He’d never look at you in a mil ion years.’

After that conversation, I watched the hal ways like a commando in enemy territory so I could take cover if I saw Zed coming. At least I now had a group of friends to hide amongst should he decide to retaliate with some choice sneers for my outburst. First was Obi Tina, of course, but Zoe, who would fit the role of a slightly wicked Catwoman with her sense of humour, along with the original Elasto-man Nelson were also now part of my gang. They stood up for me against the Vampire Brides, Sheena and Co., who continued to pick on me, partly I think because they sensed I was vulnerable. VBs have this thing for drawing blood. Word must have gone round about the scene in the car park, with people coming to the understandable conclusion that I had a streak of insanity. Tina, Zoe, and Nelson were al that stood between me and a fringe life with the misfits. I could picture them in my head, my three defenders, arms folded, standing as a shield between me and al harm, cloaks rippling in the breeze, cue swel ing heroic music … and cut.

I real y had to get out more. These daydreams were invading every part of my life.

On the last Friday in September, I received some unwelcome news from Tina on our way to school in her car.

‘We all have to show up to play soccer, boys and girls?’ I asked her, horrified by the notion.

‘Yeah, it’s a junior year tradition before first snowfal so that means first Monday in October. It’s supposed to build team spirit or something.’ Tina blew a bubble with her gum and let it pop. ‘As wel as show up any hidden talent to the coach. I personal y think Mr Joe is behind it—you must realize by now he’s the power behind the throne in the school. He likes the chance to pretend he’s a coach.’

She didn’t seem too bothered by the prospect, not like I was.

‘This is worse than dental surgery.’ I hugged my arms defensively across my chest.

‘Why? I thought you Brits loved soccer. We’re al expecting great things from you.’

‘I suck at sports.’

Tina laughed. ‘Too bad.’

After pleading with my dad for him to explain the offside rule, I realized that I was heading for another disaster. But there was no escape. The whole year group—al one hundred of us—were told to report to the coaches out on the bleachers on Monday. The computer had selected a random col ection of names to make up the teams. Mr Joe, in a misguided attempt at making the English girl feel at home in her national sport, crowned me captain of team B, which meant we were the first to play against A. And guess who was their captain?

‘OK, Zed, you win the toss.’ Mr Joe tucked the coin away and blew his whistle. He had real y entered into the spirit of the game, even having one of those little notebook-thingies in his top pocket. ‘It’s fifteen minutes each way. Good luck!’ He patted me on the shoulder in passing. ‘Now’s your chance to shine, Sky. Do England proud!’

I was sure this place was going to crop up in my nightmares from here on: rows upon rows of people watching from the bleachers and me without a clue what to do. It was like those dreams where you go out naked.

Major humiliation. Duffy started begging for mercy on my internal soundtrack.

‘OK, captain.’ Nelson grinned at me. ‘Where do you want us?’

The only position I knew wel were centre forward and goalie. I put Nelson up front and myself in goal.

‘Are you sure,’ asked Sheena. ‘Aren’t you, like, a bit short for a defender?’

‘No, it’s fine. I’m best back here.’ Out of harm’s way, I meant. ‘The rest of you … um … share out the other positions—do what you do best.’

After kick off, I found that I had seriously miscalculated. I’d forgotten that when the opposition are captained by a player who makes minced meat of your defensive line—half of whom had as shaky a grasp of the game as I—then the goalie suddenly has a very busy time indeed.

We were 5–0 down after ten minutes. My team began making mutinous noises. If the strikers on Zed’s team had left me alone for a moment, I would have dug a hole in the goal and hidden in it.

At half time we were a mammoth nine goals behind. I’d let in ten, but Nelson had achieved a miracle and scored once. My team gathered round me, the spirit of the lynch mob in the air.

‘Tactics?’ sneered Sheena.

Invite a meteor to fal on the pitch, obliterating my goal? Drop dead from plague? Stop it, Sky: this wasn’t helping.

‘Um … wel —wel done, Nelson, great goal. Let’s have more of those, please.’

‘That’s it? Your tactics? More goals, please? ’

Sheena inspected her nails. ‘Sheesh, look, I broke one. Do you think they’d let me retire injured?’

‘I don’t play footbal —I mean soccer—back home.

I didn’t want to be captain. Sorry.’ I gave a pathetic shrug.

‘This is so humiliating,’ grumbled Neil, who until then had always been quite nice to me. ‘Mr Joe promised you’d be great.’

I was beginning to feel a lot like crying. ‘Then he was wrong, wasn’t he? Expecting me to be good at footbal is like expecting al Welsh people to be able to sing.’ My team looked blank. OK, so they hadn’t heard of Wales. ‘Just stop letting so many of them past you with the bal and then I wouldn’t have to save so many.’

‘Save!’ Sheena shrieked with derision. ‘You’ve not saved a single one. And if you do, I’l eat my sneakers.’

The whistle blew for the second half. I trekked up field to my goal, only to be stopped by Zed. ‘What now?’ I snapped. ‘Gonna rub it in some more that I’m rubbish? No need, my team’s done that already.’

He looked over my head. ‘No, Sky, I was going to tel you that you’re down that end this half.’

Sheesh, I was going to cry. I scrubbed my wrist over my eyes and pivoted on the spot to set off for the other end of the pitch. I had to run the gauntlet of mocking faces.

I blinked. Zed’s team were al surrounded by the raspberry pink glow of amusement. Mine had a charcoal grey aura shot through with red. Was I real y seeing this—or imagining it? Stop it!

Sometimes I’m such a nutcase.

The massacre—sorry, game—continued until it was

embarrassing

for

everyone,

even

the

spectators. I’d not managed to save a thing. Then Sheena brought Zed down in the box and I was facing a penalty. The jeers and laughter from the stands grew louder as al realized that a classic high school moment was in the making: Zed, the best player in the year, was facing the talent-chal enged foreigner.

‘Go on, Sky, you can do it!’ yel ed Tina from the bleachers.

No, I couldn’t, but there spoke a true friend.

I stood in the centre of my wretched goal and faced Zed. To my astonishment, he wasn’t gloating; if anything, he looked a bit sorry for me—that’s how pathetic I was. He placed the bal careful y on the spot and glanced up at me.

Dive to your left.

His voice in my head again. I was certifiable. I rubbed my eyes, trying to clear my brain.

Zed held my gaze. Dive to your left.

What the hel : I was now so far gone I was hal ucinating. I had no hope of stopping the bal , so I could at least make a flamboyant, if hopelessly unnecessary, dive. Maybe I’d knock myself out on the post—let’s think on the bright side.

Zed ran up, kicked, and I spreadeagled myself sideways to the left.

Ooof! The bal struck me square in the stomach. I curled round it in agony.

An enormous cheer went up—even from Zed’s team mates.

‘I can’t believe it—she saved it!’ yelped Tina, doing a celebratory dance with Zoe.

A hand appeared in front of my eyes.

‘Are you OK?’

Zed.

‘I saved it.’