"Henry the Eighth had six wives," Alex muttered to himself as he walked down the corridor. "Divorced, beheaded, died... divorced, beheaded, survived."

"Like Arsenal's season," a voice said behind him.

Alex turned. It was Mr. Henderson, his history teacher. He was holding a coffee cup that said I'd Rather Be Reading.

"Morning, sir," Alex said.

"Morning, Finch," Mr. Henderson said. "I saw the game. That cross to Harry Kane... very precise. Almost as precise as your analysis of Anne Boleyn's downfall."

"I hope so, sir."

"You look tired, son," the teacher said kindly. "Take a nap in study hall. I won't tell the principal."

"Thanks, sir," Alex smiled.

He walked into the common room. It was empty, except for one person.

A girl.

She was sitting at a table, surrounded by books. She had curly brown hair and glasses that were slightly too big for her face.

She was reading a book about astrophysics.

Alex knew her. Her name was Maya. She was the smartest student in the school. She got A-stars in everything.

She looked up.

"Oh," she said. "It's the footballer."

"Hi, Maya," Alex said, putting his bag down.

"Did you win?" she asked, turning a page.

"Yes. We beat Liverpool."

"That is statistically improbable," she said. "Anfield is a fortress. The probability of an away win is less than 15%."

Alex blinked. "You... you watch football?"

"I watch data," Maya said. "I like patterns. Football is just chaos theory with a ball."

Alex smiled. This was his language.

"Chaos can be controlled," Alex said, sitting down opposite her. "If you find the right variable."

Maya looked at him over her glasses. Her eyes were bright green.

"And you are the variable?" she asked.

"I try to be," Alex said. "Sometimes I am just... the bait."

Maya closed her book. "Interesting. You are not as... simple... as the other athletes."

"Mark thinks the moon is made of cheese," Alex admitted.

Maya laughed. It was a nice laugh. "Well, Finch. If you ever need help calculating the trajectory of a free kick... let me know. I am good with parabolas."

"I might take you up on that," Alex said.

The bell rang.

"Physics," Maya said, standing up. "Don't be late, Professor."

She winked and walked away.

Alex watched her go.

He felt... different. Not tired anymore.

He felt... awake.

Mark was waiting outside school in the afternoon.

He was not in a car. Or a scooter.

He was on a horse.

A literal, brown, very large horse.

He was wearing a cowboy hat and boots with spurs.

"YEE-HAW!" Mark screamed, waving a lasso.

The entire school was staring.

"Mark," Alex said, walking over slowly. "Why is there a horse in the car park?"

"Milo!" Mark beamed. "He got a deal with a ranch in Texas! ' The Arrow Rides West'! I am a cowboy, Alex! I am the Sheriff of Goals!"

The horse snorted and stomped its hoof. It looked annoyed.

"Mark, get off the horse," Alex said. "You are going to fall."

"I have balance!" Mark insisted. "I am stable! Like you!"

The horse took a step. Mark wobbled. He screamed. He fell off.

THUD.

He landed in a bush.

"I meant to do that!" Mark yelled from the leaves. "It was a tactical dismount!"

Alex sighed. He helped Mark up. The horse looked at them with judgment.

"Lets take a taxi," Alex said.

The training ground was buzzing.

Steve, the manager, was waiting. He looked excited.

"Wednesday," Steve said. "Champions League. Matchday Five."

He clicked the remote.

A logo appeared.

A black and yellow bee.

"Borussia Dortmund?" Mark asked, pulling leaves out of his hair.

"No," Steve said. "Young Boys. From Switzerland."

"Young Boys?" Mark laughed. "That is a funny name. Are they actually young?"

"They are champions," Steve said seriously. "And they play on... plastic."

"Plastic?" Antoine asked, looking horrified. "Like... a toy pitch?"

"Artificial turf," Steve said. "It is fast. It is bouncy. And it burns your skin if you slide."

He looked at the team.

"We need a win to qualify for the knockouts. But we cannot play our normal game. The ball moves differently."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. The bounce is weird. The spin is weird. You have to adjust. You have to calculate."

Alex nodded. "I will calculate."

"Also," Steve said. "It is cold in Switzerland. Very cold. Wear your gloves."

The flight to Bern was beautiful. Snow-capped mountains. Blue lakes.

"It looks like a postcard," Jude said, looking out the window.

"It looks cold," Antoine shivered. He was wearing three scarves.

They arrived at the stadium. The Wankdorf Stadium.

Mark giggled at the name for ten minutes.

They walked onto the pitch.

It was green. But it was shiny. It was fake grass.

Alex bounced a ball. It shot up like a rocket.

