” and the players head towards the track stadium, sticks balanced over uniformed shoulders.
Ace peels off the helmet and turns to follow when Beckmann’s, “Not you, Portgas,” makes him halt, a sense of dread gnawing at his chest.
They’re yet to learn how to function as something that could be referred to as a team, no less figure out specific plays.
The story of three teenagers who come from very different backgrounds and become unlikely friends, somehow making it work.
The ball nearly catches his face when Ace moves out of its trajectory at the very last second, watching it bounce on the ground before rolling to a stop near the goalie.
Some guys shoot condescending looks over their wide shoulders, snickering – it’s rare to see Ace get into trouble with the coach. Beckmann finally gives up on acting like a picture-perfect image of a healthy lifestyle-supporting coach and whips out the pack of cigs hidden in the folds of his navy tracksuit.
He offers Ace a smoke because there are no such things as secrets between sportsmen and their respective coaches, but the freckled-teen refuses, balancing the stick and leaning against it.