The rest of the week dragged.
Each day passed slowly, even though they were filled with the usual noise, teachers moving through lessons, the hallway chatter between classes, the occasional laugh that echoed from the back of the room. But for Russell, everything felt like it was stuck on pause, a waiting room with no clock.
He kept checking his phone. Morning, lunch, evening. He scrolled through old trial messages, checked his email twice as much as he needed to, and kept glancing at his dad during dinner, trying to read his expression, searching for any hint of news.
Nothing.
He did not ask, not once. If the call or message came, he figured he would be told. Or maybe he would not. Maybe they would not tell him anything. That thought stayed in the back of his head like a slow, constant pressure. The longer it went without hearing, the more convinced he became that it was not going to happen.
By Thursday, he started bracing for the worst.
He told himself it was fine. That he would just work harder. That another opportunity would come. But he did not believe it. Not really. He had done well. Maybe not perfect. But enough. He had felt like it was enough.
So why had no one said anything?
Friday night, just after 7 p.m., he sat on his bed with his laptop open, though he had not typed a word in twenty minutes. He was supposed to be finishing a history assignment. Instead, he was staring at the screen, replaying moments from the trial in his head. The assist. The one versus one dribble. The time he lost the ball too easily in the rondo. The whistle. The bench.
The door creaked open.
He looked up. His dad stood in the doorway, one hand resting on the handle, the other holding a white envelope. His expression was unreadable.
"They sent this," he said, holding the letter out.
Russell sat up straight. "What is it?"
"Read it."
Russell took the envelope and opened it carefully, hands suddenly unsure. His eyes scanned the first line, then again, slower.
"We are pleased to inform you..."
His chest tightened. He kept reading.
Middlesbrough Academy. Confirmed selection. Training begins next weekend. Time and date included. Arrival instructions.
He looked up.
His dad nodded once, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You are in."
Russell did not say anything at first. His thoughts were trying to catch up. For the first time in a week, the noise in his head went silent. His shoulders dropped slightly, like someone had lifted something off them.
"I am in," he said under his breath.
Then louder, to no one in particular, "I am in."
He looked at the letter again, as if to make sure the words had not changed.
His dad stepped back. "Starts Saturday. You will want to be sharp."
And then he left the room.
Russell sat with the letter in his hands, staring at the signature at the bottom. His heart was pounding now, not with nerves, but with relief.
He grabbed his phone and scrolled to Trey's number. He tapped call.
Trey picked up almost instantly.
"Yo."
"I got in."
There was a pause. Then a short burst of laughter. "Wait, seriously?"
"Yeah. Just now. Letter came in."
"Bro, I told you," Trey said. "Did I not say they would be mad not to take you?"
Russell laughed, finally letting himself smile properly. "You did."
"Yo, this is crazy. I have been waiting for this call all week. Low key, I thought they were going to make you wait another month just to mess with you."
Russell leaned back on his bed, the tension in his chest starting to ease for the first time in days.
Trey's tone shifted, not serious, just real. "I cannot wait to have my boy playing ahead of me, man. After all these years. Feels right."
Russell laughed. "You are saying that now, but I will be taking your minutes soon."
Trey scoffed. "Calm down. Enjoy the welcome tour first."
They both laughed, and for a little while, the pressure Russell had been carrying all week completely faded. It was not just that he got in. It was that Trey meant every word.
And somehow, that made it feel even more real.
The next morning, Russell got up earlier than usual. His whole body felt fresher. He brushed his teeth slowly, let the water run a bit longer, and left the house without rushing. The air was clearer than it had been all week, and he did not feel weighed down by the walk ahead of him.
He met up with Trey halfway down the block. They exchanged a quick nod and fell into step, their usual rhythm easy now.
"Still has not sunk in," Russell said.
"It will," Trey replied. "Probably when you are lacing up next week."
Russell smiled, and they kept moving. The streets were familiar. The trees still bare. The sky wide and pale above them.
As they approached the school gates, Russell spotted someone standing just outside the entrance, a girl, holding a small stack of flyers and handing them out to students as they passed.
She looked about their age. Light brown skin, tall, with thick black curls tied into a loose bun. She wore the Elmridge girls' uniform, the same blazer and shirt combo as the boys, but with a neatly fitted skirt and black tights. There was a calmness in how she stood, not shy but not loud either. Just steady, like she knew exactly what she was doing.
Her eyes scanned the students coming in. Some ignored the flyer. Some took it without looking. But she kept holding them out one at a time, polite and focused.
As Russell and Trey approached, she stepped forward.
"Girls' football match this Saturday," she said, offering a flyer to each of them. "Home game. Elmridge versus Greenwood Academy. Kickoff at two."
Russell took the flyer and glanced at it. Clean layout. Red and white colours. Names of the teams and venue printed clearly.
"Thanks," he said.
She gave a small nod, then turned to hand one to the next group.
They kept walking through the gates.
"You going?" Trey asked.
Russell looked at the flyer again. "Yeah. I think I will."
Trey grinned. "Let me guess. It is not just about the football."
Russell rolled his eyes. "It is a home game. Why not?"
"You are suddenly a big supporter of the Elmridge girls' team?"
Russell did not answer, but Trey nudged him playfully.
"You are shameless."
Russell folded the flyer and slipped it into his blazer pocket. "Just curious, that is all."
But even as they walked toward their form room, part of him kept replaying the moment at the gate, her voice, calm and direct, and the way she did not try too hard to sell it.
There was something about it that stuck with him.