The adrenaline from his game saving pass disappeared the moment he stepped off the pitch. Exhaustion washed over him, leaving him almost sick. The bus ride home was a silent, blurry haze. Once he got home, he skipped dinner, muttered a "goodnight" to his mum, and collapsed into bed without changing out of his club tracksuit.
He fell asleep before his head hit the pillow, but his sleep was light and restless, filled with images of math equations and Westford's charging midfielder.
He woke up on Sunday morning feeling like he hadn't rested at all. His body ached, and his mind felt foggy. He dragged himself downstairs, where his mum sat at the kitchen table with a cup of tea. Her expression showed quiet determination.
"Sit down, Ethan," she said in a gentle but firm voice. He sat, preparing himself. "I spoke to another parent after the match yesterday," she began. "She said you looked like a ghost for the first eighty minutes. She said she had never seen you play so poorly." Ethan winced but didn't argue. "I was tired, Mum. I'm fine." "No, you're not," she said, her voice sharpening slightly. "You're not fine. You're fifteen, and you're wearing yourself out. You're snapping at your sister, falling behind in school, and making mistakes on the pitch that are costing your team. This isn't balance, Ethan. This is a collapse."
He stared at his empty mug, her words hitting him hard. "I don't know what to do," he whispered, struggling to admit it. "If I ease up at school, I'll fail my mocks. If I ease up at the club, Coach Shaw will drop me. I can't win." "Then stop trying to deal with it alone," his mum said, her resolve strengthening. "This isn't just a hobby anymore, and it's not only school. This is your life, and we need a plan. On Monday, you're going to talk to your school and your coach."
The thought of admitting this to Coach Shaw filled him with panic. On Monday morning, he stood outside Mr. Davies's office, his heart racing. He knocked and entered. "Ethan, come in," the teacher said, looking up from a pile of papers. "I was impressed with the result on Saturday. Salvaged a point, I see." "Thanks, sir," Ethan stammered. "Look, I… I wanted to talk to you. You were right about my grades. I'm struggling to keep up with the workload, with my mocks coming up and the U16s... I'm just exhausted. I don't want to fail, but I don't know how to handle it all."
Mr. Davies listened patiently. When Ethan finished, the teacher leaned back. "I appreciate you coming to me, Ethan. It takes courage to admit you're struggling. Look, I'd rather have 80% of your focus and you pass these exams than 50% and you fail. Let's make a deal. We'll create a study plan that's realistic. We'll focus on the essentials, and I'll give you some flexibility on deadlines if you promise to stick to the plan."
Relief washed over Ethan. "Yes, sir. Absolutely. Thank you."
One battle ended, but the tougher one was ahead. That evening, he arrived at training early and, with his heart racing, knocked on Coach Shaw's office door. "Come in," Shaw's voice called out. The coach looked up from his notes, his expression unreadable. "Matthews. What is it?" "Coach," Ethan began, his hands shaking slightly. "You were right on Saturday. I wasn't focused at all." "I know that," Shaw said flatly. "Get to the point." "The point is, sir, I'm… I'm exhausted. My mock exams are this week, I've been studying all night, and with the training schedule… I'm not sleeping, and I'm not focused. I was trying to do both 100% and I'm failing at both."
He stood there, exposed, waiting for his expected rebuke. Coach Shaw stared at him for what felt like a long time. He leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen on his desk. "You think you're the first kid this has happened to, Matthews?" he finally said. Ethan blinked in surprise. "Sir?" "I've been coaching youth football for twenty years," Shaw said, lowering his voice. "Year 11 is where I lose more talent than any other. It's where school stops being a hobby and football stops being a game. They collide there." He leaned forward. "You were a disaster on Saturday. A liability. But you were also the only player on that pitch who could have made that pass to save us. That tells me your instincts are sharp, but your body and mind are worn out. An exhausted player is an injured player, Matthews. And an injured player is useless to me."
Shaw stood up. "I've already spoken to the club's academic liaison. He's talked to your Mr. Davies. You've got a plan. Good. Now here's my part. We have a cup game on Wednesday. You're not playing. You're not even coming. You are to go home after school, eat a proper meal, and sleep. I want my number ten back for the league game on Saturday, not his ghost."
Ethan was stunned. It was the last response he expected. It was tough, direct, and uncompromising, but it was also a solution. It was… understanding. "Yes, coach," he said, a heavy weight lifting from his shoulders. "Thank you." "Don't thank me," Shaw grunted, turning back to his notes. "Just don't be a liability again. Now get out."
Ethan walked out of the office, took a deep breath of the cool evening air, and for the first time in weeks, he felt like he could actually breathe.