Ezra stood on the field, hands on his hips and his foot holding the ball still beneath it. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath. Everyday after school, he goes to the field to practice football. Or as the Americans say, "soccer".

It's a good way to clear his head, focus on something other than the fact that he's unbelievably lonely and struggling with his confidence. He misses his old friends, his old life.

Ezra's thoughts are interrupted by the sound of muttering down the field. He raises his head, finding a girl there, her face scrunched with focus as she kicks her ball from her foot to her knee and back to her foot, over and over again. She's so focused that she barely notices Ezra standing there, staring like an idiot, before she swings her leg forward and kicks the ball, launching it across the field.

The soccer ball barely misses Ezra's head as it wizzes past.

Man, she's good.