Before Assembly, there was a big crowd of people standing around Dillon. It was as if he’d already made his debut for Hawkstone.

Jamie sat down and tried to read the sports pages of his paper. He wanted to work out how many points Hawkstone were behind Foxborough in the league table. It was impossible, though. All Jamie could hear was Dillon’s voice.

“Yeah, I’ll have an agent soon,” he was saying. “They’ll sort out the contract and everything – I’ll just turn up and play.”

“Wow, that’s so cool!” said a group of girls who had joined the crowd. They were pushing one another to get closer to Dillon. “How much money are you going to earn?”

“A lot. And the best bit about it is that it’s the stupid fans like him who’ll be paying my wages!”

Jamie didn’t have to look up to know that Dillon was pointing at him. He could feel his forehead burning as he sensed everyone’s eyes on him.

“Poor old Johnson,” Dillon continued. “Sooner or later he’s got to accept the fact that he just ain’t gonna be a player. That’s it, mate – you read about the professionals. You’re never gonna be one.”

Jamie ignored him and turned the page of the newspaper. It was best not to get involved; whenever he and Dillon had a fight, it was always Jamie who ended up coming off worse.

“You’ll go to watch Hawkstone with your granddaddy and you’ll be cheering me on when I score a goal. You’ll probably even tell people you know me!”

The group around Dillon were starting to laugh. Even the girls. Jamie tried to force a smile to make it look as though he didn’t care what Dillon said. He knew one thing, though: he would never cheer anything that Dillon did. Ever.

“I mean the only person that actually likes him is Jack – and she’s way too fit to be going out with a minger like him! I might have her myself, actually. Footballers can get any girl they want. And she needs a real man, not a—”

That was too much.

“Yeah?” said Jamie, putting his paper down and snarling fiercely at Dillon. “And why would any girl be interested in someone with big, fat spots all over their face?”

“Oooooh!” the group around Dillon said in unison. They cleared a space between Jamie and Dillon. “Fight! Fight! Fight!” they started chanting.

“No girl would come anywhere near you,” Jamie carried on, getting up from his chair now. “I’ve seen you pick your nose and eat it! And your breath stinks!”

“That’s cos I’ve been kissing your mum,” Dillon laughed. “And she’s—”

Without even realizing it, Jamie had launched himself at Dillon. His head was swarming with anger.

“Come on, then. Let’s see what you’ve got,” Dillon taunted.

But as Jamie rushed towards Dillon, he felt his legs tangle beneath him and he fell over.

Dillon had tripped him up and now, as Jamie lay prone on the floor, all he could see above him was Dillon’s ugly face snorting with laughter.

“When will you learn?” he sneered. “You’re a skinny little runt and you shouldn’t mess with people that are stronger than you.”

Dillon’s words stabbed Jamie’s brain. Anger and embarrassment spread through him; everyone had seen what had happened.

Then Dillon turned to the group that had been watching the whole time. He pointed at Jamie and said: “No wonder he’ll never be a footballer! He can’t even stand up!”