It was a little past one in the afternoon when I got home. Going up to my bedroom, I closed the door and took out my phone to call Scott.

“What?” he demanded when the call connected a moment later, voice thick with sleep.

“Good afternoon, sunshine.”

“Shove off. It’s morning.”

“It’s past noon.”

“Oh, shut up.” I heard Scott roll over on his mattress, sighing into the phone. “I’m suffering from a severe hangover and don’t need the Connor Taylor Savage Mockery of a Compassion Speech.”

“Get up. I’m picking you up in five.”

“Where?”

“Usual. You better have pants on by the time I get there.”

My body cringed as memories of the last time I’d picked Scott up ran through my head. I’d walked into his bedroom to the sight of him yawning and scratching his junk and gay or not, Scott was like a brother to me. No man should have to see their best friend’s morning wood.

“This is the reason people only bang you and go.” Scott groaned through the phone. “You’re so damn persistent.”

"People usually like that about me in the bedroom."

I laughed as Scott cried out in disgust before hanging up the phone.

The house was silent when I went downstairs. Mum had left to run errands in the time I was gone and Dad was still at the course with his friend. Locking the front door, I made my way out to the driveway, climbed into my car and headed for Scott’s house.

Scott’s house was a five minute drive from mine. I parked in his driveway and listened to The Neighbourhood as I waited. Scott came shuffling out of his house two minutes later looking like he’d just crawled out of from under a bridge.

"You're really an ass, you know that?" he grumbled as he climbed in.  

I snickered at his dishevelled state. "Good afternoon to you too.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just buy me a thick stack of pancakes and I might consider forgiving you.”

“Might?”

He muttered a string of incoherent words in response. I chuckled and pulled out of his driveway.

We were pulling into the parking lot of Sal’s ten minutes later, the main diner on this side of town owned and operated by seventy-year old Sal Worthington. It was a hole-in-the-wall kind of place that always smelt of tobacco and cleaning product and the food usually came out more burnt than not. I loved everything about it.

While waiting for Scott, I’d texted Trent to meet us at the diner. He was seated in our booth by the window when we walked in, sipping coffee from a stained, porcelain mug.

“I need some of that,” was the first thing Scott said as he slid into the booth, making grabby hands weakly at Trent’s cup. Trent laughed and slid it across the table.

"Hey man," Trent said to me as I slid in next to Scott. "Thanks for dropping my car off this morning."

"No problem." I smiled in lieu of greeting.

“You ready to order? I told Jeanine I’d wait for you guys.”

“Sure.”

Trent raised his arm to signal were we ready. Jeanine, one of our usual waitresses with a high pony tail and red lipstick smile, bounded over.

“Well, aren’t you just a sight for sore eyes,” Jeanine grinned as she came to a stop before our table. She looked pointedly at me. “Haven’t seen you in a while.” Her eyes dropped to Scott. “You either, mister.”

“Hey, Jeanine. How are you?” I smiled at her. “I know it’s been a while. We’ve been busy training for the new season.”

Jeanine smacked her lips and hummed. “I remember when you three were just kids and would come in to order hot fudge sundaes every Friday after a game.”

“We’re not kids anymore, Jen.” Trent chuckled.

Jeanine smirked. “That, or you haven’t had a victory to celebrate since primary school.”

I gaped. Jeanine’s smirk widened and she reached out a manicured finger to lift my bottom jaw. “Close that mouth, honey. Any wider and the flies will get in.”

Trent and Scott snickered as I huffed. “We have won games, you know. Recently.”

“I know, sugar.” Jeanine smiled. “You’re just so precious to mess with.”

“First time any one’s ever called Connor precious.” Scott snickered, laughing when I punched him in the arm.

“Alright, kiddos.” Jeanine clicked her pen. “Will it just be the usual?”

We ordered and Jeanine left to fetch our drinks. Fifteen minutes later we were digging into our breakfast. Scott had already gone through two cups of coffee.

“So, Con,” Trent said, squirting tomato sauce on his omelette. "You got a game plan for this season? We’re gonna need one if we hope to beat Ridgemount this year. This is our last chance.”

I nodded. Over the summer I’d been working on developing new strategies we could use to win our final season. I would die before letting Ridgemount leave with the trophy in their hands instead of ours. 

