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roll his r ’s, Gil. He sounds more Scottish than Coach.”
    Gil leans against the door, his arms crossed.
    I mess up my hair and pace around. “Awrrright, lads. I have a few rrrules.” I stop in front of Alex and stare him down. He can’t keep a straight face. “Keep your eyes and ears on me at all times. I expect your best effort. No lollygagging.
    “You must be on time, every time.” I tap my watch for emphasis. “The bus will not wait for you. Neither will I.”
    Gil’s next. I wag my finger—classic Coach. “Every one of you thinks you’re the next Messi. Even if you are, and I highly doubt it, there’s life after soccer. So keep up with your schoolwork. You don’t play if you’re failing.”
    No reaction.
    Seriously? Someone must’ve surgically removed his personality.
    Alex just rolls with it. He leads him back downstairs. “So here’s our locker room, and Coach’s office is right around the corner.”
    “What’s wrong with him?” I mouth to Alex. “Is he a robot?”
    Alex makes a cutting motion. But I bet he’s asking the same questions.
    Coach’s door is open. He’s at his desk, studying a soccer clipboard. He looks up when Alex knocks.
    “Coach, this is Gil. We gave him the tour.”
    “Good lads.”
    He measures Gil up, then sticks out his hand. “Glad you could join the team, Gil. Here are your uniforms. Practice kit’s on top. Red jersey’s home, stripes’re away. Now get dressed. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Chapter Seven
    “Time to meet the team,” Alex says. “Good bunch of guys. You’ll like them.”
    I smile, remembering the rush I felt when I walked through this door for the first time. I look at Alex. He remembers it too and grins. He holds the door open to let Gil walk in first, just like Jonesy did for us. But it goes wrong the second he steps through the door.
    “What the—” That’s all Gil gets out before two half-dressed guys stagger into him. Momentum carries all three of them past the doorway and out of sight. We hear a crash and groans.
    “What’s going on?” Alex says. We hurry in. Just in time to see the garbage can tip over and water bottles tumble like bowling pins. The team cheers and claps.
    The three guys are in a heap. The first one on his feet is Julio.
    “Oh, man! Who’d we knock down?” He looks at Gil, flat on his back, and his eyes open wide. “I’m so sorry! We were just messing around. Here, let me help you up.”
    But he can’t. There are water bottles all over the floor, and Danny is sprawled across Gil close enough to give him mouth-to-mouth. Danny kicks at the water bottles, and Gil’s arms and legs are going like a flipped-over ladybug’s.
    I can’t help but laugh.
    “Nice work, guys,” says Alex. “You trying to break him?”
    Gil is not laughing. “Get off me, you son of a—” Gil shoves Danny off, swearing under his breath the whole time.
    Alex and Julio give Danny a hand up. Then they hoist Gil to his feet. He’s as red as our jerseys, even his neck.
    “Sorry, man!” Now Gil’s got hands patting him all over. He slaps them away, huffing like a guard dog choosing who to bite. It’s pretty funny.
    Until he shoves Danny up against the wall.
    Alex grabs his shoulder. “Hey, lighten up. They were just horsing around. They didn’t even see you coming.”
    “Yeah, wasn’t D-Man’s fault!”
    “Get a sense of humor,” someone mutters.
    No one’s laughing now. It’s like we chugged a carton of milk and realized it’s sour.
    “What an initiation,” I say. “Seriously, guys. Try a handshake next time.”
    “Initiation?” says Gil.
    Uh-oh. Bad choice of words.
    Gil glares at me, then at Alex. “You set me up?”
    “No. No! Calm down. Let’s try this again.” Alex clears his throat dramatically. “Guys, listen up. I’d like you to meet Gil.”
    “This guy’s our new striker?” Danny’s still rubbing his neck.
    “Not the way I wanted to introduce him. But, yeah.”
    Gil’s watching the team, and