As I rushed out of the house, I felt a wave of uncontrollable energy wash over me. Like a whirlwind breaking free from its chains, I sprinted across the porch and raced down the familiar path lined with lilac bushes and neatly trimmed lawns. My feet barely touched the ground with their jerky movements, and it seemed as if the space itself was splitting apart, moving away from me. The air around me seemed to create an invisible corridor, allowing me to accelerate faster and faster. The leaves from the nearest trees were immediately caught up in my rush, and they swirled in the sparkling sunlight, like dozens of tiny dancers carried away by the invisible music of the wind.
Seconds merged into a continuous stream: I barely had time to get my bearings before I had already jumped beyond the boundaries of our territory. I was overwhelmed by an incredible feeling of freedom and liberation: speed, rebellious and formidable, ceased to be an incomprehensible force for me and became a natural state. The most surprising thing was that, despite the monstrous speed, exceeding the speed of sound, I felt no noise, no pressure, no temperature changes. It was as if there was an invisible barrier around me, cutting off all physical influences.
At first, I couldn't understand why this was happening, but then I thought about it and came to the conclusion that I had another passive ability — a special aura or energy field. This aura not only protected me, but also performed a much more complex function. When I ran, it seemed to cut through the air in front of me, forming a soft, streamlined sphere around me where the usual laws of physics were slightly distorted. Thanks to it, I felt almost no friction, and the silence around me seemed complete, as if I were gliding in a special space torn from the real world.
The most interesting thing was that this aura did not only work when I was moving fast. I noticed that when I fell or collided with an object, the aura softened the impact, reducing the force of the collision to a minimum. Moreover, if I don't want to harm an object, it automatically distributes the energy of the impact in such a way as not to destroy either me or what I collided with. It literally absorbs and redirects the force, turning a potentially dangerous situation into a light touch. But that's not all — the aura can protect more than just me. As soon as I pick someone up, they are instantly enveloped in the same "energy bubble," completely shielded from discomfort or overload.
I first discovered this effect a few years ago when, in a moment of fun, I accidentally hugged my mum and moved with her to the other side of the room in a split second. I scared myself half to death: had I done something irreparable? But my mother didn't even notice the sudden change in location and just asked, confused, how we had ended up by the wardrobe. To her, it looked as if the picture before her eyes had simply flashed. Later, I decided to test the limits of the aura's capabilities. Once, I decided to lift my father's car by the bumper. According to all the laws of physics, the metal should have broken off and the car should have collapsed. But that didn't happen: I held it up completely, and it seemed that the aura somehow distributed the weight of the car and protected the bumper itself. It was a real miracle of science that I couldn't explain, but it worked on its own, without any special effort.
I was glad that the aura helped me in any difficult situation. Without it, I would surely have found myself in big trouble more than once, experiencing problems ranging from burns during super-fast movements to serious injuries.
Absorbed in these thoughts, I ran faster and faster, jumping over cars and overtaking streams of traffic, like an invisible ball of energy. The drivers didn't have the slightest chance of seeing me: their eyes simply couldn't keep up with such movement. At the same time, I perceived the picture around me as if the world had slowed down and I was maintaining my usual speed. A mesmerising silence reigned around me, interrupted only by the beating of my heart.
I often thought about how different my brain was from that of a human being. After all, such reactions and speed control require incredible resources of consciousness and memory. I discovered that I had a phenomenal memory, which allowed me to memorise large amounts of information at a glance: whether it was a book, a diagram, a map or dozens of voices intertwining in a noisy city. Moreover, I could solve the most complex mathematical equations, decipher codes or analyse scientific data in a matter of seconds — as if a powerful computer was always running in my head. At the same time, I was able to combine several processes: I could talk to friends, plan my day and analyse the situation without getting confused in the details.
I would also like to mention my linguistic abilities: it was enough to listen to an unfamiliar language for a short time or read a few lines to begin to understand the essence and details of how phrases were constructed. My brain retained all the nuances of pronunciation and vocabulary, and I could speak a new language fairly quickly. This opened up enormous opportunities for me and further emphasised how different I was from ordinary people.