"Don't worry," I reassured my friends. "I've been working on it all summer. We're going to win."

"We’d better." Scott said, mouth hanging open in an unattractive display of half-masticated bacon. "We last won against Ridgemount two years ago and that's only because we subbed in that senior midfielder during the second half."

"They get better every year.” Trent sighed.

“So do we.” I scowled, but the words felt dead in my mouth.

“This is our senior year,” Scott said. “I’m sick of seeing those damn smirks on Ridgemount’s faces every time they beat us.”

Trent nodded in agreement. “Their training methods are insane. I heard their Captain makes the first-year subs do senior drills on the first day.”

“And their Coach agrees with it?”

“Have you met Anderson? The guy’s crazy competitive.”

My hand tensed under the table. “Anyway,” I said loudly, bringing them back to the present. “Our next practice is Monday. I talked to Coach about making some changes to the lineup and he agreed. The first two games of the season are already over and we’re coming second. We’re going to be training harder, faster and longer. We won’t lose another game this year. I won’t let us.”

Scott and Trent exchanged a look but I ignored them. Scott was right. This was our final year and I would not mess it up.

Dakota and his team were good but even they had flaws. Ridgemount could push and bully their way to the top with dirty tricks and schemes all they wanted. It didn’t matter. When Northshore faced them in the championship, we’d be ready.

***

Two days later at our Monday afternoon practice, I stood with my arms crossed over my chest and watched as the team completed my assigned drills.

“Okay,” I called out to the field. “Pair up! We’re going to practice one-on-one, starting with passing.”

Our Coach stood beside me and watched as the team broke off into pairs to carry out my instructions. “We need to allocate the subs their positions. Number seventeen looks highly promising as a wing back.” He handed me his clipboard.

I glanced over the names on the list briefly. “Number nine. Joel Harrison. Says he’s been playing as a centre-back since he was ten. We could use someone with that experience.”

“You give me a list, I’ll draw the new lineup.”

I nodded and unclipped the list from the clipboard before handing it back to Coach. Leaving him to watch the field, I jogged over to the benches where our new first-years were sitting.

They look up as I approached. "Hey guys," I greeted, list in hand. "I'm Connor, the team Captain. If you're sitting on this bench then congratulations. You've officially made the team."

A small round of hollers sounded as the boys nudged each other in encouragement. I let them go for a moment before bringing their attention back to focus.

“We have one goal this year,” I stated loudly. “Beat Ridgemount in the championship at the end of the season.”

My eyes narrowed slightly. “I joined this team when I was your age, and for the past three years I’ve been its Captain. We’ve been great in the past but this year we have to be perfect. This is our last chance to defeat Ridgemount before the rest of the seniors and I graduate and we don’t plan on losing. If anyone thinks that is going to be a problem, speak up now.”

I waited. Several pairs of wide eyes stared back at me but no one spoke.

“Good.” I said. “Now, next item on the agenda. The team roster.”

After concluding my brief introductory speech, I looked down at the paper in my hand and began reading out names and what position the players were assigned to.

"Any questions?" I asked when I finished.

"Is it true you dumped Sarah Hall for Dannie Keating in one week?" one of the boys piped up. The other snickered.

"Or that you hooked up with Maya Crosby in the second-floor maintenance closet?"

“Did you and Kiana Holt really makeout behind the screen at deb last year?”

"I heard that he hooked up with two girls on the same day and dumped them both in an email-"

The boys started ramping on about my love affairs as if I wasn't standing right before them. It wasn’t so much what they were saying that surprised me, but rather how loose-lipped teenagers had become. The amount of gossip in this school was ridiculous.

I knew I had a reputation in favour of popularity. I’d been dubbed the King of Northshore when I became Captain of the soccer team. While joining the team had expanded my social circle greatly, making new acquaintances and attending parties had opened up a wide channel for miscommunication. I knew I couldn’t control what people said about me but did these boys have no dignity whatsoever?

“My love life is not what’s important right now.” I scowled at the first-years in response. “If you’re sitting on this bench it means you’re here to play. I don’t expect your attention to be on anything but winning.”

