Harry packed his bag with care. Oversized shorts, scuffed trainers, and a spare school shirt — all folded as neatly as he could manage. The broken zip on his rucksack was knotted shut with an old shoelace. He didn't care. His heart thudded like a second heartbeat.
This was it.
The first day training with the team.
He stepped out into the cold morning air. Frost lined the grass at the edge of the track, and his breath curled out in ghostly wisps. The walk to school was the same as every other day — past the quiet fields, the mossy dry stone walls, the crooked barn roofs. But everything felt different.
His mind raced. Would it be proper training? Cones? Passing drills? A game? Would Mr Hadley single him out again? Would the others think he was just a one-game wonder?
As he passed the hedge line at the edge of the school field, he caught sight of the playground.
Two figures peeled away from a group near the climbing frame and made a beeline for him.
"Brewer," Liam called, grinning as he approached.
Malik followed, hands in pockets, a familiar half-smirk tugging at his mouth — like he wasn't quite ready to smile properly.
"You're in," Liam said. "Hadley told us this morning. Training with the first team today."
Harry smiled, heart lifting.
"Told you you'd make it."
Malik raised his eyebrows. "Bit surprised, to be honest." His tone was light, but there was something underneath — not mockery, not exactly. More like bruised pride. "But yeah. Well done."
"Thanks," Harry said, unsure what else to say.
Malik sniffed and glanced away. "Glad we're on the same side next time."
Liam nudged him, as if to say play nice.
"What position d'you actually want to play?" Liam asked.
Harry hesitated. "I don't mind. I'll play wherever I'm needed."
"Seriously?" Malik frowned. "You've got no preference?"
Harry shook his head. "I'm just really grateful to be in the team."
Malik rolled his eyes. "You're weird."
But it didn't come with venom. More disbelief than anything else.
"We've been trying to figure it out," Liam said. "You were solid at both left and right back. But that pass you made in the trial? Total striker's instinct. Malik reckons you're better at fullback, though."
"Because you shut me down," Malik muttered, arms still crossed. "Don't get used to it."
Harry blinked.
"I mean, yeah, you kept up with me. Once. Bit lucky though."
Liam raised an eyebrow. "Mate. He tracked you the whole second half."
Malik didn't answer.
"We're playing a 4-4-2 this year," Liam went on, clearly enjoying the chance to explain. "Hadley's idea. Keeps it simple. Two strikers, flat midfield, proper balance."
Harry nodded, listening hard.
"Lewis Palmer's our keeper. Bit of a nutter, but he pulls off some ridiculous saves. Plays for Brid Rangers — same as me and Malik."
"Left-back is Nathan Stokes. Got an engine, gets up and down, but his positioning…" Liam winced. "Needs work."
"Centre-backs: Jordan Pike — big lad, wins everything in the air but turns like a tanker — and Ethan Barlow. Calm, clever. Plays for Driffield United. Probably the best passer in the back line."
"Right-back's usually Alfie Kerr," Liam said, then gave a lopsided smile. "But after the trial… let's just say Hadley likes to tinker. That spot might be open."
Malik muttered, "Alfie's gonna lose it."
"Midfield's me and Tommy Lake. I do the running, the tackles, the shouting. Tommy's the tidy passer — never wastes a ball, but not one for fifty-fiftys."
Malik gave a mock shrug. "Soft lad."
Liam raised an eyebrow. "Says the guy who rolls five times when someone breathes near him."
Malik smirked. "That's called drawing the foul. You wouldn't get it."
Harry tried not to laugh. He absolutely got it — Malik flung himself like a salmon every time he was tackled too hard. Usually followed by a dramatic groan and a suspiciously quick recovery once the free kick was given.
"Left wing is Malik — obviously — and Alfie's sometimes been tried on the right, but it changes. Hadley's been rotating a bit. Might be some shifts there too."
Harry blinked. "And up front?"
"Riley Booth and Reece Mullen. Riley's fast but needs five chances to score one. Reece is strong, holds it up well, just… not the most graceful."
Malik added, "Reece gets goals though. Scruffy ones. Falls over the ball and it rolls in. Still counts."
Harry grinned.
Liam nodded, warming to the topic. "We've got bench lads too — Callum Price, proper grafter. Runs nonstop, usually comes on up top or out wide. Jake's decent on the right, and Max fills in at the back. Solid options. They all train hard."
"So yeah," Malik said, giving Harry a once-over. "If you can play anywhere… Hadley's definitely got ideas."
"No one knows what he's planning," Liam added. "Even we don't know until he reads the team out on match day. But if you're training with us now… reckon he's got something in mind."
And then there was him.
No club. No coach. No kit. Just an old ball in a paddock and a wish at a well.
Still, he smiled. "I'm just happy to be part of it."
Malik gave a huff. "You're way too polite."
"You'll be asking the ref if he wants a biscuit next," he added, almost fondly.
"But fair play," Liam said. "You've earned your spot."
They began walking toward the building. Just before reaching the door, Liam added, "You should come train with us on Sundays too. With Brid Rangers. Good way to get sharper."
"Yeah," Malik added. "You've got loads to catch up on if you're gonna keep up with me."
Harry hesitated. "I'd like to… but I don't think I can."
"Why not?" Liam asked.
"I barely got permission to join the school team. Sundays are… worse. That's when I have to do the big jobs at the farm."
Malik frowned. "Wait — proper jobs? Like... work?"
Harry nodded. "Feeding animals. Weeding. Lifting sacks. That sort of thing."
He glanced between them. "The Morleys aren't… really my parents. They're my foster carers."
Liam went quiet.
Malik slowed his steps.
"I didn't know," Liam said softly.
Harry shrugged. "It's fine."
There was a long pause before Malik muttered, "I called you the ginger gnome at P.E."
Harry gave a small smile. "I remember."
Malik scratched his head. "Yeah. I was... I dunno. Messed up, I guess. Sorry."
Liam looked over. "Same. I repeated it. Just thought it was funny at the time."
Harry didn't say anything — just kept walking, the warmth in his chest stronger than the cold air biting his skin.
Liam spoke again. "Still — you're one of us now."
Malik gave a short laugh, then added, "Not just a polite farm kid anymore. But this is football. You've gotta start being more vocal."
He gave Harry a side glance. "And watch Lewis in goal. He's decent, but he's loud — and a bit of a brute. Don't let him push you around."
The classroom door swung open in front of them, warm air spilling out into the corridor.
As Harry stepped inside, the noise of chairs scraping and bags rustling filled the room.
But in his head — he was already on the pitch.