But here was the school — my final destination for this morning's run. It appeared suddenly, as if out of nowhere, and I slowed down a little and instinctively glanced at my watch. There was half an hour left before class started. I smiled, noticing that the second hand on my watch hadn't moved at all during my entire journey. It was as if I had stopped time. I ran onto the school grounds and slowed down carefully so as not to attract attention.
The school building, constructed in the early 20th century, was impressive in its size and grandeur. The brick façade, which had become more noble and warm in colour over the years, evoked thoughts of the traditions and history accumulated by many generations of graduates. Tall arched windows decorated with white stone details let in plenty of light, making the corridors and classrooms look spacious and welcoming. Above the central entrance stood a clock tower — not just an architectural detail, but a recognisable symbol of the school, which truly announced the start of each hour of classes with its ringing chimes.
In front of the school was a cosy square paved with cobblestones. This is where everyone's educational journey began. In the centre of the square was a fountain surrounded by well-tended flower beds with bright flowers, benches and neat paths. In summer, the sun's rays played merrily in the fountain, reflecting off the clear water. In autumn, the whole area was transformed by golden maple leaves, signalling that it was time for change. Above the water jets stood a sculpture of an eagle, the school's emblem, symbolising freedom and a thirst for knowledge. Students often gathered here to chat, share the latest news and enjoy the morning calm before classes began.
Behind the main school building was an American football stadium, which was a source of pride for the school, no less than its academic achievements. The stands, painted in blue and gold — the school colours — could accommodate several thousand fans, and in the evenings, bright floodlights lit up the stadium, transforming it into a true sports arena where the competitive spirit literally hung in the air. The perfectly manicured field with its smooth turf was always a sight to behold, and a running track surrounded the field. Nearby were training grounds where players honed their skills. Every Friday evening, not only schoolchildren but also their parents, friends and residents of the entire city came here to support the Kingston Tigers and experience the thrill of unforgettable sporting emotions.
Another source of pride for the school was the swimming pool, located in a separate glass and metal building. Natural light streamed through the transparent walls, flooding the entire pool area with a soft glow. The pool itself was twenty-five metres long, had eight comfortable lanes and was deep enough for training at all levels, from beginners to future champions. Around the pool were spacious relaxation areas with comfortable sun loungers where students could catch their breath or relax after class. Next to it was a gym and a small sauna — the perfect place to recharge your batteries and prepare for further sporting achievements.
I stopped running and, as if putting the world on pause for a moment, looked around for my loyal friends, Ethan Carter and Lillian "Lily" Reynolds. They were standing away from the central lane, chatting animatedly about something. When I saw them, I felt the familiar warm wave of joy that always came over me when I met people close to me. I walked towards them at my usual pace, but as I approached from behind, I decided to play a little prank.
Ethan Carter was very tall for his age, already over 175 centimetres tall. His lean but strong build gave him the appearance of an avid athlete or skateboarder. In fact, Ethan was really into skateboarding, as well as photography — he rarely went anywhere without his old grandfather's camera. His chestnut hair was cut short but always a little tousled, especially when he was nervous or feverishly thinking up a new prank. Ethan's eyes were bright green, with a sly squint that spoke of his restless nature and love of adventure. He often wore T-shirts with iconic prints from his favourite films and games, and his lace-up trainers were mostly for show — he hardly ever tied them. On his left arm was a small scar from a long-ago fall off his bike, which he liked to exaggerate as a "war wound."
Lily Reynolds was the complete opposite of Ethan in size: petite, about 155 centimetres tall, which made her a little self-conscious. She often joked that her "compactness" allowed her to slip unnoticed into the narrowest of spaces. She preferred to wear her long, curly hair, which was a pleasant honey colour, in a ponytail or braid, but sometimes she would let loose strands frame her pretty face. Lily had large, brown eyes with delicate golden sparkles that lit up when she laughed or was inspired by a new idea for stories and drawings. Her clothes were not so much fashionable as cheerful: she loved striped golf shirts, bright skirts and sweaters with unusual patterns. Her backpack, generously decorated with badges and stickers from a wide variety of universes, always weighed more than seemed possible for such a fragile girl, because inside were her favourite books, sketchbooks and a hundred little things. Lily loved to draw and write short stories, dreaming of one day becoming a professional illustrator.
Slowing down a little, I quietly approached my friends from behind and suddenly hugged them, draping my arms over their shoulders:
"Hello, little ones!" I said cheerfully, leaning on them from behind.
