It was 6:45 AM.
Alex rolled over. On his bedside table, sitting on a pile of comic books, was the Ballon d'Or.
The golden football glowed in the morning light. It looked surreal. It looked like something from a dream.
"I am the best player in the world," Alex whispered to his pillow.
"Alex!" his mum shouted from downstairs. "You are going to be late! And don't forget your gym kit! It is washing day!"
Alex sighed. Being the best player in the world did not stop his mum from shouting about laundry.
He crawled out of bed. His legs felt heavy. The party in Paris seemed like a lifetime ago.
He put on his school uniform. He tied his tie. He looked in the mirror.
He looked exactly the same as yesterday. Just a teenager with messy hair.
He walked downstairs.
Mark was sitting at the kitchen table. He was wearing his school uniform, but he had a gold medal (the World Cup runner-up one) and the Kopa Trophy (which he had stolen from Alex's room) around his neck.
