A/N: Hello and welcome to my newest Kickin' It story, Playing To Win! It is AU and based hugely on soccer. Hopefully you'll enjoy the ride, no matter how tedious or frustrating it is.

There will be a longer A/N at the bottom explaining everything in greater detail, but for now, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Kickin' It.

"The rules of soccer are very simple, basically it is this: if it moves, kick it. If it doesn't move, kick it until it does."

…

—Phil Woosnam

The field is already abuzz with excitement, the pre-game adrenaline, the tensions running high as the two opposite teams warm up on opposite sides of the field. The sounds of people crowding the stands fill your ears, the shouts of encouragement as parents start to wave signs and chant pre-rehearsed rhymes. You order a box of popcorn and a soda absentmindedly, and throw a buttery kernel into your mouth as your attention turns to the field. You aren't even playing this game, but you know how incredibly crucial it is.

Your eyes scan the two teams, roving over their polar opposite uniforms—one team is dressed out in white and green, and the other is covered in red and black. Your eyes scrutinize the players, assessing the accuracy of the shots they're making to warm up their legs, the stretches they're executing…

A pair of teenagers catch your eye.

They're from the team dressed in the dark green and white. It's a boy and a girl, a brunet and a blonde, respectively, and they huddle alone on the bench, away from the rest of their team—and this is exactly what gets your attention.

You lean forward intently, watching them with an air of interest. Their lack of warm-up piques your slight curiosity—why they aren't practicing with the rest of the team before such an important game is a mystery to you.

They aren't warming up, not even stretching, but instead they are talking in what looks to you like low, hushed voices. The blonde reaches out to pat the dark-haired boy's leg comfortingly, but despite her attempts at sympathy, the latter looks agitated—distressed, worried, sick to his stomach.

She flashes him a warm smile, and he attempts to return one for her benefit, but it looks strained and fake.

And you wonder what's bothering him.

These two, though you barely know them, seem to share a bond—you can tell that just by staring at their actions, the way they're talking to each other. They exchange multiple glances, share several looks, but after a long time neither of them seem to be interested in talking anymore. Their mouths stop moving, and they simply rest there on the bench, not even bothering to warm up.

They look comfortable enough, rolling a ball back and forth between the two of them, watching the rest of the team warm up without them.

The girl blushes red at something the boy suddenly whispers, and grabs for the clipboard under the metallic bench they're seated on, beginning to draw something with her black marker, losing herself in the plays so intently that she doesn't see the boy slip off after another two minutes.

He disappears off of the field, into the maze of locker rooms on the side of the field. The brunet stops at the entrance, looking back at the bench, as if wondering if she's going to call after him or notice that he's even gone.

She doesn't do anything.

And you speculate, guessing that maybe she knows he's getting away, and that she's letting him go.

CHAPTER ONE: First Impressions

-:-

Being late to breakfast on his very first day at private school was probably not his best idea.

In his defense, Jack hadn't been doing anything remotely time-wasting or bad—he'd seen a kid who'd tripped on his way to the dining hall and had helped him up, assisted in dusting him off, before realizing that he still couldn't find his dorm room.

Dragging around two suitcases and one large backpack around the spacious, sprawled-out campus hadn't been the best experience—not while he was also attempting to juggle a map, a plastic bag containing the various pieces of clothing that belonged to his private school uniform, and his iPhone. The sidewalks wound confusingly between buildings, snaking through the grounds like tiny rivers. By the time he'd finally figured out the map, righted it (he'd been holding it upside down—blame it on the lack of sleep) and used his silver key to unlock the door to his dorm room, one shared with another student, most of the people had already cleared out of the halls and headed towards the dining hall, leaving Jack in the dust.

The door to the room swung open slowly, as if anticipating Jack's arrival.

His home for the next two years or so was pretty spacious, as dorm rooms went. A large window overlooking the soccer fields and some other school buildings let in early morning sunshine. Two beds were tucked into opposite corners of the room, and a pair of dressers, crafted out of matching, dark wood, decorated the edges. The closets looked pretty well-sized, not too big but not too small; his was definitely big enough to store that he had brought from home. The room was also equipped with two desks and a tiny fridge that no doubt held drinks and other random snacks. A flat-screen T.V. hung on the wall, above the two dressers, visible from the beds and the desk chairs. Jack noticed a remote perched on one of the dressers.