"Aah!" Lily squealed, jumping back in surprise. "Where did you come from?! How did you sneak up on us so quietly? Get off me, you elephant!" she exclaimed, trying to break free from my embrace and peek out from behind my arm. "You're going to crush me!"
Ethan just grinned, clearly not the first time he'd been the victim of my sudden appearances. I let go of my friends and, turning to Lily, said casually:
"Lily, don't be silly. Being serious doesn't suit you, really. Look at Ethan — he's used to my tricks," I said and winked.
Lily frowned and turned away, but her eyes twinkled with amusement. Ethan shrugged and changed the subject to something that interested him more:
"Bruce, are you ready for tonight? We have tryouts for the team! I can already picture myself walking onto the field to the cheers of the crowd. First I'll be the hero of the school, and then I'll be a god on the field!" He laughed exaggeratedly, like a villain from an old comic book.
Lily, hearing his words, rolled her eyes and shrugged sceptically:
"Look at yourself, Ethan! What god, what hero? It's just a ball game, even if it is American football. And I don't understand you at all, Bruce. You're our local genius: you get top marks in all your tests and you've had the best grades since primary school! Why on earth would you want to get involved in this 'stupid'," she emphasised the word, "game?
"American football isn't stupid!" Ethan replied indignantly, putting on a slightly more serious face. "Bruce and I want to be stars at school. How else can we achieve that if we don't prove to everyone that we're worth something on the field?
"Yeah, right," Lily snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "I get you, Ethan: you're just looking for any way to stand out. But look at Bruce — he doesn't have to do anything to be a star. Take off your 'smart' glasses, stop wearing those shapeless sweaters, and you're ready to be crowned prince tomorrow. Handsome, rich, smart — you'll have plenty of female fans even without sports.
I just smiled as I listened to their argument. Her words were partly true, but I preferred modesty and didn't want to attract too much attention. I winked at Lily:
"Hmm, are you also in line for my hand and heart?" I asked in a deliberately casual tone.
"Yeah, right!" she snorted contemptuously. "I've known you since primary school, Bruce, and believe me, putting up with you is a real challenge. You're arrogant, self-absorbed and mean. Poor me, why did they put me in the same class as such a 'perfect' person again?
"You're exaggerating, Lily!" I said, winking at Ethan and taking her by the arm. "I may be a nerd, but it's fun to have a friend like you. Come on, let's go. We have maths first, remember?"
Having said that, I grinned and looked at Ethan, knowing full well his attitude towards maths. My friend's face instantly darkened.
"Why me?!" he groaned, dropping his arms and making Lily and me laugh with his pained expression.
*****
"Hooray, this awful day is finally over!" Ethan exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air and almost jumping on the steps in front of the school. His voice was so full of relief that it seemed as if he hoped the building's rafters would echo and applaud him in honour of the end of his suffering. The noise of the crowd of students rushing home at the entrance overlapped his jubilant cry. "I survived!" he repeated, catching his breath, but immediately added, as if afraid of missing an opportunity to brag: "I'm a hero, even though I didn't defeat the math monster. We've agreed to a truce!"
Ethan looked at us with such a satisfied smile, as if he had accomplished a great feat. His eyes sparkled with a sense of freedom, and his raised shoulders showed that he felt like a true victor.
"Yes, yes, well done, Ethan," Lily laughed, winking at him mischievously. Her ringing laughter immediately lifted the mood; she was clearly enjoying the moment. "But you're not going to tell us how you managed to outsmart Mr Nolan, are you? Did you suddenly get a stomach ache? Or was that a clever ploy to get out of the infirmary? To be honest, it looked more like you were running away from the battlefield!" She crossed her arms over her chest, her expression feigning sternness, but her eyes sparkled with amusement.
Ethan put on a sly, sad expression for a moment, as if trying to argue, but couldn't find the right words. He paused dramatically, as if about to deliver an important speech.
"You don't understand, Lily," he finally replied, sighing like a hero in an old novel. "It wasn't a cowardly escape, it was a forced retreat! When I entered the classroom, I immediately saw in the teacher's eyes an unyielding determination to call me to the blackboard. More precisely, it was the look of a man who was absolutely certain that today he would finish off his unfortunate student. And I'm still too young to die like that — I need to save my strength, because the main test is ahead of me: selection for the Tigers team." His tone became profound, although a smile still lingered at the corners of his lips, revealing the comical nature of the whole scene.
