Author's note:
Did anybody think this story was over? Nooo, that was just the appetiser. Strap yourselves in, we're going for a ride!
Part Two
Chapter Four: The Tactician
It was a universally-known fact that mothers had high expectations of their children. It was also universally-known that they tended to raise those expectations once they were met. In Annabeth's case, that one sentence ruined her entire week.
"Since you made such a great dinner last Saturday, you should have no problem making another one this weekend."
Annabeth's blood turned to fire inside her veins as she looked up from her phone, the text message she'd been typing out wiped from her mind.
"Don't you have better things to do than destroy my life?"
"Destroy?" Her mother shook her head. "Annabeth, I'm trying to make your life better. Why can't you see that?"
"I already made dinner, just like you asked." Annabeth yelled. "But you're not satisfied, aren't you? You're never satisfied. You just want to give me problems for the rest of my life."
"I'm helping you solve your problems," her mother yelled back. "You never think ahead. You're seventeen. In five years' time you'll have finished college. You think you can survive like that? With that attitude? If you don't learn now, you'll never learn!"
"Stop giving me problems every time you see me!" Annabeth screamed. "Leave me alone!"
"You'll have no end to problems if you continue like this!" Her mother's voice filled the whole house like a church organ. "I won't allow that to happen."
Frederick appeared in the doorway just as Annabeth opened her mouth to retaliate, pointing a stern finger straight at her.
"Not another word."
Annabeth's eyes widened in shock.
"If this shouting goes on any longer, it'll bring the house down and you know it. That's enough."
"Dad…" Annabeth was devastated. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine that Frederick would take her mother's side over her's.
"You're making dinner this Saturday." Her mother just didn't know when to shut up. "Every Saturday from now on. That's final."
"I'm not doing it." Annabeth growled.
"Why?" Her mother challenged. "Afraid the stove will blow up?"
"Just give me a break!" Annabeth leapt off her bed, fire blazing in her eyes. "Go screw someone else's life!"
"That's ENOUGH!" Frederick shouted, making Annabeth jump.
Her father had been a former drill sergeant in the Air Force. His voice was comparable to a jet engine. In the confines of Annabeth's room, it deafened her like a stun grenade, terrifying her into silence.
"Annabeth, you need to understand that what you have now, this family, this home, isn't going to be with you for the rest of your life. There will be a time when no one is going to put food on your plate. In future, your own family will look to you to provide for them." Frederick's voice had softened now. "This is something you need to understand. We all start somewhere."
"I don't have my own family to provide for. I have school, and homework, and football, and a whole life outside these four walls. It's not my job to make dinner."
Frederick came into her room, crouching on his heels beside her.
"It wasn't your job to fill in at left wing last week either, was it? We don't always have the luxury of staying within the job scope." He straightened. "But you have a point. Saturday nights are important. You are, after all, a high-school student."
"Once a fortnight, then." Her mother said.
Frederick shook his head slightly. "Once a month will do. She's a beginner. There's no rush. It's not like she's planning to enter culinary school."
"Only one dinner a month?" Her mother snorted. "That's nothing! In my time we were making dinner every day!"
"We're not in your time anymore." Annabeth muttered, loud enough for her to hear.
"Do we have an agreement?" Frederick asked her.
"Do I have a choice?" Annabeth asked back.
Frederick's eyes twinkled, as if the question amused him. "You tell me."
"No, I don't." Annabeth answered.
"You did great the last time, Annabeth." Frederick put an encouraging arm around her shoulder. "You'll be fine."
And that was how Annabeth found herself at another home game on Wednesday, having arranged to meet Percy after the match for another cooking lesson. She arrived just after the game started, planning to enjoy the afternoon sun from the spectator's stands while working on some homework. Little did she know that the next ninety minutes would turn the rest of her year upside down.
Annabeth groaned as another Goode attack broke down in midfield, allowing the opposing team, Trenton South, to counterattack up the pitch. Trenton's front three raced into Goode's penalty box as the ball was lofted in. Goode's defenders managed to repel the initial effort, but the loose ball was picked up by a Trenton midfielder just outside the box. Frank Zhang closed him down and the midfielder played a square pass to another teammate on his left. No Goode player was anywhere near him, giving him all the time in the world to line up his shot.
The ball flew past the Goode keeper's outstretched arms and into the back of the net. Annabeth shook her head morosely as the small group of Trenton supporters cheered.
Goode were three-nil down only forty minutes into the game. Annabeth saw several Goode players, Percy among them, throw up their arms in frustration as the Trenton players gathered for a group hug.
