3: Echoes of Opportunity

Liam lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling. The elation from the day's win had faded, replaced by a gnawing sense of restlessness. He replayed the match in his mind, not just the goals, but every pass, every run, every decision. The highs of victory were still fresh, but so too were the near-misses, the moments where he had almost faltered.

Sleep wouldn't come easily tonight. His mind kept drifting back to the man in the suit—the possible scout who had watched him during the Crestwood match. What if he had been at today's game too, unseen among the crowd? What if this was the moment that would determine his future?

But as much as he tried to focus on the positives—the assist to Kyle, the crucial cross that led to Jake's goal—he couldn't shake the feeling that he was running out of time. Every match felt like a test, with his dreams of making it to the next level hanging in the balance.

The next morning, Liam awoke to the sound of his phone buzzing on his nightstand. He groggily reached for it, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he checked the notification. It was a text from Coach Evans.

Coach Evans: Good work yesterday. Let's talk after practice today.

Liam's heart skipped a beat. The message was short, but it carried weight. What did Coach want to talk about? Was it about the game? The scout? Or was it something else entirely?

Liam couldn't shake his nerves as he got ready for school. The conversation with Coach loomed over his thoughts all morning, making it difficult to focus in class. By the time the final bell rang, he was a bundle of tension, eager to get to practice but dreading the unknown.

At practice, the atmosphere was lighter than usual. The team was riding high on their recent victories, and Coach Evans allowed them a bit of leeway, keeping the drills less intense than normal. Liam went through the motions, trying to stay focused, but his mind was elsewhere, anticipating the talk that awaited him afterward.

When practice ended, Liam lingered by the field as the rest of the team headed to the locker room. Coach Evans was standing near the goalposts, clipboard in hand, his expression unreadable.

"Liam," Coach Evans called, waving him over.

Liam jogged across the field, trying to keep his nerves in check. "You wanted to talk, Coach?"

Evans nodded, motioning for Liam to sit on the bench beside him. For a moment, the coach said nothing, simply staring out at the empty field. When he finally spoke, his tone was serious.

"You've been playing well, Liam. Really well. You've been stepping up when the team needs you most, and I've noticed that. So have others."

Liam's heart raced. "Others?" he echoed, trying to sound casual.

Coach Evans turned to face him, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Yeah. You remember that man you mentioned after the Crestwood game? The one you thought might be a scout?"

Liam nodded, feeling a lump in his throat.

"Well, he's not the only one who's been keeping an eye on you. I've gotten a few calls from people asking about you—coaches, scouts, agents. Word's getting around that there's a talented kid at Riverwood who's worth watching."

Liam's mind was spinning. This was it—the confirmation he'd been waiting for. But even as excitement bubbled up inside him, so did a deep-seated fear. What if he wasn't ready? What if all this attention only led to disappointment?

Coach Evans seemed to sense his anxiety. "Look, I know this is a lot to take in," he said, his voice softening. "But you need to stay focused. Don't let this stuff get in your head. You've got talent, but you need to keep working, keep improving. Don't get distracted by what might happen in the future—stay in the moment."

Liam nodded, trying to absorb the advice. "What do I do if one of them… you know, actually approaches me?"

Evans smiled slightly, a rare expression from the usually stern coach. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there. For now, just keep doing what you're doing. Play your game, and let the rest take care of itself."

Liam felt a bit of the tension leave his body. "Thanks, Coach. I'll do my best."

As he left the field, Liam felt a strange mix of emotions—excitement, anxiety, determination. The idea that scouts and coaches were watching him, that his future might be unfolding right before his eyes, was both thrilling and terrifying. But he knew one thing for certain: he couldn't afford to let this opportunity slip away.

That night, Liam went through his usual routine of homework and dinner with his family, but his mind was elsewhere. As he sat at the small kitchen table, his mother noticed his distracted state.

"You're quiet tonight," she said, looking at him with concern. "Everything okay?"

Liam hesitated, unsure of how much to share. His parents had always supported his soccer dreams, but the idea that he might actually have a shot at going pro—at leaving Riverwood behind—felt almost too big to talk about.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, managing a smile. "Just thinking about the next game."

His mother nodded, though she didn't seem entirely convinced. "Well, you've been playing really well. We're proud of you, you know that?"

Liam felt a pang of guilt for not telling her everything, but he wasn't ready yet. "Thanks, Mom," he said, his voice soft.

After dinner, he retreated to his room, pulling out his soccer ball and practicing dribbling drills in the small space. It was something he did to clear his mind, to focus on the simple, familiar rhythm of the ball at his feet. As he moved, he thought about what Coach Evans had said—about staying in the moment, not getting caught up in the what-ifs.

But as much as he tried, the future loomed large in his mind. He knew that the next game, and the ones after that, would be critical. He had to keep proving himself, keep showing that he was worth the attention he was getting.

The days leading up to the next match passed quickly. Liam threw himself into training, working harder than ever. He stayed late after practice, refining his skills, and watched game footage in his spare time, studying the tactics of both his team and their upcoming opponents.

The match was against Eastbrooke High, a team known for their fast,

attacking style. Unlike Westfield, who had relied on discipline and defense, Eastbrooke played with flair, constantly looking to exploit any weaknesses in their opponents. It was the kind of challenge that excited Liam—the kind of game where he could truly showcase his abilities.

The night before the match, Liam received another text from Coach Evans.

Coach Evans: You ready for tomorrow?

Liam typed back quickly.

Liam: Yeah, I'm ready. We've got this.

He stared at his phone for a moment, then added:

Liam: Coach, thanks for everything. I know I've been a bit on edge lately, but I'm focused now. I won't let you down.

Coach Evans's reply was swift.

Coach Evans: I know you won't. Just play your game, Liam. The rest will come.

Liam set his phone down, feeling a sense of calm wash over him. Tomorrow was another opportunity, another chance to prove himself. And this time, he was determined to make the most of it.

When game day arrived, Liam woke up early, his mind sharp and clear. The nerves were still there, but they were different now—more like fuel for the fire rather than a weight on his shoulders. He knew what he had to do, and he was ready.

The team arrived at Eastbrooke's stadium in the late afternoon. The sun was beginning to set, casting a warm, golden light over the pitch. The atmosphere was electric, with both teams eager to prove themselves.

As they warmed up on the field, Liam could feel the intensity in the air. Eastbrooke's players moved with confidence, their warm-up routines crisp and sharp. But Riverwood was ready. They had been working toward this moment, and Liam could sense the focus in his teammates' eyes.

Coach Evans gathered them for a final pep talk before the match. "This is a big game, but it's just another step on the journey. Remember what we've worked on—stay disciplined, stay focused, and play as a team. We know what Eastbrooke can do, but they don't know what we're capable of."

The team nodded in unison, the camaraderie strong among them. Liam could feel the anticipation building, the thrill of competition buzzing in his veins.

As they took their positions on the field, the referee blew the whistle, and the game was on. Eastbrooke came out fast, just as expected, pressing high and forcing Riverwood to play on the back foot. But Riverwood didn't buckle. They absorbed the pressure, biding their time, waiting for the right moment to strike.