"Okay, I believe you, I believe you," Lily replied, still laughing, wiping away the tears that had come from laughing. "Just make sure you do your homework, you hero of retreats, or you'll be playing the nurse every time!" She poked Ethan's shoulder playfully, but with a kind smile.
Standing a little to the side, I smiled as I watched this familiar banter. How many years had we been friends, and nothing had changed: Ethan always knew how to turn any situation into an adventure, and Lily would always find a way to tease him without letting him get too cocky. I was infinitely glad that fate had brought me together with them. They both made my life more fulfilling and interesting, giving me those moments when you forget your worries and just laugh. This is my new childhood.
"Lily, what are your plans for the rest of the day?" I asked, deciding it was time to switch the conversation to something more practical. "Ethan and I have to be at the stadium by five. There's a meeting for everyone who wants to join the Tigers. Maybe you'd like to come with us and cheer us on?"
Lily shook her head, and her long hair swayed slightly in time with the movement.
"No, sorry, guys," she replied with a smile, though her voice sounded firm. "I already made plans with the girls: we want to go shopping, have a nice lunch and chat about all our... girl stuff. And, to be honest, I'm not thrilled about watching guys run around a field chasing an oval ball, trying to prove who has more testosterone. It's great, of course, but not really my thing." She flashed us a playful grin, as if teasing us. "If you both make the team, I'll definitely come to the real games. But for now, as an incentive: prove yourselves!
She narrowed her eyes slyly and turned to Ethan:
"That goes especially for you, Ethan. Want even more incentive? I heard that Jessica really likes the players. She's practically dreaming of joining the cheerleading squad. So if you make the team, I might even get her phone number for you.
"Really?!" Ethan perked up so suddenly that it seemed like he was about to jump for joy. He rushed over to Lily, grabbed her hands and shook them slightly, as if she had just promised to grant his most cherished wish. "Oh, thank you! Or rather, thank you in advance! You're the saviour of my romantic life!"
"Get away from me, you fool," Lily muttered, trying to push his hands away. Her indignation was feigned, and her smile proved that there was no real anger in her words. "You said I could ask, so I will. You have my word. All right, boys, good luck — go shine on the field! I'm going to join the girls, we've been waiting for each other." She waved her hand and hurried over to the group of girls standing by the parking lot.
When Lily was out of sight, Iton and I exchanged glances.
"Well, mate, are you ready? We don't have much time," I said, pointing to my watch. There was about half an hour left before we had to meet up, and we should already be on our way to the stadium.
"Ready as ever!" Ethan confirmed. His eyes were burning with excitement, as if a door to a whole new life was opening before him. "Let's go, or we'll be late. A great future awaits us!"
We headed for the changing rooms, where we changed into our sports uniforms and picked up our equipment. Then we headed to the edge of the field, which was already filling up with other guys who had decided to try their luck. About twenty people were talking, laughing, or waving their arms impressively, trying to impress their potential opponents. It was clear that Ethan wasn't the only one who was nervous. Excitement hung in the air like a cloud over the crowd.
Unlike most of the others, Ethan didn't engage in conversation. He couldn't get Lily's words about Jessica's phone number out of his head, nor the need to show himself in the best light. So he threw himself into his warm-up, focused, his expression almost grim. I smiled and started doing the same exercises. I didn't really need these routine warm-up movements, as my body had unique abilities for recovery and endurance. But I didn't want to stand out. Besides, supporting my friend was more important.
While we were warming up, a tall, athletic guy with short blond hair approached us. His snow-white smile shone so brightly on his tanned face that I mentally christened him "Mr. Hollywood" — he looked just like a movie star from the cover of a sports magazine.
"Well, kittens, everyone here?" he began, glancing around at us. His tone was friendly and slightly ironic. "If anyone's missing, that's their problem. But you guys are great: you decided to take a chance and try to join the Tigers. I'm Alex Turner, the team captain. Today you'll get to show us what you've got. Whether we put our blue and gold jerseys on you is entirely up to you."
Alex quickly scanned the crowd, noting those who were already warming up.
