"Right, right! Dodge! Jump! Turn! Jump over that! Go, go, go!"

Sweat was dripping down James's face as he was doing the drills for that morning's soccer practice.

"Faster, faster!" shouted Reed, the captain. "Let's go! Let's go! James, jump over that hurdle! Brian, faster. You're not a snail!"

After around fifteen minutes, Reed stopped them. "All right! Good job! C'mere, everybody."

They all huddled around the middle of the field, all of James's soccer team. It was the final selection round.

"Okay. You guys are the final fifteen. Ten of you, plus me, which'll make eleven, are going to make the team." His eyes travelled to each and every one of their faces. "Four of you will not."

They all nodded eagerly. James wasn't too stressed about it. He was the best midfielder in the world and forever would be. But he had to be careful. Just in case.

"Who will those eleven be?" he demanded. "Which eleven of you are willing to step up? To go the extra distance? To make the FIFA World Cup Team this year!"

They all erupted in roars and cheers.

He clapped his hands together twice. "Good. Then show it. Two laps around the field for warm up then we'll start going into some intense dribbling. Let's go, let's go!" He immediately got on the track and started speeding through the laps. Reed was an undoubtedly good player, whatever said and done.

James wiped the sweat of his forehead and took off, running in pace with Arnold, one of his buddies on the soccer team.

"You nervous for selections?" Arnold asked him.

"Eh, not that nervous."

"How are you not?! I'm practically freaking out."

James shrugged, jogging quicker. "I mean, if you know you're good, you don't have to fret. Practice, be a good player, and that's all you need."

"Everyone knows I'm a sucky player," muttered Arnold, running faster to keep up.

"You're not sucky. You're in the final fifteen. You're part of the best fifteen players that the country has chosen to represent them."

"Still," insisted Arnold, as they started their second lap, "I won't make it. You know that. You'll make it, and nine others will. And Reed. That makes eleven."

James didn't know what to say to that. Arnold was a good player. He tried hard and he was an awesome defender. It was just… He wasn't the best. The chances of him making the top ten were unlikely. He was probably the eleventh choice.

But James wouldn't say that to his face. Why bother hurting his feelings? "You'll do great. Try hard, practice hard, and you'll be on the team, scoring goals."

Arnold snorted. "You're the midfielder. You're the one scoring goals, not me."

James rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean. And sometimes, defenders score goals even better than strikers."

"Hah. Like that'll happen to me."

"Stop chewing yourself out, Arnold. You're being negative. You're going to make the team if you try hard."

"Sure. Right."

James shook his head as he pulled ahead, being the first to finish the two laps.

"Okay, James is done!" Reed shouted. "Everyone else! Come on!"

Soon, everyone had pulled over next to Reed.

"So," he started. "I want to test out a new tactic. The chip shot is overused by us, and the other teams know that by now. I just want to do a kind of mix between instep and scissor shot. See how it works on some of you. Arnold, on defender. Jonathan, you're the goalie from the other team. And I want two people on offense onto the field."

"I'll go," volunteered Owen and Mickey.

"Okay, so, Owen!" Reed jogged up to him. "You're going to- Okay, wait, I need another offense person. You're going to be the opposing team. Volunteers?"

"I'll go," offered James.

Reed eyed him spitefully. "No, I think you've showed off enough for the day. You stay here and watch the others. Let's see... Alex. You go."

Alex nodded and ran into the field, leaving James puzzled.

And annoyed.

'Showed off enough for the day'? What the heck did that even mean? James hadn't shown off. Was it a crime to finish his laps first? Was he going to go slow just to give everyone else a chance and a turn to shine?

This was the flipping final selection round for the FIFA World Cup. He wasn't going to 'sit around and be fair' to everybody. This wasn't Kindergarten, where 'sharing is caring'. He was here to make the team, not to be kind.

James almost demanded Reed for an answer, but he decided not to. He didn't want to blow up his chance of making the team. And he didn't want to interrupt practice.

Later, however, Reed was going to give him some answers.

"So! Hold the ball like this. Alex is going to come like that… which is what we've seen in a pattern of opposing teams. It's the basic tactic. Then what you're going to do is feign passing to Mickey. He'll still be guarding you… Alex, go guard Owen! Then you're going to do a scissor shot instead, and since they're expecting Mickey to get the ball- they'll be running towards him already- you're going to pass to Arnold instead. Arnold receives the ball and uses an instep kick to score it. Arnold, you're the secret asset in this play." He looked around. "Does that make sense, everybody?"

Everyone nodded.

"Let's try the play."

It started out fine, until Arnold took the ball with his feet and stumbled in a patch of wet mud, losing his balance and missing the goal. His face was splattered in mud, and Alex got possession off the ball.

