The season had gone by so fast, and now there were only a few games left. At Crestwood, every practice was tense, every game was tough. But away from the field, Ethan's life was still that of a thirteen-year-old trying to balance everything.
At Eastfield Secondary, things were different. Teachers piled on work when exams neared, reminding him football was no excuse to get behind. Ethan leaned over his desk one night, gazing at two essays and a math page, his boots still caked with training mud.
"I don't know how much longer I can do this," he sighed to himself.
His mother came in, carrying a cup of tea. "You've lasted this long, Ethan. I believe you're tougher than you think."
Ethan smiled half-heartedly. "Football seems simpler than this at times."
She tousled his hair. "That's because it's the one thing you love. But you'll be glad you persisted with both in the end."
At school, classmates never let him forget he was Crestwood's playmaker. Some cheered him on, others joked when he didn't score. During lunch, Ethan found himself surrounded by friends asking about his last goal or if he thought Crestwood would win the league.
"I don't know," he admitted with a shrug. "We're close, but anything can happen. One bad game and it could slip away."
"You'll do it," one of them said confidently. "You're the best player in the league."
Ethan smiled, but inside he felt the weight of those words. Best player in the league? He didn't feel like it when he was buried under homework at midnight.
That weekend, he found escape in something simple, playing video games with Mason and Callum online. For two hours, the three of them weren't teammates chasing a title. They were just friends arguing about who was the worst gamer.
"You've got no aim at all, Matthews!" Callum shouted through the headset.
Ethan laughed so hard he nearly dropped the controller. "Better than Mason. He just hides in the corner!"
Mason's voice came back level and smooth. "Strategic positioning. Something you two wouldn't get."
The laughter that followed eased some of the tension Ethan had been holding in.
Later that night, Ethan returned to his notebook, flipping it open to the midseason goals he'd written down. Stay focused. Don't let yourself get rattled. Keep improving. Help Crestwood win the league.
He underlined the last one twice. The season wasn't over yet, and the hardest part was still to come.
Ethan leaned back in his chair, whispering to himself, "One game at a time."