"Whoa," Mark said. "It is like a bouncy castle!"

"Control is key," Alex said. "Don't let it bounce."

Wednesday night.

It was freezing. Minus five degrees.

Alex stood in the tunnel. He was wearing gloves, leggings, and a long-sleeved undershirt. He looked like a ninja.

The Young Boys players looked comfortable. They were used to the cold. They were used to the plastic.

The whistle blew.

The game was fast. Too fast.

The ball zipped across the plastic surface.

Arsenal struggled. Their touches were heavy. Passes went out of play.

Alex tried to play a through ball to Mark. It bounced and flew away like a tennis ball.

"Too bouncy!" Mark yelled.

Young Boys attacked. They knew how to play here. They kept the ball on the ground. They ran fast.

In the 20th minute, they scored.

A low cross. A tap in.

One zero. Young Boys.

The Swiss fans went wild. They were jumping up and down to keep warm.

Arsenal were freezing. Literally and metaphorically.

"We are frozen!" Antoine complained. "My toes are ice cubes!"

Alex stood in the middle. He needed a plan.

The ball bounces too much. So... don't let it bounce.

He looked at Jude.

"Jude!" Alex yelled. "No long balls! No chips!"

"So what?" Jude asked.

"Floor is lava!" Alex said. "Keep it on the carpet! Hard passes! To feet!"

"Got it," Jude said.

Alex changed the rhythm.

He stopped trying the killer pass. He played short, sharp passes. Bang. Bang. Bang.

He passed to Antoine's feet. Antoine controlled it instantly.

"Better," Antoine said.

They started to move.

In the 40th minute, Alex got the ball.

He saw Mark making a run.

Mark pointed to the space.

Alex shook his head. No.

He passed to Mark's feet.

Mark had to stop. He was annoyed.

But the defender had kept running, expecting the long ball.

Mark turned. The defender was gone.

Mark was open.

He drove at the goal.

He shot.

The keeper saved it.

But the rebound...

It fell to Jude.

Jude didn't let it bounce. He volleyed it.

GOAL!

One one.

Jude roared. Steam came out of his mouth like a dragon.

"The floor is lava!" Jude yelled.

Halftime. One one.

They were cold. They were tired.

Steve gave them hot tea.

"Good adjustment," Steve said. "Keep it low. Keep it fast."

He looked at Alex.

"Professor. They are sitting deep now. They are scared of Jude. They are leaving space... outside the box."

"Shooting range?" Alex asked.

"Yes. But on this pitch... the ball doesn't dip. It skids. Shoot low."

"Got it," Alex said.

Second half.

Arsenal pressed.

Alex got the ball thirty yards out.

The Young Boys defense backed off.

Alex looked at the goal.

He remembered the physics. Friction is lower on plastic.

He wound up.

He didn't try to curl it. He didn't try to lift it.

He hit a "Daisy Cutter".

A hard, flat drive along the ground.

The ball flew. It didn't bounce. It hissed across the plastic.

The keeper dived.

But the ball was too fast. It skidded under his hand.

It hit the corner.

GOAL!

Two one. Arsenal.

Alex ran to the corner. He pretended to be freezing. He rubbed his arms.

Antoine ran over and wrapped him in a hug. "Warmth! We need warmth!"

They held on.

It wasn't pretty. It was cold. It was slippery.

But they won.

Final whistle. Arsenal 2. Young Boys 1.

They had qualified for the knockout stages.

Steve hugged Alex.

"You figured it out," Steve said. "The plastic. The bounce. Smart."

Milo was waiting in the tunnel. He was wearing a ski suit. A gold ski suit. With fur.

"THE ICEMAN!" Milo screamed. "ALEX! THE GOAL WAS COLD! I AM SELLING ICE CUBES! 'FINCH FROST'!"

Alex ignored him. He just wanted a hot shower.

Back in London.

Thursday morning.

Alex walked into school. He felt good. He was a winner.

He saw Maya in the common room.

She was reading a book about quantum mechanics.

"Did you calculate the friction coefficient of the plastic pitch?" she asked without looking up.

"It was low," Alex smiled, sitting down. "Very low."

"I saw the goal," she said. "Low center of gravity. Efficient force transfer. Nice."

"Thanks," Alex said.

She looked at him.

"You have a smudge of mud on your cheek," she said.

Alex rubbed his face. "Oh. Thanks."

"And," she added, "your tie is crooked."

She reached out. She fixed his tie.

Her hands were warm.

Alex felt his heart do a weird flip. It wasn't a matchday flip. It was... different.

"Thanks," he whispered.

"No problem, Professor," she smiled.

The bell rang.

"Physics," she said. "Don't be late."

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