When Carter came to high five me, I almost didn’t take it. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. Way to work, man.” My cheeks stung from grinding my teeth so hard.

Carter grinned and we jogged back to our positions. It was impossible to be mad at him. Carter O’Connor was my best friend, and he wasn’t doing anything wrong. The same could not be said for me. I couldn’t think screw you, Carter, without feeling guilty.

The hair on the back of my neck stood up—someone was watching me. I turned and found the Clarkebridge scouts staring back. Think about soccer, think about soccer.

Even if they were there to watch Carter, I would give them something exciting to see. I had to. In the next thirty minutes, L-W scored twice, and by halftime the score was 2–1, Littleton-West. I’d touched the ball three times, and in each I’d successfully taken it away from Ben. That was all I could do.

Tweeeeeeeeet came the referee’s whistle, signaling halftime. Barely having broken a sweat, my jog to the halftime huddle felt easier than ever. After everyone had taken a few sips (or in Carter’s case, gulps) of water, my dad called us in.

“Good job so far, nerds,” he said. “You scored early. That was nice, but I need you to do that two more times. And you must not, under any goddamn circumstances, let them score again. Maguire! Karvotsky! I’m switching you. Maguire, you’re back on offense, Karvotsky, you’re my new right-side defender.”

My shoulder panged as Carter gave it a hard clap.

Oh, thank God.

Soon, I stood on the half-line between Carter and Austin, the way things were supposed to be. Ben waited across from me.

“Look who’s back in the game,” he said. “What happened, Maguire? Did they think you could win if they switched your position around?” His laugh bounced off us. “Yeah, that’s going to work.”

“They said the same thing about your dad’s condom,” I said. “Guess the birth certificate was their apology letter.”

“Nick, that was beautiful,” said Austin.

“Bitch,” said Ben.

“There’s a big word,” Carter interjected. “That what your mom calls you?”

Tweeeeeeet came the ref’s whistle. Carter kicked the ball to Austin and I cut forward, making me wide open when he passed it. Ben caught up, breathing heavily as I maneuvered around him, passing back to Austin. Ben didn’t leave me alone; he stayed right behind me, preventing me from getting open again. I checked to see that the referee wasn’t looking (though to be honest, he owed us one) and then gave Ben a sharp elbow to the ribs, hard enough to make him move, but not hard enough to do any damage. He backed off, though barely.

My lungs thanked me for finally using them as I sprinted towards the goal, where Carter passed to me. After faking right, then left, then right again, I kicked it back to Carter. Carter took the shot. It hit the edge of the goal, right where the goalie was waiting for it, and bounced back. That was exactly what Carter had wanted it to do. With a slam loud enough our own goalie could have heard it, the ball bounced off my chest, seconds after I’d jumped for it. I punted it with my knee and heard the best sounds in the entire world: the swish of the ball against the net and the cheering of the crowd behind me.