Match

25: Little By Little

Cole taps the tip of his cleats on the ground, making sure they're fit snug. He doesn't trust his shoe size, remembering how he's gone through two different sizes quickly in the span of a couple years. While fixing his socks, he listens in on Joel and Ace talking to each other. Ace flicks a spinning soccer ball up into the air, catches it, and repeats.

"Brett couldn't make it," Joel says.

Ace stops chucking the ball. "Huh really?"

"Yeah, he's working. I feel like he's also gonna go see Kacey."

"Not surprised."

Joel kicks at the earth while resting a hand in a pocket. "I mean have you seen how out of it Brett was on Tuesday?"

"Those two are like, glued together. They were the equivalent of power forwards on our team."

"Yeah and now one's pretty much bedridden for a few weeks," Joel sighs. He looks at Cole. "Hey Cole."

Cole stops spacing out. "Hm?"

"Can you act like the goalie for tonight's practice?"

He feels a boulder drop in his stomach. "What?"

Joel stamps his foot hard on the ground. "Goalie. You're like, the tallest guy on our team."

"And?"

He shoots a glare at Cole. He can tell Joel so badly wants to erupt with irritated frustration at him. Cole stretches out his arms and gives in.

"Alright, fine. But I'm not gonna be a goalie at the games."

Ace lifts a smirk. "Why not?"

"I'm not very foot coordinated," he presses his weight on a stretched leg. "Let alone arm coordinated."

"Aw c'mon, it's fun!" Joel says with a sarcastic undertone.

"Why don't you then?"

Joel's cranky smile drops. He rolls his eyes and takes the ball from Ace.

"Let's go! We're wasting time!"

The three young men strut to the nearest net and begin their practice. Cole tries to imitate Ashton's squatting stance. God I feel so ridiculous, he thinks. Ace takes a shot in the top right corner. It hits the pole and bounces into the net. Cole's sliver of confidence drops. He sighs and grabs the ball, then rolls it back to Ace.

"You're just a midfielder?!" Joel says.

Ace raises an eyebrow, picking up the ball. "I don't wanna be a forward."

"Why?? You have good range!"

"It's too much effort," he shrugs, handing Joel the ball.

Joel's brows furrow. "A midfielder has to be like, on every single section of the field."

"Well why don't you take shots, Mr. Striker?"

"Asshat," he mutters.

"Wow," Cole overshadows their banter with exaggerated enthusiasm. "It'd be real great if we spent our practice practicing instead of arguing like an old married couple!"

Joel huffs and slams the ball to the ground.

"Watch then."

Cole readies himself. Joel tilts his head, as if to perfect the ball trajectory. He kicks it with all he's got, and it slams right into Cole's inner thigh. Cole keels over with an 'oof'. He could've sworn the ball grazed his groin.