“Same plan as always,” he says. “High press, fast breaks. We keep the tempo, we own the pitch. They don’t like pressure, so give it to them until they crack.”
A murmur of agreement rolls through the room.
He points at Amin. “Make it happen, Captain.”
Amin nods. “Always.”
Coach’s eyes slide to me. “McKingsley. Use your size. Use your speed. Don’t get comfortable.”
I grin. “Never do.”
“I don’t know what was going on with you at warm-ups, but you’d better shake it off.”
“I’m good. Swear down.” Francine is gonna have to sit in the back of my mind for a bit.
The tunnel is already filledwith noise when we step out. Crowd roaring, lights blazing, the kind of atmosphere that makes your skin buzz.
Amin bumps my shoulder again as we line up. “Think about what I said.”
I ignore him.
I can’t think of Francine now.
I can’t…
Frankie…
I wonder what she’s doing.
The whistle shrieks, and everything snaps into focus.
Boots pound the turf.
The ball slides clean across the centre circle, and suddenly the noise of the crowd fades into a dull roar behind my ears.
All I hear is breath, studs, shouts.
The other team comes out aggressively.
They’re testing us, trying to see if we flinch.
We don’t.
Amin cuts out the first pass and fires it wide to Solace, who sprints down the wing. I’m already moving, cutting diagonally through their back line, dragging two defenders with me. Solace looks up, sees the gap, and whips it in.
I leap.
The header grazes just wide of the post.
The crowd groans in one long breath, but I barely register it. I’m already jogging back, palms up, telling Solace it was the right idea.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
