Chapter 5: New Faces

Gym class had a different feeling today.

It wasn’t just the bright sun outside or the fresh-cut smell of the grass drifting into the gym windows — it was something electric in the air, something restless.

Coach Tanner stood by the bleachers, arms crossed, whistle swinging from his neck like a warning sign.

“Listen up!” he barked. His voice bounced off the high gym walls. “Today, you’re lucky. No laps. No weights. No circuits. Instead, you get to watch a friendly match — varsity football team versus some of the second-string players.”

The room practically exploded with excitement.

A bunch of students cheered and fist-bumped.

Even the kids who normally hated gym cracked smiles.

Jay bumped his shoulder lightly against Eli’s as they started moving toward the doors.

“Finally, something that doesn’t make me want to fake an injury.”

Eli didn’t respond.

He just walked, hands tucked into the pockets of his school-issued gym shorts, eyes ahead.

Damien hurried after them, carrying a notebook even though there was clearly no studying happening today. His glasses slipped down his nose as he jogged to catch up.

Jay threw a glance at Damien and snorted.

“You taking notes on the match too, genius?”

Damien flushed but smiled sheepishly.

They spilled outside into the blinding afternoon sun.

The football field stretched wide and perfect before them — bright green, still damp from yesterday’s rain.

The stands creaked as the students climbed up, clumping into noisy groups.

Jay, Eli, and Damien found seats halfway up.

The players were already warming up — sharp passes, light sprints, casual banter between the varsity guys.

They looked different from everyone else: sharper, faster, like they moved on a different level.

That’s when they saw him.

“Miles Rivers,” Jay said, nudging Eli and nodding toward the field.

Eli’s gaze locked onto the player instantly.

Miles was tall and lean, strong without being bulky. His skin was a rich brown, gleaming with sweat in the sun, and his short dreads were tied back messily.

He was juggling the ball lazily, flicking it up with his knees and shoulders, never letting it touch the ground.

“You see that control?” Damien said under his breath. “He’s insane.”

“New kid from somewhere down south,” Jay added. “Heard he plays like a pro.”

Eli said nothing.

But his stare sharpened.

The match kicked off with a sharp whistle blast.

The second-string players started aggressively, trying to prove themselves, but it was obvious from the first few minutes who the better team was.

The varsity players moved like a machine — quick passes, smart positioning, no wasted movement.

And in the middle of it all, like a storm they couldn’t contain, was Miles.

He wasn’t the captain. He didn’t bark orders.

He didn’t need to.

Every time he touched the ball, the rhythm shifted.

He slipped through defenders like smoke, cutting angles that shouldn’t exist, controlling passes with impossible touches.

Jay leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

“He’s quick,” he said, almost to himself. “But he shows too much of the ball sometimes. I’d steal that from him easy.”

Damien clapped enthusiastically when Miles broke through two defenders and took a shot that just skimmed wide.

Jay smirked sideways.

“Relax, bro. You’re clapping harder than his teammates.”

Damien flushed again but grinned.

Eli stayed perfectly still.

Studying. Calculating.

Miles was good.

Very good.

But not unbeatable.

Eli could already see it — little openings.

Moments where Miles overcommitted, trusted his touch a little too much.

If Jay ever had to face him, Eli knew Jay would tear him apart.

That was just how it was.

The match grew fiercer as it went on.

There were slide tackles that sprayed mud into the air, desperate goal-line clearances, and brilliant saves by the keepers.

Both sides fought hard, refusing to let the other team have the last word.

Near the end, with sweat dripping down his face, Miles made a blazing run down the wing, cut inside, faked a defender off balance, and fired a low shot into the bottom corner.

Goal.

The stands exploded in cheers.

Even some teachers watching near the side of the field clapped and whistled.

But just two minutes later, the second-string team equalized with a counterattack — a fast break and a perfect, curling shot into the top corner.

The final whistle blew moments later:

2-2 draw.

Both teams, exhausted but smiling, shook hands at midfield.

Miles pulled off his jersey and tossed it over his shoulder, laughing with some of the varsity players.

He had that kind of charisma — easy, natural — the kind that made people want to be around him.

Jay clapped slowly, a crooked grin on his face.

Damien clapped harder, pushing his glasses up again.

“Man, that was awesome.”