Manchester United. The Emirates. The first team.
He was in his bed, but he was not resting. He was playing the game over and over. He saw their formations. He saw their superstar striker. He saw himself, a sixteen year old kid, just... sitting there.
Then he remembered the other text.
"Bring a suit."
A suit. He was sixteen. He did not own a suit.
This was a disaster.
He got out of bed. It was two in the morning. He padded downstairs.
He walked into his dads small office. His dad had a suit. The one he wore to weddings.
Alex pulled it out of the closet. It was a nice suit. It was also... huge.
Alex put the jacket on. The shoulders drooped down to his elbows. The sleeves covered his hands completely. He looked, he thought, like a small, sad ghost.
This was not going to work.
He heard a noise. His mum, Sarah, was standing in the doorway, tying her robe.
"Alex? What is wrong? Are you sick?"
"I... I have a problem, mum," Alex said. He held up the giant sleeves.