"Their organisation is awful," Piper commented next to her. "The players are all over the place. None of them seem to know what to do."
"It's like they're coming apart at the seams." Annabeth agreed with a sigh. She looked down at the notes she had scribbled on her writing pad about Goode's game so far, arrows and circles and squiggles, each one representing a tactical weakness that she'd seen in the team over the last forty minutes. She added a few more arrows; if only the Goode players would play the way she was drawing on her sheet of paper, they would not be in such a state. She shook her head again.
The referee's whistle blew and the game resumed from the centre circle. Annabeth glanced up briefly at the sound, then dropped her eyes back to her writing pad. From what she'd seen, the first half was a write-off. Every Goode fan in the sparsely-populated stadium was looking forward to the half-time break just so it would stop Trenton's attacking momentum and give their own players a respite. Although, Annabeth thought, unless Goode's coach could work a miracle within those fifteen minutes, the second half wouldn't be much better than the first. She had no idea why he hadn't once gone out to the touchline to give instructions throughout the entire game so far. Half the problems Annabeth had identified could've been rectified with simple instructions shouted across the field.
Piper had lost interest in the match as well and glanced down at Annabeth's game plan, studying it for a few moments. She nodded in agreement.
"If they played this way from the beginning, they might have survived the match."
Survival to Annabeth was not enough. Any team on the pitch had to play to win, otherwise they were doomed to fail before the match even began. An attacking plan was even more crucial for struggling teams like Goode, since they didn't get many opportunities to create chances, but the team on the pitch didn't seem to have any plan at all apart from watching the ball pass through their lines as if they weren't there at all.
She watched the Trenton structure for a few minutes, noting their positioning and the timing of their runs. She added more tactics to her game plan, drawing a thick line down the left wing so hard that the paper tore under her pen's tip. She paused, frowning hard at it. There was something missing in her masterplan, but for the life of her she didn't know what it was. She hated not knowing.
Another Trenton attack came down the right flank and Annabeth watched in disbelief as two Trenton players practically strolled past Goode's right-back before cutting the ball back into the centre. Trenton's centre-forward lined up a shot, but Frank Zhang jumped in at the last second and the ball cannoned off his back with an audible thump. Another Trenton player recovered the loose ball and drove forward, something Annabeth had seen about twenty times already thus far. His shot whizzed through a tangle of Goode defenders and past the goalkeeper's despairing dive, but this time it struck the post and pinballed back the way it came. Goode defenders and Trenton attackers alike scrambled to reach it, but Percy Jackson had retreated behind his own back line and got there ahead of all of them. He booted the ball high into the stands and everybody breathed a collective sigh of relief.
"That was close," Piper muttered.
"Way too close." Annabeth shook her head for the third time in five minutes. She saw Percy turn on his teammates furiously.
"—cking press the ball!" He screamed.
Frank kicked up a clod of grass in response, looking thoroughly demoralised. Another midfielder, Dakota, sat down hard on the grass, holding his ankle. Mercifully, the referee's whistle blew for half-time.
Annabeth tore the piece of paper out of her pad.
"I'm gonna pass this to him." She told Piper, then got up and started heading down the stands.
The Goode players trudged off the pitch, heading into the tunnel that led to their dressing rooms. The entrance to the tunnel cut right through the middle of the stands and Annabeth made her way to the railing at the ground level separating the rows of seats from the pitch.
Percy was one of the last to walk into the tunnel, in heated discussion with Goode's centre-forward, Jason. Annabeth hailed him just as he was about to pass by.
"Percy! Hey, Percy!"
Percy turned, looking stunned to see her. "Annabeth?"
Annabeth thrust the paper at him. "Give this to your coach."
"He isn't here." Percy took the paper, glancing it over.
"What do you mean, he isn't here?" Annabeth asked, surprised.
"His car crashed," Jason explained. "He'll in hospital for a whole month."
Percy had been staring at the sheet of paper so intently that he appeared to have tuned out of everything else. Jason gave him a nudge to keep him walking toward the dressing room.
Percy caught his elbow instead, pulling him back. "Jason, look at this."
Jason inclined his head toward him, glancing at it.
"This makes a lot of sense," he muttered after a long while.
Percy finally looked up, sea-green eyes staring straight into her own. "Did you write this?"
Annabeth found herself nodding. "I did."
He handed the paper back to her. "I need you to present this. To the team."
Annabeth's jaw dropped open. "What?"
"It's your plan, not mine." He said. "I can't explain it. They won't understand."