One side of the room was heartlessly bare; the other was practically bursting with paraphernalia.

With a loud thump, Jack dropped all three of his bags onto the wooden floor in an unceremonious fashion, rubbing his temples, sensing a headache starting to creep up inside his head.

This was his home for the rest of high school.

Attending the Bobby Wasabi Private School was a privilege, he wouldn't deny that—it was an academy specifically designed to promote student leadership. He'd read in the brochure sent to him by mail that students led most of the activities in classes, and teachers simply supervised and made sure nothing went awry—in other words, they kept everything in control long enough to ensure that nothing would blow up. Sports teams, after-school clubs—they were all organized and led by students.

Jack was late—two weeks late, in fact, as his scholarship forms for the school had gotten lost in the mail, resulting in him having to mail them again as soon as he'd found out about it. His flight from Texas to California, where the private school was located, had been delayed as well. He had intended on arriving last night, but thunderstorms in Texas had rendered the skies unsafe to fly in. When he had finally managed to grab a taxi to the campus, in the wee hours of the morning, he'd been immediately greeted by the principal, who'd kept Jack in his office for nearly an hour, Mr. Wasabi attempting to sort out Jack's classes while Jack put his best effort into not falling asleep.

In his sleepy stupor, Jack was faintly positive that he'd accidentally chosen Floral Design for an elective. He groaned again—he would have to see his school counselor about that and change it as soon as possible.

What a great way to start off his first day at school—half-asleep, dead on his feet, and very, veryhungry.

He was tempted to sink into the bare bed that was obviously his in the corner of the room, but he reminded himself that while he was tired, this was his first day of school. He couldn't screw anything up. According to his iPhone, he was now five minutes late for breakfast and he still had some things to accomplish.

Jack intended to wash up in the bathroom before putting on his uniform, and grabbing a towel and the clothing, he headed towards the bathroom on the other side of the room, near the other boy's bed. Jack had never really noticed until now how messy his roommate was—there were random clothes splayed across the floor, the bed was unmade, and several candy wrappers were strewn across the dark blue sheets that covered the bed in a rumpled heap.

Well, at least the guy seemed to have some personality. Jack preferred a little mess to a boring square.

The bathroom was slightly cleaner, and Jack splashed his face vigorously with ice-cold water from the sink, hoping that the sudden temperature of the water would wake him up.

Jack had never worn private school uniforms—he'd always gone to public school in Texas—but the dark green blazer (he'd decided not to wear the gray sweater), white dress shirt, and dark pants were comfortable enough. He fumbled around with the green-and-gray striped tie for a bit before managing to knot it correctly around his neck, and took a long look at himself in the mirror.

Good enough. There were dark, tired circles under his eyes, but those could be easily remedied by a long night's rest after school today.

Sneaking another hurried glance at his phone, he noticed that he was now twenty minutes late for breakfast—breakfast in the dining hall would be ending in ten minutes, and if he wanted to get a bite to eat to supply him with enough energy, enough for him not to collapse in the classrooms, he needed to leave.

Now.

Well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

He zipped open the largest suitcase he'd brought, which was still sitting on the ground, and revealed his skateboard. He'd always loved skateboarding. Deciding to forego the helmet, he slipped his room key in his pocket, stuffed a couple of blank notebooks, unsharpened pencils, his map of the campus, and his school schedule in his backpack, slung the bag over his shoulder, and slipped out from his dorm room, closing the door with a thud and checking to make sure it had locked securely behind him.

Jack could unpack later, but right now, he needed food.

He wasn't actually one-hundred percent positive if skateboarding was even allowed on campus, but if he was caught, he could always say that he didn't know the rules. As soon as he'd reached the smooth gray sidewalk, he dropped the board to the concrete and glided as fast as he could towards the general direction of the dining hall, following the very conveniently placed sign with an arrow that directed him straight forward, to one of the largest buildings on campus.

The wind whipped through his hair, and in spite of his hurried mood, he allowed himself a small smile, shaking his head and flicking the brown hair back in place as he turned a sharp corner. He skid on the wheels until he'd finally drawn close enough to the hall to hear the chatter of a couple hundred students as they gossiped away and munched on breakfast.

