Burn out (boyxboy)

one

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Sweaty boys ran around the pitch, their white cleats and green shorts vibrant in the late afternoon. Some had their shirts tucked into their pants others had discarded the shirts on the sideline. The thud of boot to ball was loud and their heavy breathing and panting could be head at every corner of the pitch. The coach stood at the bench, feet spread further apart than shoulder width, his tight red shorts, threatening to break if stretched any further. Clip board in hand, black whistle sitting on his sternum, eyes narrowed and his dominate stance radiating power to anyone looking at him. Soccer has always been a big passion shared by Eastveiw high community. If you weren't on the team, you were booted to the side, dropped to a lower rung of the social ladder. The boys wrestled and shoved their way around the field, trying to score. Fancy foot work and speed was essential on the pitch. After hours of gruelling training, coach blew his whistle; the boys stopped fighting and ran over to the coach. Sweat dripping down their red skin. One boy grabbed the ball and stuffed it under his arm and ran over last, he stood next to coach while the other boys formed a half circle around them.

"Good job today boys. We're getting there." Coach said, nodding to all the boys standing before him. "West, you need to work on your left, Smith, you need to focus on blocking with your arms more, Wilson, you need to work your feet quicker-any slower my mum would overtake you. Green, you need to keep your head up, the way you were going people would think you were sleeping." He rattled of more faults and improvements to his team, all but one.

"Great job today Connolly, way to work hard." He nodded at the boy holding the ball under his arm, the captain of the team. He smiled, showing teeth, and glanced around to the other boys who looked jealous. Wasn't his fault coach had a soft spot for him.

"That's it, go shower and go home." Coach blew his whistle loud and clear into the boy's faces, making them jump. They all scurry off, picking up shirts, drink bottles and jumpers of the sideline. Connolly goes to walk away, to do the same when coach grabs his shoulder, pulling him towards the bleachers. He looked at the boy in front of him through his squinted eye lids.

"If you keep that up, you will be going places kid. For the South View high game, I've organized some scouts to come and sort you out. Play hard like I know you can and those scouts will pick you before the warm up." Connolly nodded enthusiastically, silently jumping out of his skin in excitement.

"Thanks coach. I appreciate the eff-"coach cut him off with his hand, signalling him to stop.

"None of that mushy stuff, that's for girls. Go shower." He waves him off and the boy smiles before turning on his heels and running to the change room. The smile never leaving his face.

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Leo sat on the bleachers waiting for his brother to finish training; he sat there on the silver seating, head down focusing on the paper in front of him. His special drawing pencils sitting beside him, sitting neatly in their tin. He was trying to draw the forgotten can of drink, sitting lonely on the seats. The middle slightly pushed in from force and the tops bent from the drinkers teeth bitting into the soft aluminium. Leo's eyes were wide under his thick rimmed glasses, taking in the can from every angle he can muster. He pulled his bottom lip pulled into his teeth and chewed on it. He swapped his pencil for a darker one. He didn't pay attention when training was ended, nor did he when the coach pulled his brother aside to talk to him about the scout. And he did not notice when his brother pulled out of the parking lot without him. He was determined to continue to draw the can till he finished it but someone else had different ideas. Someone tapped his shoulder making him jump. He didn't like it when people touched him without permission. He looked up, pushing the glasses back up his nose, to find a sweaty soccer player standing in front of him. His shirt was off, tucked into his pants, a ball under his arm and his brown hair falling in his eyes, damp with perspiration. His head on a slight angle and his stormy grey eyes looking at him in confusion.