Carter and I had worked on that play a million and ten times.

My arms fired into the air like I’d crossed the finish line in a marathon.

“This is how we do it!” Austin shouted, throwing his arm around me, like maybe things were okay between us. “Yeah, buddy. All tied up.”

The scouts jotted something on their clipboards. My dad gave me the approving nod I always get when I score a goal. Eliza smiled back at me. The universe felt small in the palm of my hand.

The three of us walked back to the half-line, murmuring strategy and game plans. The referee answered a question from one of the scouts and Coach Dad called in a substitute for two of the midfielders. Ben Johnson had all the time in the world to egg us on.

“Looked like you were showing off with that victory wave, Maguire,” he said. He scanned the spectators. “Who’s your girl?”

“Now who’s being ridiculous,” Carter said, like I couldn’t possibly have had a kinda-sort-of-maybe-almost-hopefully-girlfriend in the crowd.

“Shut up, Johnson,” said Austin. “Don’t be jealous that Nick can get some when you can’t, pal.”

Carter laughed.

As much as I appreciated Austin trying to help me, that comment made everything a lot worse.

“So there is a girl.” Ben glanced to where Hannah, Eliza, and their friends waved at us. “Is it the little miss cheerleader?” He meant Hannah, who was shaking her gold and maroon cheerleading pompoms. “She looks like fun.” His eyes were glued to my face, which had lost all of its color. “If I had to bet, I’d say it’s blondie.” Carter grimaced. Apparently talking about Eliza was worse than talking about Hannah. “I dunno, Maguire, she looks like she could really put out—”

Every muscle in my body tensed. I couldn’t help it. It was a reflex. And it was enough for Ben to realize he’d hit it right on the money.

“Well done, Maguire. With those legs, I’d bet she’s a lot more flexible than little miss cheerleader. Although,” he paused, “she looks like she’d say ‘yes’ to any—”

I didn’t let him finish that sentence.

Right when my dad, the referee, the two scouts, my mom, Carter, and Eliza were all looking at me, I punched Ben squarely in the face. He doubled back, holding his jaw, and Carter jumped on him, pushing his face into the dirt.

Something—someone—held me back before I could make it two-on-one.

“Bro, he’s not worth it,” Austin said. “Don’t.” Austin had about twenty pounds on me, and there was no way I could twist out of his grip. Then, a different grip seized my arm, as Coach Dad dragged Carter and me towards the sideline.

“Sit.” He pointed at a metal bench.

Ben withered in the grass, blood gushing from his face. Our trusty sideline fans stared at the scene in horror. The scouts stood by the referee, waiting for a verdict. I couldn’t bear the look on Eliza’s face.