downfield faster than the opposition expected. The twenty boys converging on him had to alter direction, gaining him a few extra seconds before one of Lairfold's flankers crashed into him. It was a tumbling impact, both boys leaving the ground, legs akimbo. The ball flew straight and purposeful out of the melee with Alan screaming, 'Go, you fucker!' and Lawrence caught it without even stopping. He pounded toward the Lairfold goal line.
The cheering from the touchline rose to a bombardment of yells, catcalls and chants. Out of the corner of his eye he just saw the scarlet and turquoise pompoms sashaying about as the Eyres cheerleaders gave it their raucous all. Couldn't make out which one was Roselyn. Then he saw the Lairfold fullback coming straight at him, and the lanky bastard was faster. He wasn't going to make the touchdown. On the other side of the pitch Vinnie Carlton was keeping pace with Lawrence's dash, making sure he didn't get in front.
Two seconds before the fullback tackled him, Lawrence turned and flung the ball. The fullback's arms wrapped around his legs and he crashed to the sodden grass with a bruising impact. The ball arced across the field, turning slowly end over end. Everyone watched its silent flight; even the supporters on the sideline abandoned their clamor. Vinnie carried on running. And the Lairfold team noticed him. Their gorilla-men prop forward bellowed a furious war cry. But nobody was even close.
Vinnie caught the ball beautifully, ten paces from the line. He sailed over with a joyful whoop, holding it aloft as he pelted in toward the big goalposts, slamming it down onto the grass.
The crowd was jubilant. Lawrence laughed madly as he clambered out from under the angry fullback. His ribs and shoulder hurt like a bastard, and the tackle had left him partly winded, but he was still clapping and hollering in elation. The Eyres team swooped on Vinnie, who hugged Lawrence.
'Great pass, man!'
'Better try.'
'One point down,' Alan said, always eager to spread gloom.
Lawrence shook his head. 'Two up, you mean. No sweat. Richard'll get it.'
They walked back toward their own half as Richard hacked into the ground with his heel, then carefully stood the ball upright. Lairfold lined up between the goal, facing him. But for Richard, Eyre's prize kicker, the three-point goal was a simple jog forward and a swift boot. The ball flew sedately between the tall white posts.
There was another three minutes left to the game. Eyres played it tactical. Not giving ground. Kicking it into touch. Holding the ball in the scrum.
The referee blew the whistle. Both captains did the gentlemanly thing and shook hands in the middle of the pitch. Lawrence stood with his teammates and gave their opponents three hearty cheers as they left the field.
Alan was laughing cruelly. 'Look at them. Bunch of jerkoffs. Go home and kill yourselves, guys!'
Nigel's hand clamped over his mouth. 'Show some dignity, man.'
'I am.' Alan smirked. 'I'm fucking enjoying myself. I love it when people that arrogant take a dive.'
'Hey, man of the match!' John wrapped an arm around Vinnie's shoulder, and pulled his hair down over his face. 'What a run!'
Vinnie grinned happily. 'Wouldn't have meant a thing without Lawrence.'
Lawrence put on his most humble tone. 'I do what I can.'
'Yeah,' Alan grunted. 'Only if Roselyn lets you.'
Several of the cheerleaders were running across the field to greet their heroes. They were dressed in short scarlet skirts and cornflower-blue sports halters.
'Now that's what I call a welcome home,' Alan said. His laugh was like a bad case of hiccups. He put his arms out wide and ran toward them. They scattered.
Roselyn swatted him with a pompom and danced around to reach Lawrence. 'You won!' she squeaked as she kissed Lawrence.
'It was a team effort.'
'No, it wasn't. It was your brilliant throw that clinched it I saw it all. You were magnificent. Kiss me.'
'Oh, for fuck's sake,' Alan grumbled. He ambled off toward the changing room.
Lawrence and Roselyn laughed at his departing back.
'Ugh, you're filthy,' she complained suddenly. Streaks of cold, wet mud from his shirt had soaked into her halter. 'Go and wash.'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'Be quick. It's freezing out here.' She rubbed her arms and gave the dome's conditioning fans a suspicious glance. The school always lowered the temperature for rugby and soccer so the players wouldn't get too hot, but this felt as if the atmosphere had circumvented the inlet grids to blow straight in.
'Are you going to the party tonight?' Nadia asked. She was leaning against Vinnie, with his arm casually possessive around her waist. But it was Lawrence who was receiving her intent stare.
'Yeah, sure,' he said, very careful to keep the tone neutral. Roselyn seemed to have some kind of telepathic ability when it came to detecting his thoughts on other girls. Not that he did have thoughts on other girls, of course. Funny thing was, for years not a single girl at Hilary Eyre High had shown any interest in him whatsoever; but now he had Roselyn he'd started to get definite signals. Not just from Nadia, either.
'See you later,' Roselyn said. She turned, then bounded back. 'One more kiss.'
He obliged.
'So is she pregnant yet?' Alan asked in the locker room.
'What? Who?' Lawrence had showered, managing to grab someone else's shampoo. Now he was toweling his hair dry beside his locker.
'Roselyn.'
'No!'
'So what's all the practice for?' Alan's question trailed off into his hiccup laugh.
'God, you're such a pervert.'
'God? Ah, this would be Roselyn's God you've borrowed, would it?'