"Me? I—"
"Please, Annabeth." Percy sounded desperate. "We don't have anything left. If you don't explain this to us, the second half is gonna be even worse than the first."
Annabeth's insides felt like they were being thrown into a blender. She'd secretly dreamed of being a football coach since she was eleven. But on the other hand she was still a high-school student with practically no professional qualification or experience.
"Are you sure I'll be welcome in there?" She asked hesitantly.
"Dakota's injured," Jason spoke to her. "Malcolm is suspended. Beckendorf won't be back until the new year. We've no midfielders left. None of us know what to do. Just give it your best shot. I'll gather them round." He walked down the tunnel, boots clacking purposefully on the tiles.
"I'll back you up." Percy held out a hand, trying to reassure her. "Come on. Please."
Screw it, Annabeth thought. The only thing in her head was a pair of sea-green irises. She braced one hand on the railing and vaulted over it.
Percy stared wide-eyed at the smooth motion. He looked away, swallowing, and gestured to the tunnel.
"Let's go."
Annabeth followed him in, clutching the paper in sweating hands.
Left alone in the stands, Piper frowned as she saw Annabeth disappear down the tunnel with Jason and Percy.
"What on earth are you doing?" She muttered. "You better not be making a move on Jason."
The changing room was surprisingly quiet as Percy ushered Annabeth through the doorway. A dozen Goode players were seated on benches lined against the walls. Water bottles and boots were strewn everywhere. Several shirts were hanging off hooks on the wall, and Annabeth's heart missed a beat as she caught sight of their owners.
Every boy in the room was as fit as a Calvin Klein underwear model. Annabeth felt her throat go dry.
"Guys, this is Annabeth." Percy introduced. "She plays for the girls' team." He held up her sheet of paper. "She's been watching the match and drew up a game plan for us. Jason and I think it can get us back in the game." He handed it back to her and gestured toward the centre of the room.
Every eye in the room was fixed on her. Annabeth took a hesitant step forward. She steeled herself, raising her head to meet their gaze. Here goes nothing.
"The problem with this team isn't the players." She declared. "I've seen you play a few times. The players in this team are as good as Trenton's." Only once before today, and that was just the last ten minutes. But nobody needed to know that.
"Then why're we losing?"
Annabeth started at the sudden voice. It was another midfielder, the number eight, who'd spoken. He sounded frustrated. Annabeth tried to remember his name and glanced to his shirt hung on the wall. Valdez. She shook off the jitters, staring him straight in the face.
"You're losing because the way you're playing is wrong. You're trying to man-mark them. It doesn't work because they keep switching positions. You need to sit back and defend the space instead."
"We tried that," Valdez interrupted again. "They scored once and struck the post the second time."
"That's because you're too close to your goal. If you back off right outside the penalty box, you're giving them a free shot."
Annabeth could see that the players weren't following her. She cast her eyes about the room, searching for something that would help them understand.
Percy came to her rescue, wheeling a tactics board to the front of the room. He picked up a marker from the tray at the bottom of the board and handed it to her.
"Why don't you draw what you drew on the paper?"
Annabeth gave him a grateful glance, then lifted her arm to start writing. She stared at the marker in her hand for a moment, then put it down and started shifting the magnets on the board instead.
A set of eleven round blue magnets had been conveniently arranged into a 4-3-3 formation. Annabeth decided to use the blue set to represent Goode's lineup.
"This is you." She gestured at the blue magnets. "Right now, this is what's happening." She interspersed enemy orange magnets among the blue ones. "Massive space between your front, midfield and back lines. Trenton is operating in these spaces. When you step out to press," She moved a midfield magnet out of the line. "That creates an even bigger gap behind." She moved an orange magnet into the space vacated by the blue one. That is how they keep getting past you."
"To close these gaps you need to compact the lines." She rearranged the blue magnets into a tight formation of two lines in their own half, with one centre-forward ahead of the midfield. The formation now resembled a 4-5-1 instead of 4-3-3.
"No more than twenty metres from the front man to the back line." She said. "That way Trenton can't pass the ball between your lines. If they do break through—" She moved an orange magnet into the small space between the midfield and back line. "—there are a lot more Goode players close to them and it's easier to close them down. A tighter formation also reduces the distance you have to cover because they'll come to you instead. It's less tiring and when one person steps out to press, the others can cover the gap more easily." She demonstrated by moving a midfield magnet out of its line, then shifted the other four in the line closer together to cover the gap.
The players looked like they could understand better now. Valdez was nodding his head. But then Percy raised his hand.
