Read Online The Kick Off by Dan Freedman - Free Book Online Page B

he’d done in the whole of the last term’s trial.
    â€œWhat a goal!” shouted Marcusfield.
    Jamie gave him a high-five. “Just get in the positions, Alex,” he said. “I’ll find you every time.”
    Jamie was sure that if he got the ball, that second goal wouldn’t be far away. He already knew he could skin this Number Two.
    But not everyone was as focused as Jamie. As the game went on, Kingfield’s confidence started to turn into complacency.
    Up front, Alex Marcusfield was being his usual greedy self, constantly ignoring Jamie – who was in loads of space – to take on impossible shots from impossible positions. Meanwhile, at the back, the defenders were trying flamboyant flicks when they should have been keeping things nice and simple.
    Kingfield paid the inevitable price when their goalkeeper and centre-half both went for the same ball and ended up bumping into each other.
    The St Antony’s forward couldn’t believe his luck and just slotted the ball into the empty net.
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    It was an embarrassing goal to concede. All Kingfield’s – and Jamie’s – good work had been undone by one stupid mistake.
    Jamie could feel his cheeks burning with frustration. His teeth were beginning to grind together.
    He strode over to take the centre with Alex Marcusfield. Marcusfield called Jamie closer.
    â€œTap it to me quickly and I’ll have a shot from here,” he whispered.
    â€œNo – you’ve had enough shots, Alex,” Jamie replied. He was ten times the player that Alex Marcusfield could ever be. “You pass it to me.”
    Like a dog that had been told off, Marcusfield bowed his head and obeyed his orders, touching the centre towards Jamie.
    Then something very special happened.
    If anyone had been watching the game at this point, they would have seen a small, pale, thin Number Eleven – with strawberry blond hair – burn a hole right through the heart of the St Antony’s team. And this was straight from the kick-off!
    Slaloming in and out of desperate tackles, Jamie’s feet wove a spell as they sped forward.
    Soon, he’d single-handedly beaten practically all the defenders St Antony’s had on the pitch. Now he was through, one-on-one with the goalkeeper.
    Marcusfield was desperately calling for the ball but Jamie couldn’t hear him. Or at least he wasn’t listening.
    Jamie looked at the keeper and drew his foot back for a venomous strike. Then, at the very last minute, just as his boot was about to swipe through the ball, he checked and stopped dead.
    The goalkeeper had gone for it though. He’d bought the dummy and dived.
    For a second Jamie felt like the only player on the pitch. There he was, all alone, in front of an empty goal with the ball at his feet and the goalkeeper left sprawled on the ground. There was nothing left to do but pass it into the net.
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    It was 2 – 1 to Kingfield, thanks to the best goal Jamie had ever scored.
    His teammates ran over to congratulate him, slapping his back, shaking his hand and, in Tesh’s case, kissing him on the forehead! But apart from a proud smile, Jamie kept his own celebrations to a minimum. He knew it looked more classy that way.
    As he jogged back to the halfway line for the restart Jamie couldn’t help thinking to himself: I hope Hitchcock tells Marsden about that one!
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    But this game wasn’t over yet.
    As soon as they went back in front, Kingfield sat back trying to protect their lead. They were inviting pressure on to themselves.
    It was driving Jamie mad. He hadn’t scored the goal of his life to see the rest of his team throw it away.
    â€œOi! Come on!” he shouted to his teammates. “We want this game! Let’s keep the ball, yeah?”
    Jamie could see what they were doing wrong. They were dropping too deep. Jamie knew that sometimes attack was the best form of defence. The