Bloodsport

chapter 15

Football was going well recently. It was by no means perfect, but at least they hadn’t lost so far. Harry had made plenty of goals during the first half of the season, but he didn’t feel like he was peaking. He had more to give, and he was certain Louis was the problem most of the time. It was getting a tad better, but they had loads to work on yet. Harry wasn’t satisfied until they played to perfection.
That night, they were to play at home. Harry’s parents were in Doncaster, but he hadn’t mentioned the match to them. His parents had missed all of them this year, and he wasn’t about to ask them to come simply to be rejected. Even if they did show up, they’d probably draw attention to themselves. That afternoon they’d spent an hour arguing in the kitchen about Christmas. Whose parents would they go to? Who would drive to get Gemma from uni if they went all the way to London to Harry’s uncle’s place instead? Harry had rolled his eyes as he passed them on his way out of the house. It was November, for God’s sake. He’d slammed the door and driven off.

It was a busy night. Plenty of people had come to watch them finish the first half of the season before December hit. As the lads got ready in the locker room there was music playing, and the small set of cheerleaders had joined them to paint their faces with Donny colours, red and black. Louis was in a good mood for once, shouting and chanting with Stan atop the benches. Even Coach was joining the fun for a bit, but he grabbed Harry’s shoulder when he passed him.

“Harry,” he said, latching his arm around his shoulders. Harry looked up at Coach Abrahams by his side, but the man was glancing out over the sea of people hustling through the locker room.

“Yeah?”

“You know that Chelsea has a great academy, too, right?”

“Chelsea?” repeated Harry dubiously.

“Yes, Chelsea, Harry,” he said. “I know you’re all set on Manchester like many of the boys on the team, but I want you to expand your options a bit. You’re an excellent striker, but the competition is fierce. Everyone your age who isn’t already at the academies wants to get in.”

He swallowed. “You don’t think I’m good enough to get in at Manchester.”

Coach Abrahams looked at him from the corner of his eye. “I know you’re good enough. You and Tomlinson are the best players I’ve had in years. But the two of you need to make it work, and either way, the competition’s rough.”

Harry glanced over at where Louis was getting black stripes painted on his cheeks. “Is Louis interested in Chelsea, too?”

Coach shook his head. “He won’t hear any of it. He’s only got United in his head. Don’t do that, Harry."

“Are you going to try to talk to him about it?”

“I’ve tried many times,” he sighed. “Last year he basically told me he’d rather stop playing football if he couldn’t do it for United.”

Harry snorted. Somehow, he believed that. It was funny, to a point. Louis must have realised how difficult it was going to be to get into Manchester? Every kid on a school team wanted to play there. Harry didn’t want to be that narrow-minded.

“I’m interested,” he said. “In Chelsea.”

Coach nodded. “Good boy.”

“But don’t get me wrong,” he interrupted. “If Manchester want me, I’m there.”

He smiled as Coach laughed and then began to call the other boys’ attention. They had to get out and warm up. As people were leaving the locker room, the movement a blur of red jerseys, Harry felt someone’s hand grab hold of his waist and pull him backward into the corner of the room. His heart began beating harder, and he heard Louis whisper, “How’s that rug burn?” in his ear.