“C’mon, man,” one of the subs protested, “you’ve got to give us something. Dannie and Kiana are two of the hottest girls I’ve ever seen. I’d kill to know your strategy.”

A few of the other boys hummed in agreement while I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Even though no one but Scott and Trent knew I was gay, these girls were great and I didn’t want to endorse the rumour mill this school operated on for cheap entertainment.

Truth be told, virtually every single one of those stories was twisted into something false. Rumour One: Sarah was in my maths class and she’d come over to my house last week to finish an assignment. We never so much as held hands let alone hooked up.

Rumour Two: I knew Dannie from volunteering last month after school at the food drive. I’d run into her in the hallway on Friday and spent a few minutes chatting. Her younger brother wanted to try out for the soccer team next year and she’d been asking me for some pointers.

Rumour Three: Maya Crosby had been in my history class the past two years. We’d spoken before but never hooked up on the account that I was gay and she had a boyfriend. I’m also classier than a closet hook up. And an email? Seriously? Who used emails anymore?

“I don’t kiss and tell,” was all I responded with in the end, no matter how far from the truth it was.

The subs cheered and started rambling on again, talking over one another as they picked apart false narratives about my life. I sighed and scrubbed a hand over my face.

"Guys,” I said. Then, louder, “Guys!”

The group stopped and turned to me wide eyed. I glared at them, “This is neither the time nor place to be discussing this. We’re here because we have a game to win.”

"Oh c'mon," a blonde boy whined. "This is way better than some soccer practice. You're the king of hooking up with the hottest girls! You're the team Captain of Northshore, on your way to getting a scholarship and plus, you have the best rival story with Dakota Anderson!"

I nearly laughed then at how juvenile this all was. Whoever had started that rumour was clearly on the outside. I hadn’t had sex with a girl since I was sixteen and that had been when I was figuring out who I was.

The subs going on about stories that were either false or outdated really put things into perspective for me. I’d only told Scott and Trent I was gay because it was too hard to live a lie around people I cared about so deeply. Even if the rest of the school didn’t know, it didn’t change the fact that I was still the Captain and we had a season to conquer. Private lives be damned.

"First," I said with a pointed finger, finally having enough, “when you're on my team and playing for my school, you practice until you bleed. We're not here to discuss girls and my hooking up with them. We are here to win the season."

Silence ensued so I continued. "Second, that name is forbidden on my field. Speak it again and you're off the team. Understood?"

The first-years nodded weakly. Satisfied, I sent them off to complete practice drills with the rest of the team.

Honestly, I didn't have the power to kick them off the team and I certainly wasn't the kind of person to do so. I could put in a suggestion but that decision was made by Coach based on his judgement alone.

As Northshore’s soccer Captain, I had to be somewhat tough to keep the team in line but it didn’t always feel like me. I’ll admit I didn’t hate the attention popularity drew when it wasn’t focused on my love life, but I didn’t possess a burning desire to rule this kingdom. Being crowned King of this school was superficial and straight from the archetype manual, but it didn’t mean I had to live up to its standards.

People wouldn’t like hearing that so I kept it to myself but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t go through days not caring about what people thought of me. Your reputation is crafted by everyone except yourself, after all. 

By the end of practice, I was sweating heavily and my muscles had long since grown tired. For only our third week into the season, I knew I was pushing the team hard but I craved that win against Ridgemount. We had to beat them. I had to beat Dakota once and for all.

Coach gave us the okay to hit the locker room just after six o’clock. I took a shower, scrubbed off the remains of practice and dressed in a pair of sweatpants and an old hoodie.

I was the last one in the locker room that afternoon. Normally Trent and Scott would wait for me but Scott had his younger sister's birthday dinner to get to and Trent had an appointment. The first-years had scattered by the time I was out of the bathroom.

Just as I'm shoving my towel into my gym bag, my phone went off.

I rolled my eyes. He knew every way to aggravate me, even when he wasn't even in the same room. I sent a message back to him.

It wasn't much of an insult but it didn't need to be in the first place. It only had to be enough to keep Dakota on edge until the end of the season.

When he didn’t reply, I smiled with a small sense of victory and walked out of the locker room toward the car park.

Dakota could bring all the thunder he wanted because when the time came I’d be ready to steal it.

And when that moment came, it would be one hell of a show.