"Guys, I see that many of you are taking this seriously. Keep it up. The rest of you, don't slack off. Coach Murphy will be here soon. He'll bring the other mentors, and then your real test will begin. In the meantime, let's warm up properly. But first, a little lecture for those who are not aware of what makes our game so great. You may think I'm stating the obvious, but believe me, in my experience, I've seen it all.
The guys, who just a minute ago were engrossed in chatter, now stared at Alex, and he deliberately paused for a moment, as if deliberately heightening their interest.
"American football isn't just chasing a ball, it's a real battle of strategy, strength and speed. Each team tries to score more points than their opponent during the game. Points can be scored in different ways: by carrying the ball into the opponent's end zone (touchdown), kicking the ball through the goalposts (field goal), and there are a few other options, such as a safety.
Alex noticed that several people exchanged glances and decided to explain:
"An American football field is 120 yards long, which is approximately 110 metres, and 53.3 yards wide, which is about 49 metres. At each end of the field, there is an end zone, 10 yards long, with an H-shaped goalpost. All you and your team have to do is break into that zone with the ball or kick it accurately into the goal when the time comes.
He paused slightly, like someone who loves talking about his favourite subject, and continued:
"There are 11 players from each team on the field, but the total number of players on the roster can be as many as 53. They are divided into three groups: offence, defence and special teams. The offence is the team that attacks and tries to score points. The key figure is the quarterback, the decision-maker: whether to pass, give the ball to the running back or run himself. The running back is responsible for breaking through the line, the receivers catch the passes, and the linemen are the big guys who protect the quarterback and help him break through.
He glanced around, as if checking to see if everyone was listening carefully, and then continued:
"The defence, accordingly, has its own task — to stop the opponent's attack. The defensive linemen clash with the offensive linemen and try to get to the quarterback. Linebackers are more versatile guys who can intercept passes, block runners, and attack the quarterback when possible. Cornerbacks and safeties cover the receivers, trying to intercept the pass or prevent it from being caught. There are also special teams — these are the people who come onto the field during set plays, such as the kicker and punter.
Looking at the impressed faces of the newcomers, Alex smiled, apparently pleased that he had managed to spark their interest.
"Now about the time: the match lasts four quarters, 15 minutes each," he explained, gesturing energetically. "There is a long break between the second and third quarters. If the score is tied after all four quarters, the game continues into overtime. The match starts with a kick-off, when the ball is kicked from the 35-yard line towards the opponent. After that, the team that received the ball begins its attack. If they advance 10 yards in 4 attempts — or, as we say, a "down" — they get 4 more attempts, and so on. If they fail, the ball goes to the other team.
He paused for a moment to catch his breath: it was clear that he enjoyed this "lesson" and was ready to talk about his favourite game forever.
"So, to help you understand how scoring works in the game: a touchdown is worth 6 points. After a touchdown, you can either kick an extra point, which adds 1 point, or attempt a two-point conversion, which earns 2 points. A field goal is worth 3 points, and a safety is worth 2 points. Got it?" He looked around at us but continued without waiting for answers. "Forward passes are only allowed once per down; all other passes must be backward or sideways. If a player loses the ball, it's a 'fumble', and whoever picks it up first continues the attack. If a defender catches a pass intended for an offensive receiver, it's an 'interception', and the ball immediately goes to the defensive team.
Alex tried to speak so that everything was clear even to those who had come to the field for the first time. His passionate tone made his listeners involuntarily feel the atmosphere of the game and the excitement of future matches.
"And, of course, for violations such as grabbing the mask, offside or delaying the game, the team receives penalty yards. So be careful and follow the rules! We don't want your carelessness to cost the Tigers the victory, right?" He looked around our ranks with a raised eyebrow, calling for complete discipline.
"I hope everyone remembered what I said and I won't have to repeat it twice," Alex waved his hand theatrically, as if warding off possible objections. "But if anyone has missed anything and, by some miracle, makes it through the selection process, you'll get extra homework: learn the rules at home and don't step onto the field until you know them by heart. Let's move on. What are we fighting for?" He turned and raised his chin, pointing behind him. "See that stadium? It holds fifteen thousand fans. And some of the bigger schools have up to twenty thousand spectators! We're fighting for our school, for the whole city, for the honour and pride of the Kingston Tigers. Today's tryouts are just the beginning for those who decide to devote their lives to sports. We're going to form a team of freshmen and juniors, although," he paused briefly and laughed sincerely, "if someone impresses us so much that they make it to the main team, it will be a big sensation. But, to be honest, in all my years here, I've never seen anything like it — you're still growing and developing.