"You've moved the wingers to the flanks." He touched the leftmost magnet on the side of the line, the one that represented his own position. "But I'm not that kind of player. If I move all the way there I'll become isolated." He shifted the magnet closer to the centre, into the inside left half-space. "I usually play here. If we all fall back then we leave Jason isolated. If we got the ball to him he'd be surrounded immediately."
Annabeth's train of thought came to a screeching halt. She stared at the problem he'd just posed, wracking her brain for a solution.
Frank spoke up too. "We're a man down in midfield. We can't play a 4-5-1 with only two midfielders. Frankly I don't know what we can play without Dakota around."
Annabeth distantly wondered if he was unaware of his choice of words, or he was deliberately making a pun to try and lighten the mood. His face was serious so she decided it was probably the latter.
"Do we have no other substitutes?" She asked.
"Only Chris and Ron." Frank pointed to two Latino-looking guys seated on the right side of the room. "But they're wingers. We don't have any midfielders left. We don't have anybody left."
Annabeth felt her thoughts hit a brick wall. She glanced at the tactics board, then back at the players. Everybody was looking to her for a solution. She felt pressure start to build in her chest. There had to be a way. But what use was another winger…
An idea tickled at the base of her brain, an old, outdated formation that hadn't crossed her mind in a long, long time.
Stupid, she scolded herself mentally. Your own team plays a variant of this formation. It's so obvious!
"Annabeth?" Percy started to say. "Do you—"
She held up a hand to stop him. Her mind was racing now, working through all the angles and position, factoring in the players' profiles and characteristics. There was just one question.
"Can you play as a striker?" She asked Percy.
"I've done it in the past, yes." He said.
Annabeth felt a fire grow in her chest. "Then I know what you're gonna do."
She rearranged the magnets on the board, then started labelling each of them with the respective players' shirt numbers. She stopped at the left wing magnet, turned to the two substitutes.
"Chris, Ron. Which one of you plays left wing?"
Chris raised his hand.
"What's your number?"
His eyes went wide. "You want my number?"
"Your squad number." Annabeth felt her face heat up.
"Seventeen."
"You're coming in for Dakota." She wrote 17 on the left wing magnet, then stepped aside to let the players see what she'd done. She saw their eyes widen when they realised what they were looking at.
Four defenders. No change there.
Four midfielders. Nico, Frank, Valdez, Chris.
Two centre-forwards. Jason and Percy.
4-4-2. The old legend. The classic.
Frank was the first one to speak, clearing his throat hesitantly. "I've never played four-four-two."
"Me neither." Nico said.
"Nor me." The goalkeeper, David, added.
"What does it matter to you?" Valdez asked him. "You're a goalie!"
David held up a gloved hand. "The structure of the team affects everybody. Even the back line will move and react differently when there's four in front of them compared to the usual five."
"I know this is unchartered territory for all of you." Annabeth said. "But there isn't a choice. We don't have any more midfielders. This is the only formation that plays with two midfielders."
"I'm not saying it won't work but…" Nico began. "How are we going to play? It won't be the same anymore. That's a whole different team there."
"I can explain it." Annabeth said confidently. The players all quietened down, as if a spell had been cast. Annabeth felt a glimmer of hope.
"The two lines of four sit in front of the goal. Stay in shape, stay compact. This formation is about zonal marking, not man-to-man. Midfielders don't press unless they try to break your lines. When you do step out, the other comes across to provide cover. If you get dragged deep, one of the strikers has to drop in." She raised her hands, trying to put emphasis on what she was going to say next.
"This formation isn't made to press. It's too light in midfield for that. It works best when defending deep, or on the counter."
"What good is that?" David the goalkeeper asked. "We're already three-nil down. They'll be happy to see us sit deep."
Annabeth decided to take a risk.
"There is one area where a 4-4-2 is numerically strong. That's on the wings. Let's set a pressing trigger. When the ball is played to Trenton's full-backs, the winger steps up to press. One forward cuts the passing lane back to the central defender. The other stays in the middle. If their midfielders come across, follow them. The far-side winger will then come central to cover the space."
The players took a few minutes to absorb this.
"Suppose that does work," Jason asked. "What then?"
"Once we have possession we need to get our forwards on the ball. There are four of them now instead of three. That makes them one-on-one against the enemy back line. Either they run into space, or lay it off for each other. With so many runners there will always be someone wanting to be played in. You just have to spot the runs."
She looked around the team. "Full-backs, where are you?"
Two guys directly in front of her put up their hands.
