𝘀𝘂𝗻𝗳𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝗼𝘆 ➳ 𝗯𝘆𝗹𝗲𝗿

chapter four

you kick around a soccer ball and try to score on the opposing team. how hard could it be?

well, will shouldn't have expected it to be that easy, knowing his body wasn't made to be naturally gifted with the athletic abilities all the guys on the field seemed to have. hell, ever since he was little, he couldn't even swing a baseball bat without somehow screwing everything up and infuriating his father.

even in those gym classes in middle school, taking part in the mandatory volleyball matches with max right by his side, he still had no clue what he was doing, her having to whisper directions like,

bend your knees a little more.

put your arms above your head, okay? now make your hands into a diamond shape, just like mine.

position your arms lower.

inch a little closer to the net.

now without his best friend to explain the basic rules of soccer to him, will's totally lost. apparently there's eleven different positions that all have their own roles, will not even knowing any of them existed.

didn't everybody just run around like headless chickens chasing after the soccer ball, their only job being to score a goal?

like what's the difference between a striker and a winger? and what's a center back?

and why the hell was will chosen to be the goalkeeper, the shortest, least athletic, most unagile guy in the class?

in all honestly, lucas only made that choice so that the two would be as far away from each other as possible, him being the striker, all the way toward the lower half of the field, and will's position having him at the very end of the upper half.

really, it was a poor decision, mike scoring basically every shot he took, leading his team 6-1. with every goal he scored, it's as if the looks lucas gave the byers teen were getting deadlier and deadlier, acting as if it was all will's fault for their substantial defeat.

truly, it wasn't will's fault more than any of the other players, mike having to slip past everyone else in order to even make it to the penalty box.

still, the goalkeeper has the most responsibility, once letting that ball slip past your fingertips, the team taking all their fury out on you. they would gladly take the opportunity to kick you down to the dirt, stomping on you with their cleats.

if will's being honest, he wouldn't be surprised if that's how this excruciatingly long class would end. judging by the look on sinclair's face, he wouldn't skip a beat to do so if o'connor wasn't intently watching the whole match.

now, to no surprise, mike is slipping past each of the players wearing orange pinnies, making his way toward the penalty box, ravenette curls blowing in the wind, bolting as fast as lightning.

will already knows there's no point in bending his knees, or staring attentively at the direction mike would position his kick. there's no way he's blocking that shot. wheeler always kicks at the top left of the goal anyway, the ball being far out of reach for the small teen.

mike gets about fifteen feet into the penalty box before swinging his leg back, aiming toward the center of the goal. it's as if the soccer ball's traveling at the speed of light, making it's way right for the unprepared goalkeeper.