Page 70 of Playing By Ear

Perry nodded and shrugged, as if he’d once been a dry cleaner. “Years ago, when my vision was still perfect, of course. And yes, I’ve heard all the blind-ref jokes,” he added with what he hoped was a winning smile.

“I’ve got a million questions,” Andrew said. “Firstly, why would one become such a thing?”

“Because I love the game.” Perry gave his best smirk. “And I really enjoy being right.”

They all laughed, and Andrew said, “I have great respect for that answer.”

John bumped his shoulder against Perry’s. “Mate, you just got ten times more interesting.”

As the teams took to the pitch, the Rainbow Regiment surged to their feet with a long, loud warrior’s call. Perry joined them, blood pumping and heart tripping with the crowd’s contagious anxiety. He was now part of this body, a body that needed victory like it needed breath itself.

Jamie had never been so nervous before a match. His mouth was parched and his knees felt mushy, like he’d already run miles. All of his dad’s positive-visualization advice had gone down the proverbial pan.

In her pre-match talk, Charlotte had treated this game like any other, reviewing tactics, reminding them of their opponents’ strengths and weaknesses, and cautioning where the Warriors needed to be careful.

When it came down to it, it was a match like any other. Same pitch, same ball, same arcane laws to rule them all. So why did this match matter more to him than any before it? Was it because Balornock had humiliated them in the quarterfinal two years prior?

“You’ve got this, Jamie!”

Oh, that was why. He waved to Perry, sending a grin big enough John would describe it as “luminous.”

Then he focused on the pitch in front of him. Up near the halfway line, Ali Rodgers was facing Jamie, their back to the wind and the direction of play as they fidgeted with their left eye.

“All right, Ali?” Jamie called out.

“Contact lens again!” They adjusted their thin black headband, sweeping back their long, sandy fringe, then gave him a thumbs-up. “All good!”

The referee placed the ball on the center spot. Finally Jamie could stop worrying and just be in the game.

The whistle blew.

The matchups crystallized in minutes. The Balornock left winger, Haggerty, was fast and spritely, but Ali was handling him well. This freed Jamie up to focus more on Balornock’s center forward, Mercer. The tall, broad, thankfully-not-fast ginger liked to track in the direction of his stronger left foot, which took him into Jamie’s territory. Again and again, Jamie drove him back inside to face Warriors center-back Robert, aka, the Great Wall of McKenzie. Mercer couldn’t break free for a long pass, and when he managed to receive short passes, Robert dispossessed him with tidy tackles.

Up front, the Warriors’ offense was as thwarted as Balornock’s. It would likely be one of those nervy games where neither team gave nor gained an inch, the sort of game that could burst open with a single defensive mistake.

It wouldn’t be Jamie’s mistake, he resolved. Not today.

Five minutes before halftime, Haggerty made another run down the touchline. Jamie covered Mercer, cutting off a potential deadly pass.

Ali stepped up, slowing down Haggerty, who faked to his left. Ali stayed with him.

Then Haggerty darted right. Ali’s steps stuttered, as if the midfielder had been shot by a child with a rubber band. Haggerty broke free down the touchline.

Oh, no, you don’t.

Jamie ran to intercept him, closing the gap to cut off passes. The crowd’s roar was muffled by the heave of his and Haggerty’s breath, by the stomp and slide of their boots on the turf.

Haggerty halted a few feet outside the penalty area, then did a quick switchback. Jamie tried to match him, but he was too slow. From pure instinct, he stuck out a leg in a desperate attempt to poke the ball.

Instead of the soft leather of the football, Jamie’s boot met the hard shell of a shin guard. The collision drove him and Haggerty to the ground.

The whistle blew.

Fuck, he’d fouled Haggerty. At least it was outside the box—barely—so Balornock would be awarded only a free kick and not a penalty.

Jamie rolled to his feet, elbow aching, and reached down to help his opponent up. “Sorry.”

Haggerty looked past him and laughed. “Not as sorry as you’re about to be.”