Russell woke up before his alarm went off. The room was dim, faint light seeping in from the window blinds. His body felt rested, but his mind was already moving. He lay still for a moment, staring up at the ceiling.
Monday.
Back to school.
He reached for his phone and checked the time, 6:13 a.m. The house was quiet. He slipped out of bed and walked to the bathroom, the floor cold beneath his feet.
The shower was quick and hot. No lingering this time. His muscles still ached slightly from yesterday, but it was a good kind of soreness, the kind that came from effort, not strain.
Back in his room, he dressed in his school uniform: white button-up shirt, navy tie with two red stripes, grey trousers, and a navy jumper with the Elmridge Academy crest stitched neatly over the heart. His black shoes had lost a bit of shine since the last time he had cleaned them, but he did not care much.
He grabbed his backpack and checked that his books were still in there. He had not touched them all weekend. Everything had been about the trial.
As he stepped outside, the morning air was crisp, the sky still pale blue with soft streaks of cloud. The pavement was damp from last night's rain. He put his hood up and started walking, school only a fifteen-minute walk away.
A few streets down, he spotted someone familiar up ahead, short dreadlocks bouncing slightly as he walked, a black backpack slung low over one shoulder.
"Trey," Russell called out.
The boy turned around and smiled, slowing down until Russell caught up.
Trey Johnson. His best friend since they were seven. Same primary school, same secondary, same football team for years. Shorter than Russell by a few inches, broader in the shoulders, skin dark and smooth, always walking like he had music playing in his head even when he did not have earphones in.
"Look who finally decided to show up," Trey said with a grin.
Russell shook his head. "I was not late."
Trey laughed. "You were cutting it close."
They fell into step beside each other, their pace relaxed. They had not walked to school together in a while. Not since Trey got moved up to the Middlesbrough under eighteen squad. He usually trained in the mornings now and sometimes missed full days of class.
"How was it yesterday," Trey asked. "The trial."
Russell hesitated for a second, then exhaled. "It was intense."
Trey glanced at him. "That bad."
"No," Russell said quickly. "Not bad. Just a lot. Like, they ran us through everything. Sprint testing, agility drills, rondos, one versus ones, finishing circuits, then straight into eleven a side."
"Whew." Trey raised his eyebrows. "Proper assessment, then."
"Yeah," Russell said. "I played as a right winger in the match."
"Right. I thought you preferred the left."
"I do," Russell replied. "But they mixed us around. Said part of the test was adapting."
"Fair," Trey nodded. "How did you do."
Russell thought for a moment. "I think I did alright. Got an assist. Kept it simple. Did not lose the ball much. Tracked back. But they took me off at halftime and never put me back in."
Trey looked over. "You think that is a bad sign."
"I do not know," Russell admitted. "At the time I did. I kept asking myself if I did not show enough. But later someone told me the coaches said they had already seen what they needed from me."
Trey nodded slowly, lips pressed together like he was thinking it through.
"They would not have said that if you had not impressed," he said. "Coaches do not lie about that stuff, not at that level."
"I want to believe that," Russell said. "But it is hard not to doubt it, you know."
"Yeah," Trey said. "I get that."
There was a moment of quiet as they crossed a small side road. A few cars passed by, parents doing school runs.
Trey turned to him again. "But listen, and I mean this, if they do not pick you, they are actually insane."
Russell chuckled. "You do not have to gas me."
"I am not," Trey said. "You are better than me, bro."
Russell shot him a look. "Come on."
"I am serious," Trey said. "I have seen you play for years. You read the game better. You are more disciplined. More technical. You have just had less exposure. I only got signed early because of a random scout watching that cup match last year."
Russell was quiet. He had heard Trey say things like this before, but it always felt hard to accept. Maybe because of how his dad treated it, like Trey's signing was some kind of failure on Russell's part. Like it proved something.
"You have earned your spot," Russell said finally.
"So have you," Trey replied.
They turned onto Elmridge Lane. The school came into view.
Elmridge Academy stood just beyond a row of tall hedges and wrought iron fencing. The building itself was old, Victorian in structure, with tall arched windows and brick walls that had been darkened slightly by decades of weather. But the school had been modernised, newer classroom blocks sat alongside the original structure, connected by glass corridors. The entrance was wide and open, with trimmed hedges lining the walkways and a small, raised courtyard in the front where students usually gathered before the bell.
The front gate bore the school's name in sharp silver lettering, with the motto underneath, Sapere Aude, Dare to Know.
Students were already filing in, some in clusters, others walking alone. The murmur of early conversation hung in the air, weekend gossip, homework panic, last-minute assignment complaints. Russell recognised most of the faces. He always did. But today it all felt a little distant, like he was watching it through glass.
"You nervous about results," Trey asked as they reached the gates.
Russell paused. "Yeah."
"You will be fine," Trey said. "Worst case, they do not call this week, right. That does not mean you are out."
"I know," Russell replied. "Still."
Trey glanced at him. "If they do not call, we will figure it out. You are not done either way."
Russell nodded, appreciating the way Trey said we. Not you. It made a difference.
They stepped into the main courtyard, the low rumble of voices growing louder around them. The day had officially started.
Inside his chest, Russell felt that familiar mix again, hope, doubt, pressure, all pulling in different directions.
He tightened the strap on his backpack and followed Trey through the crowd toward their form room.