouted for my scholarship, and I was playing defense.

Was my dad trying to screw with me?

When other players whine about what position they have to play, I’m usually the one who tells them to man up and quit complaining, because there’s nothing they can do or say to change the situation. Now it was time to say that to myself. Focus on the ball, Maguire. You’re going to be the best defender on the field today. No excuses.

“How’s the nose?” Ben asked Carter. Even from the penalty line, the smirk on that little slime ball’s face gleamed.