It was time to face the music—er, students. Not only was he walking in late, he was also the new kid at the school—there was no doubt that he would attract a lot of attention to himself just by breezing in through the front doors.

Jack turned the final corner at top speed, intending to stop as soon as possible—

And skated straight into someone.

The brick wall, unfortunately, had not provided him with a view of who might be walking towards him on the other side. He smacked straight into the figure, a blonde that was currently leaving the dining hall early. Jack knocked her directly to the ground, managing to catch himself on the wall by gripping it painfully, the rough surface scraping his palms and leaving him with several red marks as a punishment.

The apologies were bursting out of his mouth before he'd even regained balance. "Oh, god—I'm so, so sorry—"

He attempted to reach out for the girl he'd run over after he'd succeeded in steadying himself, taking no notice of the skateboard that was slowly rolling off towards the grass. Jack held a hand out, regardless of the blood that was slowly beginning to show on his palms, fully intending to help her up and dust her off and apologize about one hundred more times.

Instead of taking his hand, though, she completely ignored it, instead choosing to rise to her knees, her eyes directed towards the ground, and stuff a few stray books that had spilled out back into her book bag. Her obvious intent at avoiding his eyes was accompanied with a cold determination that seemed to reach Jack through his clothes, and he involuntarily shut his mouth.

Of course, when Jack Anderson wanted to say something, his mouth didn't stay sealed for long.

"Look, I'm really, really sorry," Jack apologized hastily, guilt creeping into his voice as he took notice of her scraped knees that had started to bleed, much like his palms. "I—are you okay?"

The blonde finally looked up for the first time, the loose waves of golden hair that had fallen forward now parting to reveal a face.

A beautiful face.

However, the picture-perfect features were severely marred by the scowl of obvious disgust and annoyance that was splashed across her face. She rose to her feet swiftly with an uncanny grace, glaring at him with an air of detestation that seemed to chill his insides, angling her body away from him so she wouldn't have to come in physical contact with him. Her eyes, a startling shade of dark brown, were filled with dislike and disgust as she ran his eyes up and down his body, examining the stranger who'd just knocked her down onto the hard concrete.

Jack didn't get scared of—well, anything, really—but he hurriedly stepped back several feet from her clearly annoyed gaze that seemed to burn a hole through his chest.

"You can't skateboard on school grounds," she informed him, an icy edge to her voice, swinging her book bag over her shoulder. She brushed some dirt and sediments off of her gray sweater and flicked something from her skirt, readjusting her green-and-gray tie and straightening the collar of her white shirt. She examined her scraped knees for a moment before returning her eyes to his, obviously not caring about the injuries and marks. "For future reference."

"Do you want me to take you to the nurse's office?" Jack offered, attempting to smooth over her frigid words with some helpful ones. "Your knees look like they really hurt—"

She snorted disdainfully, instantly knocking away his concern with her sarcastic tone. "They'd be fine if you'd followed the rules and watched where you were going."

Jack was beginning to get annoyed now, despite the fact that he had been the one to run over her. He'd apologized—several times. Why couldn't she just accept his apology and make amends? That was how normal girls usually reacted. "Look, I said I was sorry—"

"Sorry doesn't always cut it, you know?" she interrupted, her musical voice harsh with accusation. "Just keep that in mind next time you knock a girl over."

With that, she strode off, purposefully bumping into Jack's shoulder and twisting his body sideways in a painful manner. The blonde headed across the campus, leaving Jack staring openmouthed after her, still in shock over her obvious dislike of him and her cold words.

After a few minutes, he simply picked up his skateboard and returned back to his dorm, intent on keeping the board locked up in his closet for the rest of the semester, all thoughts of breakfast leaving his mind.

His appetite had disappeared, along with the girl.

What a way to start the semester.

"Hey! New kid!"

Jack's head snapped away from his position at the lunch line, where his eyes had been fixated on the food, to the direction of where the voice had come from.

It was now lunchtime, and Jack was starving—literally. He hadn't attempted to eat breakfast after the skateboard incident/run-in with the blonde girl, who seemed to hate his guts. He'd seen her around campus a couple of times, but she'd never noticed him. It was true that her ignorance might have been due to the fact that Jack jumped behind bushes whenever her blonde hair came within sight, but he digressed.

