"Lights," Aaron called from somewhere behind them.

Neil heard the hum of electricity before the lights came on, starting with emergency lights at his feet and cascading upwards. The stadium came to life before his eyes, row after row of alternating orange and white seats disappearing into sky-high rafters and the court lighting up in front of him. Neil was moving before the ceiling lights turned on, crossing the inner court to the court walls. He pressed his hands to the thick, cold plastic and looked up, where the scoreboards and replay TVs hung over the court's ceiling, then down to the glossy wood. Orange lines marked first, half, and far court. It was perfect, utterly perfect, and Neil felt at once inspired and horrified by the sight of it. How could he possibly play here after playing on Millport's pathetic knockoff court?

He closed his eyes and breathed in, breathed out, imagining the way bodies sounded as they crashed into each other on the court, the way the announcer's voice would only come through in muffled, scattered bursts, the roar of sixty-five thousand people reacting to a goal. He knew he didn't deserve this, knew beyond a doubt he wasn't good enough to play on this court, but he wanted and needed it so badly he ached all over.

For three and a half weeks, it would be just the five of them, but in June the Foxes would move in for summer practices and in August the season would begin. Neil opened his eyes again, looked at the court, and knew he'd made the right decision. The risks didn't matter; the consequences would be worth it. He had to be here. He had to play on this court at least once. He had to know if the crowd screamed loud enough to blow the roof off. He had to smell the sweat and overpriced stadium food. He needed to hear the buzzer sound as a ball slammed inside the white goal lines and lit the walls up red.

"Oh," Nicky said, leaning against the wall a short ways down from Neil. "No wonder he chose you."

Neil looked at him, not really understanding the words, not really listening when his mind was still racing with the tick-tick-tock of a game clock counting down. Past Nicky was Kevin, who'd watched his father take a man apart and gone on to sign with the national team. Kevin was watching him, but the second their eyes met he pointed back the way they'd come.

"Give him his gear."

Aaron and Nicky brought Neil back to the locker room. Andrew hadn't followed them into the stadium, but he wasn't in the foyer either. Neil didn't care enough to ask but followed the cousins into the changing room. The front room was lined with lockers, each one marked with the players' numbers and names. Through the doorway at the back Neil could see sinks and he assumed the showers were around the corner out of sight. He was more interested in the locker that had his name on it.