"The heart," Mrs. Baker said, tapping the plastic muscle. "It is an engine. It relies on pressure. Systole. Diastole. Pump. Relax. Pump. Relax."
Alex sat at the back. He was spinning a pen between his fingers.
Pump. Relax.
That was football. You press. You drop back. You attack. You defend.
"Mr. Finch," Mrs. Baker asked.
"Can you tell me what happens if the valves do not close tightly?"
Alex looked up. He thought about the Arsenal defense.
"Backflow, Miss," Alex said. "The blood goes the wrong way. The pressure drops. The engine stalls."
"Correct," Mrs. Baker smiled. "Regurgitation. A very messy business. Try not to let it happen to your grades."
The bell rang. It was lunch time.
The cafeteria was chaotic. Students were shouting, throwing chips, and laughing.
But at the "Football Table," it was silent.
Mark, Jude, and Antoine were huddled around a phone.
"The draw is happening," Mark whispered. He was biting his nails. "Champions League Quarter Finals."