When he finished, Alex glanced around the group, as if trying to read on our faces how seriously we took his words. Scanning the crowd, he suddenly stopped looking at me and asked with a squint:
"Hey, kid, what do they feed you? How old are you and how tall are you?"
"Bruce Wayne, fourteen years old, five foot eleven," I replied. "I eat well, I love to eat," I added with a slight smile.
"Well, well," Alex raised an eyebrow. "It seems like you didn't grow up on peanut butter sandwiches alone. If you have the skills to match, then you might be able to fight for a spot on the main team. At least you're the right size for us."
Then he relaxed, nodded, and, regaining everyone's attention, continued:
"Okay, let's get back to the main things. I've already explained the rules, now I'll give you a quick overview of the season: school football consists of a regular season and playoffs. First, we compete against other schools in our district and region, earn points and improve our ranking. Then, if all goes well, we make it to the playoffs — a single-elimination tournament where the real winners are determined in each game until we reach the state championship. The best of the best play there, and if you win the final, you officially become the state champion. It's a huge honour for both the team and the school itself. Sometimes they organise additional friendly matches between the strongest schools in different states if they want to find out who's the best at the national level. But what's even more important, guys," Alex looked at us, lowering his voice slightly, "these matches are always full of college scouts. And that could be your ticket to professional football.
He paused dramatically, giving us time to digest what he had said, and glanced around at the boys lined up in front of him:
"We have three teams at our school. The first is for high school freshmen, that is, ninth-grade students. It's necessary for you to get used to the rhythm and learn the basics of high school football. The second is the junior team, which helps younger players develop their skills and prepare for the transition to the main team. And the third team is our flagship, the Kingston Tigers in the truest sense of the word: these are the ones who compete in official tournaments and defend the school's honour at the highest level. Today, we are looking for talented players for the first two teams. But if any of you prove yourselves to be truly outstanding, a direct transfer to the main team is not out of the question. I repeat, this is a rare occurrence, but nothing is impossible," he smiled with a slight challenge in his voice. "Any questions? No? Excellent. Work hard, and you may have a chance to become stars. As I said, scouts may come looking for you. Now let's get down to business. The coaches should be here soon, and we haven't even started warming up yet. Let's not waste any time: the first test will be a forty-metre sprint. I want to see how you're doing physically. Let's see how fast you can run.
Ethan, standing next to me, visibly tensed up. I knew that speed wasn't his strong suit; he always relied more on technique and perseverance. Nevertheless, his eyes flashed with determination, and I sensed that he had no intention of giving up without a fight. Deep down, I tried to focus on slowing myself down: if I ran as fast as I could, it would be a disaster. The goal was to look impressive, but not superhuman.
At Alex's signal, we sprinted forward. I deliberately tried to hold back, but still ended up at the finish line ahead of the others, and by quite a margin. Ethan came in somewhere in the top five, even though I could see how hard the last sprint was for him — he literally gave it his all to stay among the leaders.
"Wayne, impressive result," Alex glanced at the stopwatch in his hands and nodded approvingly. "I definitely like newbies like you. Let's see how consistently you can keep this up."
I smiled modestly, while Alex instructed everyone to continue their warm-up. We did various exercises for endurance, strength and coordination. At that moment, new voices could be heard coming from the stadium entrance. I turned around and saw a group of five men approaching Alex. Among them was Coach Murphy, a tall, broad-shouldered man with a stern but friendly expression.
"Coach, finally," Alex said when they approached, "I've already briefed the guys and started the sprints. Would you like to join now or after the warm-up?"
"Great job, Alex," Coach Murphy replied. His voice was powerful, but at the same time steady and calm. "Keep going, my colleagues and I will watch. Then we'll move on to more serious exercises. We have plenty of time today, so let's get the most out of the newbies."
