Page 103 of Running With Lions

Shit.

The whistle blows, and Sebastian makes a last-second decision. He shouts, “Em! Emi!”

Emir’s head snaps around, and Sebastian cringes at his scowl. Maybe calling him Emi wasn’t his brightest moment, but whatever. If they’re going to win, he needs Emir on his side.

“If they get through, get the ball to Smith.”

Emir’s eyebrows slide inward. It’s possible he’ll ignore Sebastian’s advice. But then Emir nods eagerly. And, no, Sebastian’s stupid heart isn’t so far up his throat that it might break out in Charlie Puth songs.

He’s right, though. Cole is all over Mason, and Robbie isn’t faring any better. Shaggy passes up to a Spartan winger, and Sebastian anticipates the coming attack.

Emir, like a strike of lightning, picks off the attacker. He snags the ball; the other guy is too winded to chase after him.

Rivera is barking, “Give it to Robbie; Robbie is open!” Willie bites his nails. Grey hangs her head between her knees.

It all happens in action movie slow motion. Ignoring Rivera, Emir passes the ball up to a shell-shocked Smith. No one’s covering him, so he runs. A Spartan clips Smith, but he scoops the ball to Zach before eating grass.

Zach takes a rip at the ball.

The whistle blows, fifteen minutes on the clock, and Sebastian stares at the jumbo scoreboard: SPARTANS — 0, LIONS — 1

The crowd loses their shit. The Spartans’ sideline is sick. Rivera lights into Emir for making such a risky play, but Emir keeps his chin up the entire time.

Rivera, eyes narrowed, says, “Get back out there, kid,” and Sebastian catches him smiling as Emir jogs back onto the field.

“If I get benched next game,” Emir pauses, catching his breath, “I’m never speaking to you again.”

“Does that mean we’re speaking now? Like, we’re cool?”

Whatever Emir’s about to say, he’s too flustered, so he flips Sebastian off as he treks back into position. And, okay. Sebastian will take that. These days “I hate you” sounds a lot like “I love you” coming from Emir.

Mason scores another goal atthe four-minute mark, but it’s pretty much academic after Zach’s goal. Sebastian shuts out Dawson five more times, and the Spartans never recover. It’s a clean sweep, two to zero. Sebastian can’t hear himself breathe over the roaring crowd.

The sky’s broken up with gold and maroon. Sweat chills Sebastian’s brow. It’s the middle of September, so the air is nippy when the game ends at sunset. Heads hanging, St. Catherine’s boys stomp out of the stadium. Cole trails, scowling, and Sebastian hopes they meet again in the state tournament so he can make that face permanent.

“Fellas, fellas,” shouts Zach in the locker room. His voice carries over the chorus of “Immortals” coming from the showers and all the laughter as guys strip out of dank uniforms. Willie’s on his shoulders, smiling from ear to ear, when Zach says, “Sergio’s Pizzeria for a couple of pies. It’s a team tradition.”

Sebastian’s huddled on a bench, squished between Hunter and Mason. Soaked, limp hair sticks to his forehead. He twists around to get a better view of all the action.

“First round,” says Zach, pointing at Sebastian, “is on our beloved captain.”

Hunter whoops happily.

Sebastian sags when a chant of “Captain Hughes” breaks out. Winning has never been so draining. But the exhaustion from war and relief and joy is incredible, and a night of pizza means fewer chances of the guys doing something arrest-worthy.

“You coming?”

Mason’s eyeing him, observant as a hawk, so Sebastian says, “Maybe, but there’s something I kinda want to do first.”

He has plans. He’s not sure if they’ll work out. Maybe this is his worst idea yet, including setting fire to a neighbor’s garbage with Mason when they were thirteen, or playing drunk Scrabble in a cemetery. Might as well, right?

Sebastian whispers, “Could use your help, actually.”

Mason flicks up an eyebrow. His silence only elevates the ridiculous thump of Sebastian’s heartbeat. But a glint shines in Mason’s eyes. “Anything you need, Captain.”

30

It’s especially dark with thestadium’s floodlights off. The sky’s an inky blue over the deserted pitch. It’s been thirty minutes since Sebastian sent his parents a text saying he’d meet them later and twenty-five minutes since he sent the team off with promises of dropping by Sergio’s. It’s been twenty-two minutes since he hijacked Grey, whispered his idea in her ear while slipping her some money for supplies, and pried her hands from around his forearm as she leapt around ecstatically.

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