The Game

The ball was at my feet. The opposing players glared at me with wicked smiles spread across their faces.
They were ready to attack.
I smiled wickedly as well, but inside, right at the pit of my stomach, I felt so unsure. It was only my friend, Tom and myself; outnumbered about ten to two.
I looked to my left and surveyed Tom. I noticed he hadn’t taken his eyes of the opposition.
The little nerd of a ref; a small red-haired boy, with thick-rimmed glasses, stood shakily; exchanging his glances from Tom and I, back to the large group of butch boys.

He held the whistle to his mouth...
I slammed my foot down onto the ball; ready...
Tom gulped beside me...
Four of the opposing players spat...

We waited...

A loud peep from the boy's whistle was sounded... and the game began.
Two burleigh players charged at me; I stood my ground.

"Er... Sasha?" squeaked a rather nervous Tom from beside me. "When you're ready."

Oh, I was ready. I knew I was ready. But the opportune moment hadn't arrived yet. We both knew the game plan, but I knew Tom was eagre to get it over and done.

I noticed that the two players who were charging exchanged glances for a second as they ran.