We continued our warm-up. The coaches watched us, talking quietly among themselves and occasionally pointing to a player or two, writing something down on their tablets. Soon it turned into a real obstacle course: we were chased around in circles, forced to run, jump, and practise tackles and blocks over and over again. Some were already starting to tire noticeably: a couple of guys even looked like they could barely stand on their feet. But no one wanted to give up — after all, for many, this selection was a chance to prove themselves in front of the school and their parents. I had to pretend: I acted like it was hard for me too, trying to breathe a little unevenly so I wouldn't look like a "terminator."
Then we were given various equipment: a trainer for practising holds, blocking shields, mannequins for circling, a trainer for passes, weights for the legs and arms, a parachute for running — all of which turned the training into an endless test marathon. It got to the point where we started holding our breath to train our ability to cope with oxygen deprivation. During the break, someone joked that soon we would be required to run on our hands or juggle knives while blindfolded.
Finally, we moved on to a short practice match. Ethan and I ended up on the same team, which made me happy: we had wanted to play together for a long time. Thanks to my "hidden" abilities, I managed to score two touchdowns, and we scored the third touchdown together with Ethan — he broke away from the defender, and I passed him the ball at the last moment. The final score was 27–14 in our favour. Ethan was beaming like a new dollar, even though he could barely stand on his feet. I pretended to be exhausted, periodically squatting down and breathing heavily, but in reality I was full of energy.
The stars were already twinkling in the sky, and I could only glance at my watch occasionally: it was almost eleven o'clock. Along with the fatigue came the realisation that we had spent much more time on the field than I had expected. Finally, Coach Murphy gathered everyone in a circle.
"Great job, guys. Now I'm going to read out the names of those who have been accepted into the Tigers," he began, wiping his forehead with a towel. "If you don't hear your name, don't be discouraged. Try again next year, or in the next recruitment. Those who have made it through must remember a few simple rules. First, never miss training, and especially games, unless you have a really good reason. Second, if your grades drop significantly, I will suspend you from the team until the situation is resolved. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Coach Murphy!" came the resounding reply.
"Excellent. Now, let's move on to the results," the coach said, taking out a small list."Congratulations to those whose names I am about to read!
He began to read out the names of the lucky ones one by one. I froze in anticipation, trying to look calm. When I heard "Wayne, Bruce," I didn't even realise at first that it was at the top of the list. Ethan almost jumped for joy when he heard his name after mine. We slapped each other hard on the shoulder, realising that we had made it. A deafening roar reached my ears, some people were shouting with joy, others were sighing with disappointment, but I felt only a rush of relief.
"Excellent," Coach Murphy concluded. "Now let's all head to the locker rooms together. It's getting late, and I hope your parents know you'll be home late and that you've arranged a ride. If anyone hasn't had a chance to call, please do so now so we can give them a call."
No one answered, and the coach nodded in approval.
"Well, let's get going: shower, change, and head out. Don't forget to go to class tomorrow.
We headed towards the changing rooms. I was walking with Ito and a couple of other guys, and we were all talking excitedly about the training session, joking about how we almost failed the theory tests or forgot how to block properly. When we were almost at the changing room door, we heard a loud, frightened scream. The sound echoed in the dark corridor. Iton and I quickly glanced at each other and, without saying a word, rushed forward.
Inside, right in front of the entrance to the shower room, a group of guys had gathered, their faces frozen in horror. Some had turned pale, others had recoiled against the wall. I pushed my way through the crowd, trying to understand what was happening. When I entered the shower room, I immediately saw a guy lying face down on the floor. One of the shower stalls was on, water was pouring onto the tiles, raising a cloud of steam. I approached and carefully turned the body over, hoping that it wasn't as bad as it looked. But I recoiled almost immediately: the guy's throat had been slit, and his eyes were wide open in empty, lifeless agony.
I sat down helplessly on the floor next to him, trying to comprehend what had happened. My temples were pounding, and my heart was beating in my chest as if trying to escape. My eyes darted around, trying to find some clue, to understand how and why such a tragedy had happened. But it all seemed like some kind of painful nightmare.
"Call the coaches!" I shouted, not knowing which of the boys had heard me. Many were in shock. I realised that I had to stay there, at least so that no one would touch the body.
A heavy silence hung in the air. From the depths of the changing room, someone whispered in a trembling voice that sounded full of horror, helplessness and grief:
"They... killed Kenny..."
***
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