Chapter 24

The whistle blew in the field, drawing Alex’s mind back to the present. It had been a crazy day, the third one he’d had in a week. The competition date was drawing nearer, and the boys of Milton High School were in no way prepared for their rivals, or so the coach said.

Their coach was a middle-aged Irish man that went by the name Carl Hartman. He had thick Brian hair with streaks of gray hair in them, a cold reminder that he was gradually losing his youthfulness.

Coach Carl Hartman was like a whip master to the boys. He whipped them mentally to go out of their way to perform well on the field. He hardly gave any compliments, and even when he did, they never came in a genuine form. He would say to the boys, “Good kick, boys,” when what he actually meant was, “You all played nicely today.”

Knowing the kind of person he was, getting such backhanded compliments meant a lot to the boys, even though it rarely came. Today, however, there was no sign that the compliments