"Once your winger gets the ball, you need to support him. Overlap or underlap, depending on where the opening is. Wingers can get pinned against the touchline and surrounded if they stay on the ball too long. You need to provide a passing option so they can make runs into the box, or outside to cross. The far-side full-back will join the back line so it isn't too exposed."
She turned to Valdez and Frank.
"While all this happens, you two don't advance. Stay in the centre of the pitch. Everybody is going to be everywhere. You need to provide stability to defend or recycle possession. Everything is going to happen around you, not from you."
The two of them nodded.
"Lastly. Forwards." Four pairs of eyes focused on her. "Everybody else has their own areas. You need to start and carry attacks on your own. The four of you. You're also the first line of defence. Block the passing lanes into midfield. They'll try to drop people back to receive the ball. Watch for them. Don't press unless it goes to the flank, otherwise you'll get caught out of position."
They nodded too.
Annabeth drew a bunch of arrows on the board to illustrate what she was saying. She had everyone's undivided attention now. She looked round the room, meeting each players' eye the way her own captain did after a team talk.
"This game isn't over. I've seen you score three goals in the last ten minutes before. You can do it again. Anything is possible. Never stop believing." She glanced at her watch. Half-time was almost up.
"Does anyone have any questions?"
No one spoke. She took a step back, finally, and gestured to Jason. "Captain?"
Jason stepped forward, an imposing figure in the centre of the room.
"It's been a shit season. Shit first half. That ends here and now." He stabbed a finger at Annabeth. "She's given us a lifeline. Don't let it slip away! We go out there, we focus. Don't panic. Don't rush. Stay in formation, like she said. Help each other out. They've scored three goals. They'll be relaxed. They think it's game over. We get one chance, we bury it in the back of their net. Let's go!"
The players broke into scattered applause. Valdez thumped the bench in agreement. They started to pull on their shirts and head out the door. Percy took Annabeth's elbow.
"Will you take the touchline?"
Annabeth's eyes widened. "You're joking."
Percy shook his head. "This team has never played four-four-two. Out on the pitch we can only see what's ahead of us. We'll be lost without your direction."
Annabeth swallowed. She thought of the half-empty stands, the Goode supporters watching their team labour on the pitch. Every one of them wished they could do something to help the team.
"I'll be there."
A smattering of applause greeted the two teams as they walked back out into the sun. The Trenton supporters were by far the more enthusiastic, but were situated further away and their applause did not carry as far. Annabeth hoped the closer proximity of Goode's fans would help the players' morale.
She took a seat on the bench next to their last substitute, rubbing her hands nervously as she watched the teams spread across the field. The Trenton players looked relaxed, their centre-forward strolling toward the centre circle with the ball in one hand. Annabeth swallowed hard. For all the confidence she'd exuded, it was going to be a long forty-five minutes.
The game kicked off. Trenton punted the ball straight to their centre back, who stopped it under his boot, looking thoroughly at ease. Goode remained static in their new four-four-two. Nobody ventured into the opponents' half. The Trenton players looked at each other, baffled by Goode's lack of movement, then shrugged and started to advance.
"Here we go," Annabeth muttered.
For fifteen minutes the game slowed to walking pace. Trenton were content to ping the ball among their midfielders and back four. There was no urgency or ambition in their play. That suited Annabeth just fine, even though time was not on their side.
Goode sat deep in their own half, maintaining the twenty-metre depth that Annabeth had spoken about. They stepped out to press occasionally whenever Trenton probed too deep, but otherwise the pitch was devoid of any action whatsoever. The fans, who'd grown increasingly restless as the minutes passed, started to pull out their phones.
Goode slowly grew into the game. Midfield and defence tightened their lines, congesting the Trenton players in a sea of blue shirts. Percy and Jason blocked passing lanes into central midfield, forcing Trenton to go wide. Chris and Nico pressed once or twice, but they were hesitant, as if unsure whether they were supposed to. The ball would flow back to the centre-backs, who passed it among themselves before going to the flanks again.
The game had practically come to a halt as Goode stubbornly refused to press. Trenton's centre-back rolled the ball under his foot, staring at the unmoving mass of blue shirts in front of him. He decided to advance into midfield in an attempt to make something happen. Percy stepped out to press him. The defender passed the ball to his right-back, as he'd done over and over again in the last fifteen minutes.
Like the jaws of a trap, Goode suddenly sprang to life. Chris surged down the touchline the moment he saw the pass. The Trenton right-back received the ball, glanced over his shoulder and suddenly realised a Goode player was right on top of him.
