After the cone drills, Mr. Hadley clapped his hands.
"Right then, into pairs," he called out. "We're doing control and return passes. One of you throws the ball, the other controls and passes it back — no letting it hit the ground. Ten times each, then switch."
Liam naturally paired with Malik, while Harry found himself with Trevor — who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else.
Mr. Hadley had Liam and Malik demonstrate first. Malik tossed the ball up with precision, and Liam tapped it neatly with his left foot, keeping the ball suspended in the air before passing it back with his right. Then they switched. Both showed strong technique, though not perfect — a few mistimed controls and clumsy touches — but they recovered well. Mr. Hadley nodded, satisfied. "Good enough. Get to it, everyone!"
The pairs fanned out across the field. Mr. Hadley walked between them, clipboard in hand, jotting notes and offering the odd correction — especially with his current squad members, whom he always seemed to favour slightly.
Trevor started off throwing the ball to Harry. The first two tosses went high, and Harry's nerves showed — his control shaky, awkward touches that bobbled the ball. But by the third and fourth attempt, something clicked. He began to adjust, tapping the ball neatly with his right foot, and then passing it back on his left with increasing confidence.
Then he moved to his left foot — controlled touch to lift the ball then pass. Then his right— control, pass. He wasn't perfect, but he was improving at a visible rate, growing more confident with every repetition.
Mr. Hadley paused briefly, watching from a distance. His expression gave little away, but something in his eyes betrayed interest. This was no fluke — yesterday's P.E. match, the lunchtime juggling — it was starting to look real. Still, he didn't linger. He turned and moved on, calling out to another pair.
When it came time for Trevor to control the ball, the difference was stark. Harry tossed it gently to him — but Trevor flailed. The ball bounced off his shoulder. The next one hit his knee and shot off sideways. He missed entirely on the third.
Most of the others were too focused on their own drills to notice, but Harry could see it — Trevor's eyes darting, his breathing quickening. He tried to laugh it off, but the embarrassment was there, curling at the edges.
"Try letting it bounce once," Harry offered gently. "It's easier to pass back if you're not rushing."
Trevor gave it a go, and — for a few throws — it worked. He even managed to return a few properly.
But then he sighed heavily and stopped trying. "This is boring. I don't even like football."
Harry stared, frustrated. He'd wanted to show what he could do — to train hard, to impress. Instead, he'd been paired with someone who didn't even want to be there.
Still, he tried. "You could be a good centre-back, y'know. You're strong. You've got power."
But Trevor just shrugged, puffing out air. "I'm tired, mate."
As the drill wrapped up, Mr. Hadley blew his whistle. "Alright, everyone. One lap around the school field. Jog until the last quarter, then sprint to the finish."
As soon as the word "lap" was mentioned, Trevor shook his head. "I'm done," he muttered, turning and walking off the pitch. No drama, no fuss — just quiet defeat.
Harry watched him go. A mix of pity and disappointment churned in his stomach, but he turned his attention back to the field. There was work to do.
They started the jog, a loose line of children moving around the grass perimeter. Harry hung near the back, saving his energy. To his surprise, Liam dropped back beside him.
"You tried with Trevor," he said, not out of pity but with genuine respect. "But you can't make someone care. Not everyone wants this."
Harry nodded. "Yeah. Just felt bad."
Liam smiled slightly. "That's because you've got heart. That's what makes a good player too."
Up ahead, Malik looked over his shoulder. His eyes narrowed when he saw Liam talking with Harry instead of running with him. Scowling, he picked up his pace, overtook the group, and pushed ahead, sprinting flat-out for the final stretch. He reached the finish line a full minute ahead of everyone, arms in the air like he'd just won a cup final.
Harry's lungs burned, but something deep inside him — some combination of grit and untapped potential — kicked in. As they hit the final quarter, Liam turned to him and grinned.
"Come on, let's see what you've got."
They sprinted. Liam was faster — more powerful — but Harry gained on him quickly, almost catching him by the final strides. They crossed the finish nearly neck and neck.
Bent over, hands on his knees, Harry gasped for breath. His heart pounded, but his face lit with pride.
Liam handed him a water bottle. "You've got some top speed, Brewer. Acceleration's slow, but you've got gears."
Harry chuckled between gulps of water. Just days ago, he'd barely kicked a ball. Now, he was nearly beating one of the fastest kids in school.
Malik wandered over, arms crossed, a scowl smeared across his face.
"I finished that lap a minute before you," he said.
Liam didn't rise to it. "It wasn't a race. Just fitness."
Malik scoffed. "Only losers make excuses."
And with that, he walked off toward Mr. Hadley, muttering under his breath.
Harry looked at Liam. "Does he always take things that seriously?"
Liam shrugged. "He hates not being the best at everything. But keep doing what you're doing. You're getting noticed."
Harry felt it too. Something was changing. Something big.