Reed rolled his eyes. "Everyone, back here."

People cast each other confused looks and gathered around Reed.

"Saw that, everyone?" Reed asked, holding out his hands and then gesturing to Arnold. "This player- if he's even worthy of being called that- failed the move. And what will happen if this move is failed in the middle of a match?" He looked around. "We lose. Game over. We go home. No more progressing into the finals." He threw his hands up in the air. "This is exactly the player we do not want in the team!"

Then he turned stared at James in the eye. "Isn't that right, James?"

James wasn't stupid, he knew what was happening. Reed was baiting him. Why was Reed being so evil today?

"No, it's not," James found himself speaking up. "Arnold is still a player. Everyone makes a few mistakes. It was just a patch of mud. If you teach him, and if you help him and encourage him, then he'll get better and learn to aim. Even when falling. But if you mock him in front of everybody, then you're not helping him at all."

Reed raised his eyebrows, and the rest of the team shuffled awkwardly. "So you're saying it's my fault? Not his?" He jabbed a finger in Arnold's face rather violently.

"Stop being childish," James snapped. "You have a problem with me. Stop pulling Reed into this and just tell me what it is already."

"How dare you suggest that," hissed Reed. "That I, the captain, would have a problem with you? And drag Arnold into it? I am simply pointing out his flaws-"

James snorted. "Captain? You?"

"Don't you talk to me like that," snarled Reed.

"Oh? What will you do? Throw a soccer ball at my face?" James retorted. He didn't know why Reed hated him so much today, but all he knew was that he did, and he wasn't going to let Arnold be dragged into this. What had he done?

"Shut up!" barked Reed, shoving James in the chest. James stumbled and fell backward. He was strong, for being a midfielder, but Reed would always be stronger. A few players gasped. Arnold was shaking his head, his eyes shining with fear. 'Don't do this', he mouthed.

James was too angry to care. He pulled himself to his feet and staggered forward, punching Reed in the face.

That started it.

The next thing he knew it, they were both locked and engaged in a supremely violent fight. They were throwing furious punches at each other and insanely hard shoves. Reed's fist collided with James's nose, and he could've sworn that it was broken.

James was breathing heavily as he took off into the field, Reed coming after him. He ducked just as Reed threw a jumping punch at him, and Reed crumbled to the ground. James wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead as he prepared for Reed, who was running up towards him. James was trying hard to topple him off balance, but Reed wasn't taking it. Reed yelled and shoved him to the side, and James fell to the ground.

He could've sworn he had just broken a couple of ribs.

"James! Reed! Stop!" yelled a voice. It seemed like someone from the team had gone to alert the coaches and officials and selectors.

The selectors.

But James couldn't care. His mind had gone too far to listen. Reed charged on him, knocking him to the ground and throwing a punch at his face. A stream of blood trickled down James's face.

"GET OFF!"

James could feel a set of heavy hands forcefully pull him away from Reed. It was a soccer official, who stayed on the borders to make sure no big fight (*like this one*) broke out.

"Hey, stop," he said. "Calm down. Stop attacking your captain."

"He started it!" growled James.

"Take it easy."

"Tell him that!" James spat.

The official pulled him away. "Okay, come on. We're going to go talk to the management. But first, we have to get you cleaned up."

James looked over at the side of the field, where the selectors were watching carefully. He mentally groaned. He had just lost his chance to make the team.

Just great.

The official took him to the bathroom and James splashed his bloody face with water. All his sides were aching. His body parts were in pain. And there were cuts, scab, mud, and sweat all over his body.

"Clean yourself up," the official instructed, gesturing to the sink. "After that, we need to take you to management. What were you thinking?"

"He started it," James retorted, taking a few heavy breaths. "Can I get a cloth?"

The official complied, handing him a few clean wipes. James rinsed them, dabbing at his scabs with them. He hissed as spurts of stinging pain wracked through his body. "Can I have a medic?"

"Sure, but after you go talk to management," the official replied.

James scowled.

In a few minutes, he'd reached the main office and he was thrown into a chair. Reed was in the chair next to him. James felt like he was in school all over again, like he was a child at school who'd played a prank and gotten in trouble.

"Explain," the management man barked. "What started this… this World War III?"

"Ask him," snapped James.

"I did not start it," denied Reed, crossing his arms. "I was simply captaining-"

"By hitting him?" He rubbed his forehead. "I seem to have it from your teammates that you started it, Reed, by shoving him in the chest."

"True," James replied. Reed shot him a dirty look.

"Explain this. Now."

James and Reed both launched out in extremely differing explanations of the fight. In Reed's eye, James had been insolent and Reed had gently pushed him back in line. Then James had gotten angry and started punching him.

James told the truth.