He cursed his cowardice after the second time—he was Jack Anderson. He didn't hide from anyone, much less a girl. Nothing against girls, of course, but he wasn't afraid anything, really. And it seemed weird that she had this effect on him.

Finding his classes for the most part had been pretty simple, and the teachers had been halfway decent as well—the worst they'd done was prompt Jack to go up to the front of the room and introduce himself. Jack was by no means shy, even if he wasn't bubbly as champagne, so providing small introductory sentences on him and his life had been a piece of cake.

All in all, the Bobby Wasabi Private School was proving to be a pretty cool place so far—the brochures had been serious when they'd stated that for the most part, students led the classes. From what Jack had noticed, for the majority of the time, the teacher for the class would simply sit in the back, perched on a chair, and observe the students after issuing instructions and the day's lesson plans.

The students here were rich, though—and they seemed to know it. Jack was well aware that tuition was steep, part of the reason why he was here on scholarship, but he'd seen more than a few designer bags and shiny phones. The only thing about himself that remotely screamed "upper-class" was his iPhone, and he'd received that as a parting gift from his mom.

"Thank you…" he nodded politely at the lunch lady, reading her nametag with a slight air of curiosity—Marge, it read. "Marge."

She merely nodded at him, and without another word, he slid his tray from the line and proceeded to find the source of the voice that had called out for him.

"Jack! Over here!"

He finally detected the speaker—a short, African-American kid with braces that sat at a table in one of the corners of the large dining hall. Taking this invitation to a lunch table before it could escape him, he quickly crossed the busy room, narrowly avoiding other students armed with empty lunch trays, and slid into a seat at the rectangular table.

The table was comprised of four students, all in the same grade as him, seated on the two opposite benches of the table. Jack knew that he had at least one class with all of them—and in the same period, at that. They four had sat together in the back of the classroom, a group, while Jack had been forced to take a seat in the front. He'd just forgotten their names.

The one who'd called out to him was smiling at him timidly now, despite his earlier confidence. A boy who possessed a skinny frame was tucked onto the wooden bench opposite him, dark blue, intense eyes analyzing him thoughtfully as soon as Jack had taken a seat. Several books were stacked next to him, and judging by the thickness of the textbooks and the pristine, orderly state of his school uniform, Jack assumed that he was enrolled in all honors classes and was a bit of a nerd, as stereotypical as that sounded. At the very least, he took academics seriously.

Next to him was a girl—the only girl at the table, in fact. She looked like a female version of the boy with the books—softer, more feminine features, mid-length wavy hair, glasses, but all the same clothing order and books. She smiled shyly at him, tucking a loose brown curl behind her ears before adjusting her glasses and returning to her salad.

The most animated one at Jack's newly found lunch table was, no doubt, the figure on his other side—a bright-eyed, dark-haired teenager that had somehow made the school uniform, which everyone was required to wear, look casual and fun. The green-and-gray striped tie wrapped around his neck was loosened; the top button on the white shirt was unbuttoned; and the sleeves of his sweater had been rolled up all the way to his elbows to give himself an I don't really care about schoollook. He'd grinned as soon as Jack had slid onto the bench and held his hand up for a high-five.

Jack slapped his hand, a bit confused at the eager gesture but unwilling to reject a perfectly good high-five.

The black-haired boy's smile had widened even more and he laughed in obvious delight. "So, you're my new roommate, huh?"

"You're Jerry?" Jack checked cautiously, just to make sure. "Mr. Wasabi mentioned that a guy named Jerry Martinez was assigned to be my new roommate…"

Jerry nodded. "Yeah, that's me! And these are my friends—Eddie—"

He pointed a finger towards the dark-skinned boy who'd called Jack over to the table in the first place.

"And Milton and Julie," he finished, now directing his fingers towards the remaining boy and the girl, respectively. Milton nodded formally at him, allowing a half-smile to trace across his face in greeting. Julie waved slightly, her movements timid but friendly.

"Well, I'm Jack," Jack introduced himself, although he was pretty positive that everyone at the table (and maybe in the whole school) was already aware of his identity. "I'm new, like you guys said."

Eddie shrugged. "Yeah, everyone on campus knows about you."

