22 Introverts Unite
Coach calls for a five-minute break after the Indian Run crash, and to my utter surprise, a group of guys comes over to talk to me.
I'm hunched down on the grass, petting Scruff and stretching out my burning thighs. Already, this team's done more training in one afternoon than my old team would do in three.
It's awesome.
Also exhausting, but that's soccer for you.
Before I can get too nervous at having a bunch of guys towering above me, Rafe plops down in the grass next to me, and the others follow suit.
They'd introduced themselves during the lap run, but they're thoughtful enough to offer their names again.
"Ah, no need," I say, and my smile's tiny and shy, but it's there.
They look surprised, so I go around and test my memory. I start with the two guys piled on top of each other, comparing who worked up more of a sweat during conditioning.
First is a tall Black guy with sweet zigzags shaved into the faded sides of his buzzed hair. "Darius, defensive mid, right-footed."
"Dude, I didn't tell you I was right-footed." Darius looks impressed and a bit freaked out.
"Um. I just saw you dribble for like a mile (1.6km), so..."
"Oh, right." He rolls off his teammate, a guy with lighter brown skin and a tapered afro.
"Tyrell, fullback, left-footed," I say. "And since his sweat stain goes all the way from his collar down to his shirt's bottom seam, looks like he's the winner today."
Tyrell grins. "Word! Ayy, you know wassup, bro."
I am nowhere near cool enough to reply to that.
I nod instead, and try not to look grossed out when he wrings out his t-shirt and actual drips fall onto the grass. It would have fallen on Darius's face, but that guy can hustle, and he jumps up before Tyrell can get him.
Then I point to the tan guy with a towel wrapped around his neck, who's stretching out his calves. "Lorenzo, central mid, right-footed."
In response, he flips his layered brown hair.
I didn't know people did that in real life.
"You forgot devilishly handsome and hung like a stallion," he replies with a toothy grin, "but the other important details are there."
"More like narcissistic with a toothpick dick," Rafe cuts in. "But the man does have great hair."
Tyrell nods. "Enzo did win the team's Best Hair vote last summer."
Darius harrumphs. "That contest was a joke. Rigged. Straight-up discrimination. No one appreciates black natural hair."
"Bro, your head is shaved. Don't look like you appreciate it neither," Tyrell calls him out, shaking his springy brown curls in Darius's direction.
Lorenzo's muttering about the toothpick comment and looks half-ready to whip off his shorts, so I quickly point to the last two white guys. The shorter one I know: "Nick, winger, right-footed." He nods hello and guzzles more water.
But the last player is unfamiliar. He hadn't kept up with us during the lap runs. He's tall and skinny, but he slouches, so it's hard to tell how tall he really is. When I saw him standing earlier, his posture reminded me of a question mark.
His smile is as small and shy as mine. My introvert senses are tingling. "Milo Clarke," he says quietly. "Right-footed forward. And, um, your new roommate."
My blue eyes widen in surprise. "Oh, hey," I say.
"Hey," he replies.
There's a solid beat of silence.
"So, um," Milo says.
"Uh, so," I say at the same time.
Another beat of silence, while we both wait for the other to finish his thought.
Rafe can't deal and bursts out laughing. "Introvert Club over here. They're perfect for each other."
"Hey!" Milo and I object, annoyed in unison.
This just makes everyone laugh harder at us, and Milo's face burns bright red. I have a feeling I might look similar.
Luckily, Coach calls out the next drill before my new roommate and I can bury ourselves any deeper in introvert shame.
Coach has everyone split into three groups for rondos, and I automatically step back, unconsciously waiting to be awkwardly left out like I always was back in high school. I always had to wait for a coach to tell a group it was their turn and they had to let me join.
This time, however, Milo and Rafe wordlessly set up on either side of me, and the other four guys round out the circle like it's the most obvious thing in the world.
I feel the stupidest urge to cry.
I smile, instead.
"You ever do rondos before, Kane?" Darius asks.
My smile widens. "I freaking love 'em."
