Chapter 6
1359 Words
After the game, it felt like Peter and Will had finally stepped out of the shadows. For once, they were _visible_ to their teammates. A nod here, a clap on the back there. They got a compliment when they did something right—something that used to go unnoticed.
Even Coach seemed softer. His voice didn’t carry that usual edge… until Peter and Will remembered it was his birthday. The small shift in him made it feel like they were finally earning their place.
“It feels like we’re in the spotlight,” Will said, half-grinning, half-disbelieving.
But as the week dragged on, the mood shifted. A quiet tension crept over everyone. You could feel it in the silence before training, in the way guys avoided each other’s eyes. The squad list was dropping tonight.
“You worried?” Will asked Peter after breakfast on their day off, leaning against the doorway.
Peter didn’t even look up. He lay sprawled on his bed, scrolling aimlessly on his phone.
“Yeah… who isn’t?” he muttered.
Will exhaled slowly, speaking more to himself than to Peter.
“I’m pretty sure we’re gonna make the squad… but the starting eleven?”
The words hung in the air.
“The mere thought of it tightens my stomach,” Peter admitted, his voice low.
“I really hope we both make the cut,” Will said.
“Same. And I’d love—”
Peter’s phone rang, cutting him off.
_Nyla._
His chest tightened instantly. Since that voicemail, they’d barely spoken. Too busy, too distant. He hesitated for half a second before answering.
“Heyy, Nyla, what’s up?” he forced his voice to sound casual, but his eyes flicked to Will.
Will was watching him with that knowing, teasing look Peter hated. He muttered an excuse and walked out.
“Hey! My God, I’ve been trying to call you,” Nyla said, relief and annoyance mixing in her tone.
“Yeah, me too. I texted you two days ago.”
“I replied yesterday…” Peter blinked. Surprised.
“Oh… I didn’t check my phone yesterday. I was—”
“Busy,” she finished for him. “I know. Me too. Final year of high school isn’t exactly a walk in the park.”
“How are you holding up?” he asked.
“Well… I’m good.”
“And Diego? Angela?” The names slipped out before he could stop them, and he managed a small smile at the memory of Dudley.
“Diego’s fine. Angela’s just being Angela,” she said. But before Peter could reply, she added, quieter, sharper:
“Surprised you didn’t ask about Nova. I would’ve said you probably called her… but if you had, I’d know.”
Peter’s chest tightened again.
“Well… you guessed right. I haven’t called her. Or texted. Or anything.”
“When are you guys coming home next?” she asked.
Peter thought for a moment.
“About a month, for the break.”
“That’s a long time,” she said softly. Then, almost teasing:
“I can tell you this for free—she _does_ like you.”
Peter let out a short laugh.
“I guess I’m not surprised. I mean, who doesn’t?”
“I don’t,” she shot back, and they both burst into laughter.
The moment broke when Will burst in.
“Hey, uh… Tim’s calling everyone.”
Peter rolled his eyes before turning back to the phone.
“Uhh, Nyla, I have to go. I’ll call you tonight, probably.”
“I’m not holding my breath,” she said, and hung up.
Will looked at him, barely hiding his grin.
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Peter said immediately, defensive.
“Hey, I didn’t say anything,” Will grinned wider.
“Your eyes did.”
They both laughed, the tension easing for just a second before reality came crashing back.
---
The rest of the day dragged. Seconds stretched into minutes, minutes into hours, as everyone bit down hard, trying to hold themselves together while time chipped away.
Inevitably, nightfall came. Almost like it was yesterday, Will and Peter scrambled down to the pitch, breath visible in the cold air. It was a little less bitter than last week, but the tension in the air made the temperature irrelevant.
Despite their best efforts to show up later—anything to spend less time shivering in the cold—Coach Tim had the worst timing in the world. After what felt like an eternity, he arrived.
Everyone huddled together in a tight circle. Will’s hand rested heavy on Peter’s shoulder. Peter was hunched in on himself, arms wrapped around his chest, eyes fixed on the ground. Then silence. Heavy, suffocating silence that stretched on forever.
“The goalkeepers… Evan Blake, Jordan Sean.”
A ripple of applause broke the stillness. Peter hated that their names always came last.
“Defenders: Chase Evers, Mike Ford, Ace West, Max Wilshere, Damon Chris, Matt Pratt, Dave Bill.”
The applause grew louder as two new names were called. For a moment, the tension eased—then settled right back in, heavier than before.
“Midfielders: Miles Davis, Declan Tanner, Chad Bradford, Graham Bennett, Rowen Moss.”
Another round of applause. Peter nudged Will with his elbow. Will nudged back, harder than necessary.
“Attackers: Preston Norman, James Hopper, William Robert, Drew Marco, Peter Adams, Jeffrey Roman.”
Peter and Will tapped fists, brief and tight, like they were afraid to let themselves feel it fully.
“That’ll be all for tonight,” Coach Tim said, voice flat. “The starting eleven will be on the board tomorrow morning. Get some sleep.”
Chatter erupted as everyone shuffled toward the dorms, adrenaline and nerves spilling out in nervous jokes and forced laughs. Will and Peter exchanged a look—and couldn’t help smiling.
“One more step,” Will whispered as they parted for the night.
But Peter wasn’t done yet. He had one thing left to do. He pulled out his phone and dialed Nyla.
“Hey,” he said, voice quieter now.
“Hey,” she answered, surprise lacing her tone. “So you _did_ remember. Wow.”
---
Peter woke up long before the alarm on that Saturday morning. His eyes flickered open to the pale light bleeding through the curtains, and it hit him all at once.
_Today._
Half awake, half drowning in sleep, he rolled over and called out to Will, voice rough.
“Will…”
Will groaned, shifting under the blanket before muttering,
“What is it, Peter?”
Peter sat up straight, the last dregs of sleep vanishing.
“It’s gameday!”
The words hit like a jolt of electricity. His heart hammered, suddenly wide awake in a way he’d never been before.
Will didn’t even bother sitting up properly—he threw himself straight out of bed onto the cold floor, groaning as he forced his brain to catch up. Within seconds, they were scrambling out of the room, half-dressed, half-running, heading for the locker room.
By the time they got there, most of the squad was already gathered. Eyes were red, hair was messy, and half the room was still rubbing sleep out of their faces. Nobody noticed at first that half the group had gone quiet, eyes drifting toward them.
Peter and Will made a beeline for the clipboard pinned to the wall. Their eyes locked onto it, scanning fast, breath caught in their throats.
*Starting XI:*
Evan Blake
Mike Ford
Ace West
Damon Chris
Max Wilshere
Declan Tanner
Graham Bennett
Chad Bradford
Preston Norman
William Robert
Peter Adams
Peter stopped breathing.
There it was.
_Peter Adams._
A shaky sound escaped him—half laugh, half disbelief. He whipped around to Will, eyes wild. Will was already grinning, wide and proud, and he clapped a hand on Peter’s shoulder.
“Congratulations,” he said, voice thick with it.
No more words were needed. They turned and raced back to the dorms, feet pounding down the hallway, grins splitting their faces like they’d just won something bigger than a game.
- Writer