Suspicions confirmed. Jack's cheeks flushed a pale pink, and his mind immediately thought of the blonde girl. He managed to get out, "Is it because I knocked her over?"

Jerry's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Knocked who over?"

"Well, I—"

"Dude," Jerry's eyes widened, and he held his two hands up in surrender. "You're seriously scaring me! And confusing me!"

Jack managed a light-hearted laugh at the teen's wide-eyed innocence and genuine confusion. He'd been around Jerry for about five seconds, and he could already tell that Jerry was going to be a good friend to have here.

Milton, across from Jack, snorted sarcastically, leaning across the table and patting Jerry on the shoulder in a patronizing fashion. "Here, let me explain to you who everyone is without you getting hopelessly mixed up. I'm Milton, and although it sounds conceited, I'm the smart one, except for maybe Julie, my girlfriend."

Jack nodded slightly. "Nice to meet you two."

"Jerry," Milton tilted his head at the aforementioned teen. "Is the perpetually confused one. Oh, and he loves to dance."

As if to further verify Milton's statement, Jerry started tapping his foot and humming out a tune that Jack had heard in the taxi on his way to the boarding school. "Got that right!"

"And Eddie," Milton sighed in exasperation. "Claims to be a playah,which he isn't. However, he does plays the cello—"

"I quit," Eddie interjected quietly.

"Oh, fine—he's an ex-cello player—and he loves food. And girls. That's about it."

"Interesting," Jack muttered under his breath. "Nice to meet all of you, though," he declared, louder this time.

He took a huge bite out of his meatball sandwich, the ravenous feeling that had been growing inside of him finally taking over. His stomach actually grumbled painfully at the contact with real, legitimate food. "Are you the only ones that sit at this table? It's kind a big for such a small group…"

Julie shrugged. "No. Kim sits here as well. Actually, I wonder where she is right now…she's late…"

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Another girl? What does she look like? Maybe I've seen her around campus."

Julie pulled out her phone and appeared to scroll through some texts in rapid succession before supplying, "Kim's in the lunch line—she said she was running late from her last class. She should be here any minute now."

Jack considered his next words. "Is she nice?"

"Totally!" Jerry enthused, before his face fell a little bit. "Well, if you get to know her, and if you're nice to her. She can get angry when she wants to be, or when she's on her period—"

"Jerry!" Eddie scolded him, but he shrugged in agreement after another moment of consideration. "Okay, yeah, that's a pretty good description of her, actually. Fierce. Blonde—but if you insult her about it, she'll kill you…"

Jack tensed in apprehension.

Fierce. Blonde.

Was it…?

Milton's eyes caught onto something behind Jack. "Oh, look, there's her now!"

A golden-haired teen was walking across the cafeteria, headed for the lunch table that now consisted of five students. Her dark brown eyes were light and carefree, a huge contrast from the last time that Jack had seen them at their full force, the orbs trained on him as if she had been about to castrate him or something.

It was the girl that he'd knocked down.

The girl that now most likely hated him…and would quit possibly like to knock him to the ground…

Oh, crap.

"Just don't get on her bad side," Milton advised, noticing Jack's stunned expression, mistaking his horror for nervousness. "And you'll be—"

"Too late," Jack muttered, his muscles tightening as if anticipating a fight.

Judging by the glare the blonde had directed towards him early that morning, though, a fight just might be what he would be receiving in about ten seconds.

Jerry grinned at Jack's words. "You know her already?"

"Jerry!" Milton reprimanded. "If he knows her already and he's not happy about it, it's not a reason to be happy." Taking a deep breath and releasing it, Milton continued, "Jack, how do you know her? You do know her already, right?"

Jack shifted uncomfortably in his seat, looking determinedly forward, pretending that the blonde's eyes weren't burning holes into his back. "Yeah, um…I—"

"You."

Jack's head snapped up at the cold, biting voice, his eyes meeting dark brown orbs that stared down hatefully at him. The blonde—or, as Jerry and the rest of the group had called her, Kim—balanced a lunch tray in her hands, her book bag hooked over her shoulder, and was currently glaring daggers down at him. Jack noticed that her knees, the ones that had been scraped in their encounter that morning, had interestingly not been wrapped up in bandages. The bright, blood-red hue had faded from the skin, leaving dark scarlet marks, but Jack was still surprised that she hadn't whined to the nurse about it or something.