Rondos are essentially high-level keep-away. In a rondo, one group of players tries to keep possession of the ball while completing a series of passes, while a smaller group of players, or a single player, run around the inside of the circle and try to steal possession.
There's a ton of different versions, but today's game is one of the simplest; tight circle, 5 outside, 2 inside, when an inside player steals, they trade places with the outside player.
Coach Sebastian blows his whistle, and Lorenzo starts off by passing to me. Tyrell and Darius, our defensive players, are in the middle, and in a flash, they're tight on me. I feint toward Milo before one-touch passing to Rafe without looking.
Lorenzo gives me a weird look, and I swear he says something like, "Cyborg," under his breath.
"A lot of American kids suck at games like these," Rafe explains as he passes to Nick.
"Growing up, nobody in my neighborhood played soccer, at least not seriously," Nick says, frowning as Darius steals his ball and forces him into the center. "When we'd get together, it was always basketball, American football, or baseball. Skills to play like this come second-nature to players from countries that actually care about soccer, where kids play all the time."
I nod as Darius restarts with a pass to Lorenzo. That makes sense. Luckily, I did rondos with my mom's teams a lot. Mom used to joke it wasn't so much monkey in the middle as terrier in the middle, because I was so aggressive about chasing the ball when I was a defender.
Of course, I was like two feet tall playing against pros, so I probably also looked like a tiny terrier idiotically chasing a ball.
Milo's next to fall, losing his ball to Tyrell. I expect my roommate to be solid on defense, given he's easily the tallest one here, but it's almost like he doesn't know how to throw his size advantage around.
He's not bad, per se, but he could definitely stand to be more aggressive.
Nick eventually trades out with Rafe, though Rafe loudly complains Darius's pass was at fault for the steal. The ball doesn't even make it another round before Rafe's back on the outside; Lorenzo's face when he's forced into the middle is priceless.
But round after round, as the other players swap in and out, Milo stays stuck in the middle.
Finally, Rafe passes to me, and instead of one-touch passing it along, I pop it up and juggle. I wouldn't try this with either of the real defenders in the middle, but the second middleman is currently Nick, so I'm feeling confident.
"Yo, Darius," I call out as I maneuver around Nick, then I flick the ball over Milo's head.
Surprised, Milo instinctively jumps and traps the ball with a downward header.
I pretend to be frustrated, but inwardly, I'm glad to see his innate striker sense working. My "lob pass" to Darius was the right height and location for a forward accustomed to heading passes from corner kicks.
The other guys cheer at my loss, since I was the only one who hadn't been forced into the middle yet, and Milo's posture straightens as they praise his quick reflexes. His smile seems more sure, and his next pass is easily his best one yet.
Confidence is a funny thing.
Internally cheering, I look away and end up meeting Rafe's dark eyes. His expression tells me he knows exactly what just happened.
I make my expression as innocent as possible.
He snorts.
I make sure to steal the ball from him three passes later.
Grumbling, he rustles my hair as we switch spots, and I'm in such a good mood, I don't even flinch. I just smirk and pass the ball between Rafe's legs before he's turned around and ready.
Enzo and Darius's teasing laughter doesn't quite drown out Rafe's angry shouts about betrayal and unsportsmanlike conduct, and I feel lighter than I have in years.
----
----
----
Author's Note: OKAY. The second half of this chapter (the part some of you already had a sneak preview of, where the team learns about the lacking parts of Aidan's skillset) just DISAPPEARED as I was getting ready to publish. I AM ABOUT TO LOSE IT ON WEBNOVEL, FRIENDS.
Anyway, I don't want you guys to have to wait for me to agonizingly rewrite, so I'm publishing what I still have, even though that means today's chapter is a little shorter than usual. I promise single practices won't usually take up so many chapters. And I promise I won't stop writing this novel just because it's pissed me off two chapters in a row now. I'm petty, but not like that.
Also, I already had my original Author's Note all written out and ready to go before my chapter was messed up, so I wrote this new note here.
