The wall never passed the ball back kindly.
Theo learned that within minutes.
The first pass came back too fast, slamming into his ankle. He winced but didn't stop. He adjusted his stance, angled his foot, tried again. This time the ball returned lower, skidding along the cracked concrete.
Better.
The street was empty. No Luke. No shouts. No arguments about fouls that never counted anyway. Just Theo, the ball, and the wall that stood where a teammate used to.
He passed again.
One touch. Two. Turn. Pass.
The ball came back.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Theo lost count of how many times he repeated the same movement. He imagined players around him — shadows filling the tight space. He pictured Luke making a run. Gabriel laughing. Someone calling for the ball.
But when he looked up, there was only silence.
The ball rolled away after a poor touch. Theo chased it down the street, stopping it with the sole of his foot. He stood still for a moment, chest rising and falling.
He hated this feeling more than losing.
Being left behind.
Later that afternoon, Theo sat on the doorstep, spinning the ball between his hands. From where he sat, he could see the distant training ground lights flicker on — far enough to feel unreal, close enough to hurt.
That's where Luke was now.
Real grass. Cones. Coaches with whistles.
Theo pressed the ball against his forehead and closed his eyes.
He didn't know drills. He didn't know formations. But he knew one thing better than anyone he knew.
How to survive without space.
He stood up and placed the ball near the wall again.
This time, he imagined the wall as three defenders.
Pass. Move. Receive.
No wasted touch.
If the space was tight, he would become tighter.
"Talking to the wall again?"
Theo turned. His grandmother stood behind him, holding a small bag. She watched him for a moment before smiling.
"It doesn't complain," Theo said.
She laughed softly and sat nearby, watching him play. She didn't say much — she never needed to. Her presence was enough.
Theo tried something new. He passed, let the ball return, then flicked it sideways with the outside of his foot. The ball clipped the wall and came back awkwardly. He lost control, stumbled, almost fell.
He laughed despite himself.
Again.
This time, it worked.
His grandmother clapped once, quietly.
That night, Theo lay on his bed staring at the ceiling. The posters above him seemed to watch back. Ronaldinho smiled like he knew something Theo didn't yet. Neymar looked fearless. Ronaldo looked unstoppable.
Theo clenched his fists.
"I'll find a way," he whispered.
Outside, the street was quiet.
But somewhere, a circle was forming.
And Theo was learning how to stay inside it.