"Uh…hey." Jack tried for a sheepish grin. "I believe we've met…"

His greeting was rewarded with cold silence.

Jerry's eyes were as wide as saucers, taking in the tension between the brunet and the blonde with an evident look of glee in his eyes, despite the tension that seemed to be floating through the air as though it were tangible. Geez, anything amused this guy—from the newest song, it seemed, to some drama happening at the lunch table.

Jack suddenly wondered what Jerry would act like if confronted with a shiny item—perhaps metallic, or golden.

Kim's glare sharpened in dislike, and her upper lip curled in something—was it disgust? "Right, I remember you. You're the one that ran over me with your skateboard this morning."

"That's who she was talking about?" Jack heard Julie whisper to Milton.

Jack winced. "I…"

"This is who you guys are sitting with?" Kim demanded, abruptly turning her attention away from Jack and directing it at the remaining members of the lunch table. "Jerry, when you said you were sitting with someone new, I didn't think you meant the new kid."

Jack felt her icy gaze on him once again as her dark eyes glared at him with obvious contempt. Jack was never afraid, but now he felt like shrinking down into his seat under the intensity of her gaze. He was angry, though—furious at her irrational dislike of him and the way she was acting to her friends, as if Jack sitting here had been their fault—or as if it had been their fault that Jack had run into her that morning.

"Kim, don't be—" Milton tried pleading with her, appealing to her reason, but Kim wouldn't have any of it.

The blonde shook her head sharply, her golden, loose curls of hair bouncing around slightly as she muttered in a low, harsh voice, "I'll sit with Grace and the rest of the team today."

"Hey," Jack snapped, the anger in him finally reaching its maximum. "Just because I shoved you down and ruined your perfect skin or whatever doesn't mean that you have to be so rude to Milton and everyone else!"

Kim froze, her glare murderous, and leaned in to whisper to Jack.

"Don't tell me what to do," she hissed into his ear, her breath tickling the side of his head. "Do you think I'm really so air-headed that I'm mad at you for ruining my, to use your exact words, 'perfect skin'? I may be blonde, but I am not an idiot. I am not a girl who goes crying to the nurse about every single little injury, contrary to what you might think."

Jack had to restrain himself from flinching under her intimidating gaze, and merely stood his ground, waiting for her to make another move, choosing not to respond to her words.

"Um…Kim?" Julie ventured. Julie swept a couple of books from the smooth surface of the table. "Come on, sit down—"

Kim's gaze softened as they met Julie's eyes, but they immediately hardened again as her eyes dropped from Julie to Jack. "I said, I'll eat with Grace and the rest of the team today—no big problem."

Jerry's eyes grew even wider as she began to turn around. "Wait, Kim, don't—!"

She left without a second glance.

"Yeah, she's pleasant, all right," Jack murmured sarcastically. "And she's your best friend?"

Jerry merely chomped down on another French fry.

Jerry had, apparently, taken it upon himself to be Jack's personal tour guide for the rest of day. As soon as the last bell had rung, a shrill sound that pierced Jack's ears and had jerked him awake from his peaceful nap in the middle of Chemistry, Jerry had dragged Jack over to their shared dorm room, where Jack had managed to unpack a shirt or two before Jerry had forced him to change into more casual clothes (they weren't required to wear the uniform outside of school hours) and started showing Jack all around campus.

"Jack—hey, are you paying attention?"

Jack's tired brown eyes flicked up slowly from the concrete, the fatigue and the buzz from his first day finally getting to him, weighing him down like bricks. He straightened his posture and rubbed his eyes forcefully, chiding himself for coming off so tired and so rude. "Yeah, sorry. I'm just tired—I think I'll go to dinner and then straight to bed."

"Hey, man," Jerry patted him on the back sympathetically. "That's okay. I'll just show you the soccer fields and all the other outside sports, and then we can go to the dorm before dinner. Over here—on the soccer field, you can see our dorm room's window! Look!"

"Right…"

Jerry grinned at the sight of their room. "Okay, now let's keep going—hang in there, man, we're almost done."