He correctly guessed that Percy had already cut the passing lane back to the other defenders, so he passed the ball to one of his midfielders instead. The midfielder took a touch on the ball, looked up for a teammate and instead came face-to-face with Valdez.
The fans started to look up from their phones as Valdez hooked the ball into his feet and drove forward. Chris was racing down the wing and Valdez played the ball into the space behind the backpedaling Trenton right-back.
Suddenly from out of nowhere the attack was on. Chris accelerated with unbelievable speed, outracing his marker into the penalty box. The keeper spread himself wide at the near post, ready for the shot. Chris adjusted his stride instead and fired the ball across the box.
Jason and Percy went sliding in to meet the cross, along with three Trenton defenders. All five of them missed it and sprawled on the goal-line. The goalkeeper could only watch wide-eyed as the ball zipped past him, then his alarm turned to horror as Nico arrived at the far post just as the ball conveniently rolled into his path.
The diminutive winger fired the ball into the back of the net with the power of a ballista bolt. The Goode fans leapt to their feet, cheering. Nico howled in triumph as his teammates mobbed him. Trenton looked stunned that this ramshackle team had managed to score a goal.
"YES!" Annabeth screamed as she and Ron jumped for joy. With thirty minutes to go, they had reduced the deficit and given the team a glimmer of hope. Now they would have to endure a response from Trenton.
"Get a hold of yourselves! Snap out of it!" The Trenton coach shouted at his chagrined players. "You, and you," he stabbed a finger at two guys on the bench. "Start warming up."
Annabeth got to her feet, too excited to remain in her seat. The players had settled back into their halves of the pitch and Trenton was ready to kick off. She'd seen Goode's hesitance in the new formation and sensed they would need her direction.
Trenton attacked from the restart with two consecutive long balls down Goode's left wing. The Goode left-back appeared to be holding his own, but then Trenton's right-back ran down the touchline to support the advance.
"Help him! Help him!" Annabeth shouted to Chris, gesticulating at the beleaguered left-back. "Go!"
Chris sprinted energetically back, harassing the Trenton flankers until they gave up and shifted the ball into midfield.
The tempo increased as Trenton continued to push forward. Frank and Valdez seemed wary of Trenton's three-man midfield and were hesitant to step out.
"Press!" Annabeth screamed across the pitch. "Press!"
Frank still hung back, looking worried, but Valdez sprang forward eagerly. There was a moment's respite as Trenton passed the ball away from him before they circulated it forward again.
"Percy! Jason!" Annabeth cupped her hands around her mouth.
The two attackers jerked around, making eye contact.
"Mark him!" She pointed to Trenton's defensive midfielder. "Get close and shut him down!"
"What about the attack?" Percy shouted back.
"Focus on defending first!" The game would be over if Trenton scored a fourth goal.
Percy and Jason dropped into midfield, leaving the Trenton centre-backs alone on the halfway line. Seeing the empty space, Nico drifted infield from the right, but as soon as he did that Trenton's left-back advanced into the space he'd just vacated by the touchline.
"Nico!" Annabeth waved an arm in the air to get his attention. "Get back!" She swept her arm sideways to point at the space behind him. Nico protested, gesturing at the vast expanse before him, but Annabeth shook her head.
"Stay in formation!" She yelled. "Get back, now!"
Nico jogged back toward the flank, looking frustrated.
For ten minutes Trenton looked dangerously close to scoring. David made three saves in quick succession, diving low to deflect a fierce drive, then springing up to parry wide as another Trenton player fired in the rebound. A minute later a Trenton player took a shot from thirty yards and he was forced to deflect it over the bar.
"Press the ball!" Annabeth screamed at Valdez and Frank.
"Stop those shots!" David yelled furiously at them.
For ten minutes they had their backs to the wall as Trenton pressured them. Four consecutive corner kicks had Annabeth clenching her fists with dread, but each time the Goode defenders were there to head the ball away. Trenton pinballed the ball around the edge of Goode's penalty box until Valdez intercepted it in the middle of the pitch.
Goode burst through the corral of Trenton players like a battering ram. Jason was the furthest blue shirt up the field and dropped deep to receive the ball. He held off the Trenton defender trying to wrestle him aside and played the ball into the path of Percy's lung-bursting run. Percy ran into the final third of the pitch before slipping the ball to Nico, who darted around a Trenton defender and swung a looping cross into the box.
Jason leapt for the ball, but even at six-foot-three the ball was too high for him and he groaned with frustration as it passed inches from his head. All four Trenton defenders watched as the ball passed over their heads, landing in a vacant patch on the left edge of the box where Chris lurked completely unmarked. He took a touch to stop the ball before firing it through the goalie's legs and into the back of the net.
