The summer was a blur of gold medals, open-top buses, and Milo screaming into Alex's phone.
But eventually, the noise faded. The confetti was swept away. The trophies were put on shelves (Alex's mum had to buy a bigger shelf).
It was August.
The new season was starting.
Alex walked into the Arsenal training ground. He was not a kid anymore. He was seventeen. He was a European Champion.
He walked into the first team locker room.
It was quiet.
He went to his locker. Number 38.
It was empty.
His name was gone.
Alex felt a sudden panic. Did they sell me? Did I get fired?
"Relax, Professor," a deep voice grunted.
Bastian was sitting in his usual spot, drinking coffee. He looked bigger than ever.
"You are not fired," Bastian said. "You moved."
"Moved?"
"You are not Number 38 anymore," Bastian said. "Go look at the main row."
Alex walked to the center of the locker room. The prime spots. Where the superstars sat.
He saw Antoine's locker. Number 10.