Shrugging obediently, Jack shuffled after Jerry as they started up a small hill, arriving at a large soccer field, enclosed by a dark green track that wound around the edges of the green grass in an oval shape, white numbers labeling the different starting and ending positions. The field was mostly empty, but Jack could see a small group of kids passing the ball back and forth lightly. Even though their movements were casual, Jack detected serious skill in some of their passes and kicks to each other. Their moves were practiced and efficient, graceful and fluid.

Wait—was that Eddie? And Julie? And Milton?

All of them played soccer?

"Jerry, I didn't know you guys played soccer," Jack commented in an offhand tone as they continued to cross the running track. Jack stopped at the sand pit and kicked at the fine grains with the toe of his Vans, sticking his hands inside his jean pockets as he waited for an answer.

Jerry's face lit up. "Yeah, we do! We're all on the school team—I'm goalie, or at least I was last season. And the season before that. And the season before that…"

Jack held his hands up to stop the flow of words streaming out of the opposite teenager's mouth, now confident that Jerry had been on the team for at least a couple of years now—there was no need to rehash all of the seasons. "Do you have to try out again this year again or something? You know, because it's a new semester?"

"Yeah, but most of the regulars make it in again unless there's something seriously wrong with them. Hey, do you play soccer?" Jerry's dark eyes were hopeful as he appraised Jack with an air of professional interest; it was probably the most mature gaze Jack had ever seen Jerry possess. "We need a new forward…"

Jack continued to kick at the sand as he muttered, "I used to play a little bit. Not anymore, but…well…like I said, before."

Jerry's eyes lit up like a little kid's on Christmas morning. "Would you try out for the team? What position did you play?"

"Forward. Usually right or left."

"Perfect!" Jerry exclaimed in glee, his grin spreading across his face, the expression now starting to take on a creepy edge. "You have to try out for the team!"

Jack quickly backtracked, holding his hands up in defense as he struggled to avoid having to agree to Jerry's suggestion. He'd played for a long time before he'd quit two years ago or so, due to the fact that while he had been an excellent forward, the pressure of winning had been getting to him—and there was also the issue of the expenses that came with being a member on a traveling select team.

There was a reason Jack had been obliged to file for a scholarship to Bobby Wasabi Private Academy—this level of education was pricey, and even though his mom worked day and night to provide for him it sometimes wasn't enough. "Oh, no, I don't play anymore. I used to, I haven't played in at least two or three years, I probably really suck—"

"Watch out!"

Jack recognized the familiar sound of Eddie's voice, and he whipped sideways to meet Eddie's alarmed glance, struggling to take in the situation as quickly as he could. The group across the field, the one that had been juggling a ball back and forth, was now missingone crucial thing—the soccer ball itself. Milton, or one of them, must have kicked the ball at the wrong angle—it was now headed straight towards Jack's head. If he didn't move, it would smack him straight in the face.

"Jack!" Jerry cried out shrilly.

Without thinking, Jack threw himself backwards, twisting in midair, his natural instinct taking over as he aimed himself towards the ground, legs pointed skywards. He kicked at the ball as hard as he could as soon as it came within reach of his right foot. His aim was just a tiny bit off—instead of sending it sailing back towards Eddie, like he'd intended to do, the black-and-white sphere landed between Milton and Julie.

Still, though, Jack felt a tiny bit of satisfaction at the soccer maneuver—he hadn't performed a bicycle kick in at least a year, and his aim had been almost perfect.

Jerry, Milton, Julie, and Eddie gaped, open-mouthed, at Jack as soon as he'd picked himself up off of the ground and brushed the grass off of the back of his red-and-white plaid shirt, the ball rolling away from their group, all but forgotten as they stared at him in surprise.

Jerry was the first one to snap out of his daze, and his tone was incredulous as he spluttered at Jack. "And you say you 'probably really suck'?"

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first chapter! The first few paragraphs were a sort of prologue and they provide foreshadowing for the end of this story—so, naturally, those events won't appear again until the end.

Kim may have come across as cold and mean in this chapter, especially at the beginning, but keep in mind that she doesn't know Jack and Jack actually ran her over with his skateboard. She'll have additional reasons for her dislike, and their conflict will be explored further as the chapters go on.

Reviews would be lovely, thanks for reading.

—Ariana