RICHKIDS

＂ Ｔｈｅ Ｇａｍｅ Ｆｒｏｍ Ｈｅｌｌ ＂

Damon was on top of the world. He'd already scored three goals and he was on fire. He had never felt so alive, so free, so invincible. It definitely wasn't the usual type of high steroids were supposed to give you. 

Adrenaline running through his veins like ecstasy, Damon sized up the new defense players blocking the goalie. They were two bulky looking boys, their faces flushed in the cold winds that rushed through the field. Sure, they were pretty big players but Damon felt so strong that he didn't even bother forming a strategy.

As soon as the referee blew his whistle, he was racing towards them, not even bothering to see if Connor Royce had won the face off.

The boys both met his run but Damon pushed into them, knocking them both to the ground. He could hear the crowd going crazy now as he made his way straight for the goalie with the ball. The goalie was as muscular as he was, already in a perfect stance to block him.

"Damon, pass the ball!" He heard Chris Edwards call from across the field just as one of the defenders got to their feet and began to charge him.

He was only able to analyze the situation for a fraction of a second but everything was clear. If he passed the ball, Chris would make the goal - and that was not happening. Not when Coach Mitchells might just be considering Chris for a new captain.

Damon managed to block the defender and then he threw the ball, aiming for the goalie - he missed.

He missed.

He missed the goal. 

He had put so much force into the throw that it had went over the net. "Fuck!"

"Damon Felix, get over here right now! He heard Coach Mitchells' hoarse voice call from the side lines. From the tone of his voice, Damon knew he wasn't about to get praised.

The referee, a bald man who had actually been a referee for pro Lacrosse games, blew the whistle for break. Everyone on the field broke out into a run to their coaches. Damon could feel the glares of the East Prep players as he made his way to Coach Mitchell, he also had a nagging feeling that some of his team mates were glaring at him too.

The team made a semicircle around the coach, everyone shooting glances or glares towards Damon. He couldn't see why they would be mad. He had been scoring all the goals. 

"Felix, why didn't you pass the ball to Chris?" The coach yelled harshly, causing the chattering cheerleaders to turn their way.

"He wasn't close enough," Damon shrugged. "Plus he was surrounded." That wasn't true at all. Chris could have caught the ball. In fact, he could have scored.

Chris snorted, his red hair unruly from the helmet. "That's bullshit, Coach. I was open."

"Yeah and on the first goal, I was open too!" Jeremiah, their most scariest player, piped up, his deep voice startling even the coach. 

"I was open but," Brett sneaked a glance at Mia Matthews who was too busy going over a cheer with Addie Anderson to notice him. "Well, you guys get the picture."

"Brett, you're benched." Coach Mitchells barked.

Brett only nodded, sitting down on a bench that just so happened to be next to the cheerleaders. He was too wasted to care about his predicament.

"And Damon if I don't see some team work-"

"Got it, Coach," Damon said quickly, hoping his father who was only sitting a few feet from them on the bleachers hadn't heard them. "There's no 'I' in team right?" To his dismay, the coach didn't crack even a grim smile.