"This has to stop," snapped the man. "You are not in grade school. You are two professional soccer players. If word of this got leaked to the news, to the media, then?"

James tried hard not to roll his eyes.

"Reed," the man tsked. "You're the captain. I expected better of you. The team expected better of you. It's a terrible reputation you've made for yourself in the team."

"It's not my-"

"I don't care who's fault it is. I don't care who started it! I care that it happened. Both of you are under suspension. Another strike and we'll kick you out of the team. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," mumbled James.

"Yes," answered Reed.

He continued talking for a good twenty minutes about suspension, the rules, how he expected them to be, and a lot of reprimanding. Then he sighed. "Now. Shake hands."

Reed glared at James.

James glared at Reed.

"Now!"

They grudgingly shook hands, but it wasn't a handshake. It was a show of strength.

"Get out now," he ordered. "It's getting late. The rest of the team has already gone home. Practice was dismissed. Go home and just… calm down. Clean up. Tomorrow's practice will still be there, and I expect it to be civil. Do we understand?"

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Good. Now go."

James didn't need telling twice. He surged out of the room and then his eyes widened. It was nearing seven o'clock in the night. He quickly and grabbed his bag and water bottle from the bleachers.

"Hey, James!" shouted Arnold. "Wait up!"

James paused and looked back. "Yeah?"

"What happened? How'd it go? Did you get in trouble? I told them that Reed started it, but…"

"Nobody got in trouble. We're just on suspension."

His eyes widened. "That sounds bad. What does it mean?"

"One more thing and we're out of the team. No chance of being selected."

"Hey, that means I'll get selected!"

James swatted his arm. "You idiot. Some friend you are."

"Kidding, kidding." His face grew somber. "Hey, man, sorry for sticking up for me back there. I… You didn't have to, but it was really nice of you. Thank you."

James smiled a little, patting his shoulder. "It's okay. That's what friends do."

Just then, Arnold's phone rang, and he rolled his eyes. "That's my cue. I've gotta go home now. My rented home has curfew at 7:30."

"Hold up. Did you wait for me? I thought the rest of the team had gone home…"

"Yep. I felt guilty. This is my fault, James. I wanted to stay back to make sure you were okay."

James laughed, feeling warm inside. Arnold was a nice guy at heart. "Thanks. You should go, now. Bye."

"See ya!" Arnold pulled up his phone and hired an Uber home. James decided to walk home. He was nearing his apartment when he was shoved into an alley.

"What the-"

It was Reed, glowering down at him.

"You got me on suspension," he whispered. "You almost made me lose my captaincy." He looked furious. More than furious. Blazing, white hot anger was on his face. It was intimidating.

"Hey, dude. I'm… I'm sorry. No hard feelings?"

"Oh, there are." Reed shoved him and James fell on a bunch of cans of paint. A huge ladder toppled and fell right on top of him, crushing him. "You will regret this."

And he stormed away.

It was practically 8 when James had finally gotten himself out from the stupid ladder and when he reached the apartment.

He stormed up and he realized he was making a mess. He was dripping mud everywhere, and some of his blood had streaked the hallways.

"Um, excuse me?"

James turned around. It was Lily, coming out of the elevator. James sighed impatiently. He wasn't in the mood for her nonsense and scolding right now. "Look, I'm-"

"What have you done?" she screeched. "Why are you ruining the hallways?"

"Lily, please. I'm not in the mood for this-"

"You can't just mud up the hallways and say you're not in the mood!" she snapped. "The janitors have enough work as it is! People might be coming home, and then there's a mess…"

James rolled his eyes and turned to open his apartment door before realizing his key card had gone missing from his pocket. It had just been there…

He whirled around. Lily was holding it up to him.

The nerve of her-

His eyes flashed. "Give me that-"

"No. You have to listen to me. Get this cleaned up. Now!"

James glared at her, feeling extremely annoyed at the moment. "I don't think I will. Give me my card."

"You're being loud. Noisy. Messy. Muddy. This isn't your house, Potter! This is an apartment building. You don't own the hallways. This is a shared place."

James lunged and grabbed his card back from her.

"Nobody cares," he muttered. It had been a long day, a terrible day, and he had not been expecting (or wanting) that. He unlocked his door and opened it, stalking inside his house when he heard Lily speak. Much softer this time.

"Is that… blood on your face? Potter? Why are you… injured?"

James slammed the door behind him in response.

A/N: A

Note: I love the captain of the USA FIFA Team in real life. He's actually one of my favorite soccer players. By making Reed a jerk in this fic, I don't mean any harm to any of the players or captain or management or selection at all in real life. This is just for the sake of the fic and for entertainment.

With that being said, I hope you all enjoyed! Feel free to leave a review :)