"YES!" Ron pounded Annabeth's back in jubilation and she almost collapsed under the massive impact.
"OWW!" She yelled as the crowd went nuts.
"Sorry!" Ron gasped, realising his mistake.
The Trenton coach was going bananas on the touchline, spittle flying from his mouth as he gesticulated and shouted at his players. The crowd seemed to be enjoying the spectacle, letting out a chorus of jeers and thumbs down signs he cast a furious gaze over them.
He grabbed his two substitutes and shoved them toward the touchline.
"Get out there sort out this mess! Finish them off! You!" He pointed to a third guy. "Five minutes and you're on." The player's eyes widened and he hastily stripped his blazer off.
"Get your gear on," Annabeth told Ron. "You're going in, too."
Ron nodded, pulling off his cap and sweater.
Trenton pushed hard from the restart, but with the two goals Goode now had the confidence to push back. Annabeth's eyes widened in a mixture of astonishment and exhilaration as her rudimentary game plan turned to reality before her eyes. The back four held their position at the edge of the penalty box, turning back wave after wave of Trenton attacks. Valdez and Frank closed the Trenton midfielders down aggressively whenever they ventured forward, congesting the pitch down the middle despite being outnumbered. Jason and Percy dropped into the vacated space to cover them whenever that happened, denying Trenton's central defensive midfielder his most effective zone of operation. Out on the wings, Nico and Chris surged forward whenever their opposing full-backs got on the ball, forcing them back. The whole team was working as one to stop Trenton from getting forward.
Annabeth withdrew Nico at the seventy-five minute mark. The young winger had been bursting up and down the wing all afternoon and was visibly exhausted. Ron came on to replace him on the right flank and was immediately involved as Goode broke the spell of possession and raced down the left. Chris fired another cross into the box which went nowhere near his teammates and was intercepted by Trenton's left-back, who half-turned and immediately lost it as Ron clattered into him. Winger and fullback battled down the inside half-space before Ron managed to boot the ball toward goal. The Trenton keeper punched the ball away and Frank, in complete disregard of Annabeth's instructions, ran onto it at the edge of the box. He lined up a low shot that seemed destined for the bottom corner, but at the last second a Trenton defender stuck out a boot and deflected it inches wide of the post. Frank yelled in frustration as the Trenton defender collapsed to the turf, clutching his hamstring.
A lengthy delay ensued as the medical team ran to attend to the injured defender, giving both sets of players the chance to take a water break. Nico shuffled around, handing out water bottles and bananas.
Annabeth seized the opportunity to gather the team for one last team talk.
"We're fifteen minutes from full-time." She told them. "Get the ball up the pitch as much as possible. Once anybody wins back the ball, Chris and Ron will start running down the flanks. Whoever is on the ball, look for them immediately or pass the ball to someone who can get it to them. Once you're into the final third, start crossing the ball into the box." She told the two wingers. "Low or high, doesn't matter. Look for Percy and Jason. They'll be there. If the ball comes back out, Frank and—" She broke off, cursing her short-term memory.
"Leo," Valdez supplied.
"Frank and Leo," Annabeth nodded thanks to him. "You'll be outside the box to retrieve it. Send it back in or play it to the flanks. Then we repeat the whole thing again. As many times as we can. We don't need to create anything spectacular. Just keep the ball in the box and eventually something will happen."
"What if they counterattack?" One of the defenders asked.
"Then you'll have to deal with it." Annabeth told him bluntly, then turned to address the whole team.
"They're teetering on the edge. Plus they're now one player short." She nodded at the Trenton defender who was being stretchered off the pitch. "We're this close from salvaging the game. If we keep hammering at them for the next fifteen minutes, they'll collapse."
The players nodded, clenching their fists in agreement.
"One last push," Frank said. "Let's do this!" The players echoed agreement and walked back onto the pitch.
Trenton's solution to being one man down was to withdraw everybody toward their box. The nine outfield players made two tight rows of four behind a single striker just outside the centre circle. The defensive tactic made sense given there was only fifteen minutes to go, but such a conservative move made it easier for Goode to apply pressure.
The battle began. Every Goode player advanced into Trenton's half to support the attack. Jason and Percy ran into the box, closely surrounded by enemy players on all sides. It was now a matter of whether Goode could turn a sustained spell of pressure into an equalising goal.
