a bit of a fitness Nazi, but it’s good for the team.’
After that, the assistant coach announced they’d move on to ball drills.
At last,
Jake thought.
Some real football.
Across the pitch, a platform was being wheeled out on to the sidelines. It looked like the sort of thing they used for trophy presentations. When Jake spotted his mum pointing, he realised what it actually was: a catwalk. The Granble logo was daubed on one side.
‘My wife won’t stop dropping hints,’ said Dave Adams,the England left back. ‘She says these Granble stones are supposed to be amazing.’
‘I’m gonna get some cufflinks cut with them,’ said Robbie Odeji, the winger.
One of the players whistled when a gaggle of models came out. They were struggling with heels in the grass.
‘Eyes on the ball, fellas,’ said Ebner. ‘There’ll be time for fun when you retire.’
They played three-on-three, trying to keep the ball from the opposition. It was fast stuff, and Jake got caught on the ball a couple of times by Francis. Mark Fortune showed him a neat trick to draw the ball away and give himself some time, though, and next time Ed came up on him, Jake was able to dummy it away. Francis slid over on to his backside.
‘Nice one, Little Bastin,’ Robbie said.
The sound of clapping made them all look round. Standing on the sideline, and wearing a short dress showing slashes of bare skin, was Abri.
‘Hey, Jake,’ she called over. ‘You’re pretty good.’
All the players looked at him in amazement. He could tell they were itching to say something.
‘What is this?!’ shouted Ebner. ‘Put your tongues away. No drooling on my pitch – it’s not good for the turf. Jake, if you want to speak with your girlfriend, give up the ball!’
The players all laughed as Jake trotted off to the sidelines.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘He didn’t mean that, about the girlfriend …’
‘What?’ said Abri. ‘You mean you wouldn’t want to go out with me?’
‘No … I …’ he began.
Her face broke into a wide smile. ‘I know what you meant,’ she said. ‘I was just teasing.’
Jake was sweating a bit anyway, but he felt the blood rush to his cheeks. What was it about this girl that made him a stammering wreck?
‘How’s it all going?’ he asked.
‘Boring,’ said Abri. ‘And hot!’ She fanned herself. ‘All this make-up in the middle of summer is
not
a good call.’
Jake took the opportunity to inspect her outfit more closely. ‘You look good.’
‘Why, thank you,’ she said. ‘Don’t know why we need to practise, though. I’ve been putting one foot in front of the other since I was a year old.’
Jake laughed. Were all supermodels this cool? ‘I’m sure there’s more to it than that.’
Jake was aware that someone in a pale suit was walking up towards them. The last thing he wanted was an interruption. Not when things were going so well.
‘Hi there,’ said the man in an American accent. He flicked out his hand, which held a card. ‘Randy Freemore, pleased to meet ya.’
Abri gave an amused frown.
‘Hello,’ said Jake as warmly as he could manage. He took the card. ‘Jake Bastin.’
‘I know who you are. Let’s just say a little bird told me Bastin Junior would be training today.’
Jake hardly knew what to say. Was this guy a scout? He straightened his shoulders. ‘I’m just practising with the team,’ he said. ‘I’ve not gone pro yet.’
‘Really?’ said the man. ‘Well, that kinda makes you
exactly
what I’m looking for.’
Jake looked at the card. On it was Freemore’s name, above the words ‘Talent Manager'. The head of the card read:
‘Olympic Advantage: Be the Best.’
‘I’ll catch you later, Jake,’ said Abri, giving a little wave.
‘No, wait,’ he said. ‘I …’
‘See you at the church with your mum this afternoon. You’ll be there, won’t you?’
Jake hadn’t been planning to, but he changed his plans in an instant.
‘I’ll be there,’ he said.
Abri
After that, the assistant coach announced they’d move on to ball drills.
At last,
Jake thought.
Some real football.
Across the pitch, a platform was being wheeled out on to the sidelines. It looked like the sort of thing they used for trophy presentations. When Jake spotted his mum pointing, he realised what it actually was: a catwalk. The Granble logo was daubed on one side.
‘My wife won’t stop dropping hints,’ said Dave Adams,the England left back. ‘She says these Granble stones are supposed to be amazing.’
‘I’m gonna get some cufflinks cut with them,’ said Robbie Odeji, the winger.
One of the players whistled when a gaggle of models came out. They were struggling with heels in the grass.
‘Eyes on the ball, fellas,’ said Ebner. ‘There’ll be time for fun when you retire.’
They played three-on-three, trying to keep the ball from the opposition. It was fast stuff, and Jake got caught on the ball a couple of times by Francis. Mark Fortune showed him a neat trick to draw the ball away and give himself some time, though, and next time Ed came up on him, Jake was able to dummy it away. Francis slid over on to his backside.
‘Nice one, Little Bastin,’ Robbie said.
The sound of clapping made them all look round. Standing on the sideline, and wearing a short dress showing slashes of bare skin, was Abri.
‘Hey, Jake,’ she called over. ‘You’re pretty good.’
All the players looked at him in amazement. He could tell they were itching to say something.
‘What is this?!’ shouted Ebner. ‘Put your tongues away. No drooling on my pitch – it’s not good for the turf. Jake, if you want to speak with your girlfriend, give up the ball!’
The players all laughed as Jake trotted off to the sidelines.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘He didn’t mean that, about the girlfriend …’
‘What?’ said Abri. ‘You mean you wouldn’t want to go out with me?’
‘No … I …’ he began.
Her face broke into a wide smile. ‘I know what you meant,’ she said. ‘I was just teasing.’
Jake was sweating a bit anyway, but he felt the blood rush to his cheeks. What was it about this girl that made him a stammering wreck?
‘How’s it all going?’ he asked.
‘Boring,’ said Abri. ‘And hot!’ She fanned herself. ‘All this make-up in the middle of summer is
not
a good call.’
Jake took the opportunity to inspect her outfit more closely. ‘You look good.’
‘Why, thank you,’ she said. ‘Don’t know why we need to practise, though. I’ve been putting one foot in front of the other since I was a year old.’
Jake laughed. Were all supermodels this cool? ‘I’m sure there’s more to it than that.’
Jake was aware that someone in a pale suit was walking up towards them. The last thing he wanted was an interruption. Not when things were going so well.
‘Hi there,’ said the man in an American accent. He flicked out his hand, which held a card. ‘Randy Freemore, pleased to meet ya.’
Abri gave an amused frown.
‘Hello,’ said Jake as warmly as he could manage. He took the card. ‘Jake Bastin.’
‘I know who you are. Let’s just say a little bird told me Bastin Junior would be training today.’
Jake hardly knew what to say. Was this guy a scout? He straightened his shoulders. ‘I’m just practising with the team,’ he said. ‘I’ve not gone pro yet.’
‘Really?’ said the man. ‘Well, that kinda makes you
exactly
what I’m looking for.’
Jake looked at the card. On it was Freemore’s name, above the words ‘Talent Manager'. The head of the card read:
‘Olympic Advantage: Be the Best.’
‘I’ll catch you later, Jake,’ said Abri, giving a little wave.
‘No, wait,’ he said. ‘I …’
‘See you at the church with your mum this afternoon. You’ll be there, won’t you?’
Jake hadn’t been planning to, but he changed his plans in an instant.
‘I’ll be there,’ he said.
Abri
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