The alarm dragged Erick out of sleep before the sun did. His whole body still ached from the park, but something in him buzzed different. He pulled on the same hoodie, shoved his bag over his shoulder, and trudged to the bus stop.
When he climbed aboard, Rafa waved him over. "Yo, De Vries. Sit here."
Erick blinked. Usually Rafa sat with his boys or on his phone, but today he'd saved the spot. Erick slid in.
"You sore?" Rafa asked, smirking.
"Like hell," Erick muttered.
"Good. Means you used muscles you didn't know you had." Rafa nudged him with an elbow. "So, how much you weigh?"
Erick hesitated, embarrassed. "Two fifteen. Maybe more."
Rafa whistled low. "Shit. That's a lot to carry."
"Thanks," Erick muttered, looking out the window.
"Not hating. Just facts. You wanna play better? First thing you gotta cut that down. You'll move quicker, breathe easier, won't feel like you're dragging a fridge behind you. Simple as that."
Erick chewed his lip. "How?"
Rafa shrugged. "Eat less crap. Run. Play more. You're not built lazy, bro, you just never pushed. You push now."
The bus rattled on, and Erick sat there chewing on the words.
--
Classes blurred. Same teachers, same walls, same looks. He didn't hear much of what was said. His mind was stuck in Rafa's voice: lose weight, move faster.
Math dragged in. Yumi sat down like always, crisp and quiet, eyes fixed on her notes. Erick tried he wanted to say something, anything but the words stuck. Instead, he noticed the small things. The way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. How her handwriting was sharp and neat, nothing like his scrawl. The little frown she made when the teacher droned on.
But he said nothing. Just kept his eyes low.
After class, Marcus swooped in, leaning on her desk, flashing his perfect grin. Yumi didn't laugh, didn't smile much, but she didn't push him off either.
Erick froze in the doorway, gut twisting. Of course. She's not for you. Girls like her end up with guys like him. He looked down at the curve of his stomach under his hoodie and felt his fists clench. Shame curdled into anger.
Fine. Fuck it. Work harder.
--
That night, the park lights buzzed as always. Rafa was already there, ball under his foot.
"Thought you'd chicken out," he said when Erick jogged up.
"Not tonight."
And he didn't. He pushed harder, legs heavy, lungs screaming, but he moved. He tried not to flinch when the ball came at him, tried to press instead of backing off. Still sloppy, still slow, but less scared. And every time someone shouted, "Better, Erick!" he felt that spark in his chest burn hotter.
--
That week blurred into two. Two into three. A month passed in a rhythm. School, park, foster home, repeat. The soreness became routine. His shirt started hanging looser, his feet moving lighter. He still caught the jokes at school, still saw Marcus circling Yumi, but every night he ran harder, determined not to quit.
Until the night it all cracked.
It was late, the game messy, bodies crashing, breath turning to steam in the light. Erick chased a loose ball, heart hammering, and tried something he'd never tried before a quick turn, a little spin Rafa had drilled him on.
The ball moved. His foot didn't.
Pain shot white-hot through his leg as he crumpled, a scream ripping out of his throat before he could stop it.
"Shit!" someone yelled."Don't move him!" another voice barked in an accent Erick barely caught.
He lay there clutching his shin, sweat mixing with dirt, the world spinning. Rafa crouched over him, face tight for once, no smirk.
"Fuck, Erick. Don't even try to stand."
Erick bit down hard, teeth grinding. He knew before anyone said it. Something was broken.
And just like that, the grind stopped cold.