I lean my head onto Dean's shoulder, my eyes fluttering as I try to pay attention to what Miss McKay is saying. I'm not the only one, however, who is experiencing this inability to stay awake. Charlie's holding his face with his hand, and Dwayne, beside me, has his head laid back on the desk behind him. Luis, on the other hand, has full-on fallen asleep, light snores coming from his mouth.

Miss McKay places her hand on his shoulder, shaking him lightly. He groans, saying incoherent words and noises before he lifts his head. "Luis," Miss McKay says.

He glances at her apologetically. "Sorry."

Our tutor nods her head, taking a look around the classroom. "Why is everyone so tired today?" she asks, not in an accusing way, but a sympathetic way.

"Coach kept us at practice until two in the morning," Adam responds, rubbing his eyes sleepily. "We all probably didn't get to bed until three, and then we had to come here at seven."

Miss McKay's eyes go wide listening to Adam. "Why were you there so late? After a game, no less?"

"Captain Blood," Averman replies, his glasses balanced on the tip of his nose before he pushes them up. "He went crazy after the game last night, and now he's out to get us."

"Okay, listen up, everyone," Miss McKay claps her hands together. "Class is dismissed, go get some rest, please." We stand up, shuffling towards the door.

"Wait, but, we have practice after this," Jesse realizes, causing us all to stop and groan. "We can't go and sleep."

"Yes, you can," Miss McKay responds. "Your practice is cancelled, I'll inform your Coach." We would cheer for her if we had the energy, but instead we all smile, thanking her.

*************************************************************

A four hours later, after taking long, deserved naps, the team is out on a field, stretching in our ugly track suits. In my opinion, we should still be resting, but I didn't voice that suggestion when I had a group of boys standing outside my door at noon. "And hold, two, three, four," Dean leads us, taking control as usual.

"Coach isn't here, so why do we have to be?" asks Connie.

"We have a game tonight, we have to work out," Dean responds, as we switch to stretching our other leg. He seems to get more annoyed by the second, and I don't know how much longer he can keep his cool.

Goldberg stands, sweat glistening off his forehead. Thankfully, while we were walking to the field, he apologized to me about the town incident, so we're alright now. "I say mutiny, who's with me?"

Dwayne follows, raising his hand in the air. Surprisingly, he's not wearing his cowboy hat, but a red ball cap instead. "Goldberg, I'm too tired to mutiny," he answers.

"C'mon guys, it's not like we couldn't use the conditioning," Julie interjects with a roll of her eyes, placing her hands on her knees.

Dean, who has now stood up too, looks her up and down. "Speak for yourself, babe," he smirks, which is only going to cause trouble.

"Her name's Julie, not 'babe'," Adam defends. If that's not a crush, then I don't know what is.

Dean finally, unfortunately, loses his composure. "Don't tell me how to talk, rich boy," Dean shoves Adam roughly, making him stumble onto me. I thankfully steady him, keeping the both of us on our feet.

"Dean! Cut it!" I shout at him, before mumbling a "sorry" to Adam. Dean glares at me, obviously mad that I didn't side with him on it.

Everyone flies at each other, just like the first day we met. Also like that day, I'm hanging back, shaking my head, and cursing at my brother mentally.

"Guys, guys c'mon," Dwayne says, attempting to calm everyone down. Unsuccessful, he turns around to look at me. I shrug my shoulders, taking a deep breath as they continue to argue.

Everyone suddenly stops when a shout is heard from the Junior Goodwill Games gate near us. "Hey Team USA! What are you gonna do today? A million jumping jacks?" It's the same kid that riled up Jesse in our first game against Trinidad.

Dean waves his arm at him. "This kid's crazier than me, forget about him. Look Fulton!" Dean turns back to the group, continuing to shout at them, starting the arguments back up.

"You know what, I'm getting sick of you!" Jesse yells to the kid.

"And I'm sick of seeing the USA being represented by a bunch of whiny babies," the kid insults, even though I know it's true after watching this scene unfold.

"Well too bad you can't back up that mouth," Jesse spits, literal spit fling from his mouth. I scrunch up my nose at him, but no one else seems to notice.

"Man, me and my boys can take you anytime, anywhere," he challenges, walking closer to us.

Jesse looks around. "I don't see no boys."

"I got 'em waiting. Grab your gear and let's go play some schoolyard puck. Or maybe you forgot what it's like to play for real pride," The kid responds. A security guard comes up behind him as he continues. "C'mon, it's not to fie, you little wimps." Security takes his arm, pulling him away from us. "What are you doing, get off me. C'mon, you coming or not?"

****************************************************************

Ten minutes later, we're at a blacktop, a group of boys in front of us, including the kid from the field. "My little brother, Russ, here has been that you guys have been choking big time," the boy standing next to "Russ" says.

Jesse raises his eyebrows at the pair. "Well, your brother's got a big mouth," Jesse snarls. I shake my head. Now you've done it Jesse.

The group of boys stares at us, expressionless. We look around nervously, waiting for something bad to happen. "He does, doesn't he," the older kid replies, looking down at Russ, who smiles and shrugs in response. "Anyways, we thought we'd call you to see what you've got."

"Yeah, we know you can talk to the presses and sign autographs and stuff," Russ adds on, not harshly like he usually does.

"We can do more than that," Luis leans against his stick, lifting his head at them. A look of determination settles on his face.

