You'll Be Okay

Chapter 8

The first soccer match of the season kicked off with Marshall Grammar Titans hosting Taranto High School Eagles.

Kayley and I sat down on the third row, close to the bench where our players would interchange from. On the screen, there was a countdown.

It was Friday and word had gotten out all about the fight. Walking out of the bathroom halfway through third period, I heard a junior talk to her friend about how Reid and Chase were fighting over who would become the next Mafia leader. And since Reid and his friends weren't around to quell the rumour mill, Kayley had heard that they were all shipped to military school but had run away and were now shovelling cow manure in Puerto Rico.

"So I dropped by the garage this morning and did you know Bree Richardson owns a Maserati and the most gorgeous red Alfa Romeo?" Kayley sniffled to herself, shaking her head with awe. "My shitty Bugatti looks like something out of a scrapyard compared to it."

I rubbed my hands together to warm them up. "You're a terrible driver and your Bugatti is all beat up. Plus, it's hardly a shitty car."

Kayley shook her head, flipping her ponytail over her shoulder. "Trust me, it's shitty. I have to go back and forth to the garage every other day. But it's good because I can get a workout in - three and a half miles. Not bad, huh?"

I blinked. "Three and half miles?"

She just grinned, sitting up straighter as players started emerging from the other side of the stadium. "Oh – look! Taranto's number fifteen is hot."

I stared at her incredulously for a moment longer before deciding that it wasn't worth arguing. Kayley had always been in great shape meanwhile I hadn't worked out properly for years after quitting swimming. In fact, Kayley's mother had been hell-bent on her pursuing modelling but she insisted that she would never give up her diet of pizza and ice-cream.

As Taranto started their pregame warm-ups, they were met with jeering from the home crowd. Seconds later, the sudden uproar and flashing cameras announced our own team was being led out onto the field by Reid himself. I watched as he turned, flaunting his famous number 7 to the packed stadium. The yellow captain's band on his bicep stood out even more against the red and black uniform.

Kayley freaked out as she always did, giving into the energy of the crowd. Eventually the team gathered by the interchange bench, right in front of us and we were close enough to hear Reid, giving his routine pep talk.

"This is our legacy." I could see his dark hair, head bent, somewhere in the midst of the group that crowded around him. "This is our house. Three championships in a row, boys. This year, we'll make it four and it starts right here."

They all hollered their agreement and Reid briefly went through their game plan. The siren sounded and our team split up, dividing into their positions around the field as Reid shook hands with the Taranto captain in the middle. The referee blew his whistle to signal the start of the game.

Tyler immediately took possession from the kick-off and the crowd started chanting. I watched as he dodged a Taranto midfielder and started downfield, passing to Dennis. Dennis covered some ground before moving it on. After several transitions, Taranto came close enough to take a shot for goal. But Jarred's flawless intercept saw Dennis back in possession, dribbling past Tyler and passing to Reid. The stadium watched with bated breath as Reid steadied and kicked truly into the top right of the net.

Five minutes in and Reid already scored.

He was truly in his element out here, with the crowd screaming his name and his teammates who fawned over him, just like everyone else. I wondered if they knew that there was a drastic difference between scoring a goal and finding the key to immortality. They all treated him like a god amongst men but deep down, I was also a little jealous of how the entire student body absolutely adored him. There were rumours about Reid potentially being drafted to go pro in January and as arrogant as he was, there was no doubting his talent.