𝐌𝐈𝐀𝐏𝐒 - MBAPPÉ, BELLINGHAM, FÉLIX

Chapter Seven

ANYWHERE I WANT BUT HOME

Blood, sweat and tears. More than any match they'd played, and any dance I'd performed - Neymar, Grealish, Mbappé and I had put everything we had into Mr Levandowski's resit. I remember being so terrified when they walked into his classroom - I couldn't even look.  I was pacing outside the whole time like a woman possessed.

It had been an entire day since then, as Mr Levandowski asked us to allow him 24 hours to mark the papers.  Waiting with the three of them outside the Biology office, I couldn't help but feel sick to my stomach; my head was spinning along with the room, and time was moving - as if every second was a lifetime and every lifetime was a second. The boys didn't seem any more at ease...

"Do you think we did it?" Neymar asked, feebly.

"God knows." Grealish sighed. "The last few questions he gave us were brutal, and we need at least 56 out of 80 to raise our GPA enough."

The Brazilian let out a deep groan. "That would be the highest score I've ever got in my life."

In this situation, it was hard not to notice how oddly calm Kylian was. The usual expression encompassed his features. Cool. Collected. He didn't even looked phased by the prospect that he might not pass - and his whole captaincy was riding on it.

He seemed to notice my consternation, however - because unlike him, I was no good at staying calm in stressful situations. At least, not outside of Dance.

With a kind smile, the striker placed a hand on my shoulder, tapping it supportively.

"Stop panicking, Ronen." He said - his accent coating the words with a sultry kind of solace. "I promised you I wouldn't let you down, didn't I? I never break my promises."

The words were simple, but they were said so matter-of-factly it was as though he had told me the sky was blue.  I had no reason to doubt that kind of confidence.  Looking back, it may have been the moment I truly understood why Kylian was the captain. Although by all rights I should have been losing my mind I felt an odd sense of calm just from his words of reassurance. In times on the pitch when the stakes were high, I was sure he had the same effect on his teammates.

Time dragged on, and dragged our heartstrings along with it, but after what seemed like our own forever, we heard the hinges creak on the door to the office, and as it swang outwards, Mr Levandowski appeared in the frame with an indiscernible expression.

He made eye contact with every one of us, a stare as severe as it had ever been - and Kylian reached out for my hand, grasping it tightly.

Maybe he was a little nervous after all...

"Gentlemen." Our teacher finally spoke. "I honestly don't know what to say."

He extended his hand, and the papers within it, first to Neymar, then to Grealish, but kept Kylian's close to his chest.

"Neymar." He began. "God must love you. Because you got exactly 70 percent. Grealish..." He sighed. "I didn't think you had this in you, and I'm not going to pretend otherwise. You still can't spell, but the knowledge is there. 75 percent. Good lad."

The Brazillian looked, perhaps the most happy I'd ever seen him in that moment.  His green-flecked eyes were kaleidoscopes under the light - while Grealish simply let out a sight of relief.  Now there was only one man left.

"Kylian." Mr Levandowski deadpanned.  "I didn't expect you to fail in the first place, but I also didn't expect you to succeed to this extent." He turned the paper around, slowly. "Perhaps you should tutor Ronen from now on."