"Oh, yeah? Well, we can teach you how to play like the real Team USA," Russ' brother shoots back at us.

Dean glares at him, squeezing his stick with both hands. "What would you know about it?" he asks. I nudge him in the arm, silently saying not to make things worse. The older boy smiles, and you know shit's about to go down.

In less than two minutes, we're playing, and Dean gets shoved into the metal fence by Russ' brother who says, "You've got to earn every hit!"

It's back and forth, back and forth, going so fast, if you blink, you'll miss something. I switch on, rollerblading on the blacktop, chasing the puck and shoving some boys out of the way. Dean gets pushed into the gate again, but I retaliate by knocking the offender into it as well.

Russ' team score, and they all cheer happily. "Ain't no wusses out here either! You keep digging until you score that goal!" Russ scores after, almost instantly after their first goal. "Alright, Russ!"

"And then you take a breath, slug some water, then get out there and do it again!" Russ tosses Charlie a water bottle, which he takes a drink from.

"Don't just stand there, come and get it," the older brother says as I sub out of the game, sitting on the metal bench next to Dwayne.

Luis comes up behind him and takes the puck. "Don't mind if I do." He strikes down the blacktop like a cheetah running after its prey.

"Yeah, good job, Luis!" I shout, and I notice Dwayne turn his head to look at me. I glance at him, and I see something in his eyes. It couldn't be, jealousy, could it?

Luis scores a goal, and we cheer for him, but he skates right into the fence, not being able to stop. "Oh, not again!"

One of the other team's boys skates over, leaning over, and picking him off the ground. "Hey, hey, hey, hey! Use the brakes, baby."

Luis comes out of the game, and I replace him on the blacktop. Fulton gets the puck and shoots his shot, but it ricochets off the metal can, spiraling over the fence, hitting some car.

"Hey, don't sweat it, happens all the time," Russ' brother tells Charlie as they gaze at the car and its now beeping siren.

"Excuse me," Charlie calls to a man outside the gate. "Can you throw it back, please?"

The man tosses the puck over the fence, back to us. It lands in front of Charlie, who shoots and scores. Russ gets the puck a few moments later, and he shoots a crazy shot that I've never seen before. "Yes, alright!" he cheers for himself.

Fulton glides over to him. "What the heck kind of shot was that?" he questions with a smile.

Russ turns around, and answers. "Ah, you like that, huh? That's my knuckle puck. It's hard to be accurate, but it drives goalies crazy."

The game resumes, and I get the puck from Charlie. I weave through the other kids, dodging, and pulling the puck away from them. I hit the puck, and it flies into the can. Everyone on the bench cheers as well as the other team. Dean ruffles my hair as he skates past, making it messier than it already was before.

Ken is the next person with the puck. He hits it, making some guy dive for it, but he jumps over the sprawled-out body. He ducks between two people, retrieving the puck again. He spins, passing it to Dwayne, who hits the puck into the can. Dwayne cheers loudly, lifting his fist into the air.

"Sweet move, kid," Russ' brother skates towards Ken. "Ah, you messed up now, kid. C'mere. I'm gonna get you, c'mere," he bends down, getting closer and closer to Ken, who back up. "C'mere! C'mere! C'mere!" Ken looks like he's about to pee himself when the older boy stops. "Hey, wait, I'm just messing with you, okay? Listen, when a guy comes at you like I just did, do this. Stick, gloves, and shirt," he explains as he tosses down his stick and gloves, then pulls Ken's shirt over his head. "Okay?"

"Yeah, okay," Ken replies. "My turn. Stick. Gloves. Shirt." Ken repeats the moves the older boy just did on him. "Alright?"

"Alright," he says, hitting Ken's helmet as we all begin to do the same.

We decide that we need to get back, considering our game is at four and it's two-thirty. As we start climbing onto the bus that brought us here, the boys stand at the fence, waving, and saying good-bye. We all wave back, stepping up onto the vehicle as the boys all shout final "good luck"s and "play hard"s.

They all walk away from the fence, except Russ' brother. I'm the last one to get on the bus, but as I do, I hear him whisper. "Go USA. Go get 'em."

***********************************************************

I'm in the dorm, changing out of the sweaty track suit and slipping on my long-sleeved black shirt and black sweatpants until I can get my uniform from the locker room. A knock on the door echoes through the room, and I pull open the door.

Outside stands Dwayne, wearing grey sweatpants and a white shirt, hands in his pockets. "Hey," he says with a smile.

"Hi," I respond. I try to think of a response that won't sound rude, but the only thing I can come up with is, "What are you doing here?" His smile falters for a minute, so I quickly add on. "I didn't mean it to sound like that."

"Oh, okay. I came to tell ya that everyone else has gone to the locker room," he answers as I nod. "And I wanted to ask ya somethin'."

I raise my eyebrow. "Okay? Go ahead."

"After the game, do ya wanna go into town with me? We could do somethin', just us," he scratches the back of his neck nervously, like he thinks I'll say no.

"Sure," I reply, nonchalantly even though I'm squealing inside.

His eyes widen when I say this. "Really?"

"Yeah, it sounds fun. Plus, I owe you after you beat me at foosball," I remind him, which makes him smile brightly. "But, you'll have to let me change and stuff first."

"I'll be here at seven, is that okay?" he asks, getting a nod in response from me. "Okay, at seven." He walks away, and I shut the door behind him.

I have a date with Dwayne. At seven.