The minutes ticked by. Time and again, Chris and Ron raced down the flank and launched crosses into the box. Time and again, Trenton headed clear or deflected it away. Goode's midfielders and defenders recovered the ball and sent it back in. Trenton was bombarded with aerial balls, corner kicks and lofted passes, each one aiming for Jason's blonde head. Several times Frank drove forward before unleashing fierce strikes that either deflected off a defender or was saved by the keeper.
Try as they might, the ball simply refused to go into the net. Trenton had two efforts cleared off the line, including an epic goalmouth scramble that ended with six players including Percy and Chris collapsed in a tangle at the near post, the ball bobbling miraculously out of the confusion into the keeper's grateful arms.
At the end of ninety minutes the score was still 2-3. Six minutes of injury time were added thanks to the Trenton defender's hamstring. The Goode players were too tired to concoct any strategy; they simply continued to hoof the ball into the box in the hope that somehow it would end up in the back of the net.
Finally in the ninety-sixth minute their efforts were rewarded. Ron danced past two Trenton players and slammed a low cross into the box. Percy and Jason stretched for it. Both of them missed, but a Trenton defender trying to block the cross inadvertently diverted it into his own net.
The supporters erupted like champagne bottles. Nico jumped for joy, doing cartwheels on the grass. Annabeth jumped up and down, screaming like a banshee. The referee blew the whistle for full-time. Trenton's coach went ballistic. Both sets of players collapsed to the turf, Trenton in defeat, Goode in exhausted relief.
Annabeth went back to the stands after the game ended, wanting to avoid another team talk in a dressing room full of muscly, showering boys. She explained herself to Percy and Jason in the tunnel, then climbed the short flight of stairs and hiked up the stands to where Piper was seated.
"What was that?" Her best friend demanded as she finally returned.
"Their coach is in hospital." Annabeth explained. "Percy liked my tactics and wanted me to give them a team talk."
"You're unbelievable." Piper shook her head. "Just walk into a boys football team and tell them how to play. What a girl."
"I only did it because Percy asked," Annabeth said defensively. "I owe him one for teaching me how to make dinner."
"I think you're going to owe him a lot more," Piper nodded at something behind Annabeth. "Here comes the chef himself."
Annabeth turned to see Percy and Jason climbing up the stands, wincing with each laboured step. Percy put a foot wrong and almost fell, sprawling awkwardly on a wooden bench.
"Oww." He got up shakily, his legs trembling from overuse.
"What's up?" Annabeth asked them.
"The guys've had a discussion," Jason began. "Coach is in pretty bad shape. He won't be back for the next six weeks."
"So we want you to stand in for him." Percy finished.
Annabeth's mouth dropped open.
"You mean like…take practice sessions?"
"Yeah."
"You can't be serious." Annabeth told him.
"I am." Percy's eyes were staring straight into her's.
"I can't coach your team!" Annabeth said incredulously.
Percy gestured at the empty pitch. "Are you kidding me?"
"That was a one-time thing. Every match is different."
"You gave us the four-four-two." Jason said. "Only you can teach us how to work it."
"The four-four-two was a quick-fix." Annabeth argued. "Your default formation is still four-three-three."
"Dakota and Beckendorf are injured," Percy said. "We're left with only two midfielders for the next two games at least."
"You've always wanted to be a football coach," Piper egged her best friend on.
"I don't know…" Annabeth trailed off, at a loss for words.
"Try it," Percy urged. "It can't hurt. Please. We need you, Annabeth."
"I'll think about it." Annabeth said at last. "No promises."
Percy and Jason nodded, looking thoroughly exhausted.
"I'll meet you at the car park," Percy said to her. "About thirty minutes."
"Right." Annabeth nodded.
"What're you meeting her for?" Jason asked confusedly.
"She's coming over to my place," Percy said.
"She's what?" Jason gasped.
"Cooking lessons," Annabeth explained, reddening.
"Oh." Jason said blankly. "I see."
Annabeth and Percy bobbed their heads like pigeons. The silence stretched. The two footballers' brains seemed to be working in slow motion.
"Oh yeah," Annabeth suddenly remembered. "I completely forgot." She turned to Piper, who was practically oozing with need beside her. "Piper, this is Jason and Percy. Jason, Percy, this is my friend Piper. She plays in midfield for the girls' team."
Piper's smile was a million watts as she stood up to shake their hands. "Hiiiii, it's so great to meet you." Her kaleidoscopic eyes were filled with multicoloured images of Jason Grace. Annabeth grinned in triumph.
Another author's note:
I cannot thank you guys enough for the massive support for this story. It is so heartwarming to see all the reviews and follows. Keep making this world a better place. Don't let anything stop you. God bless