"I put in extra socks," she said. "And your history textbook. You have an essay due on Thursday."
"Mum," Alex said, leaning against the fridge. "I am going to play against AC Milan. I cannot write about the Tudors."
"Henry the Eighth did not care about football," she said firmly. "And neither does Mr. Henderson. Pack the book."
Alex sighed. He packed the book.
He arrived at the training ground. He was not "Bastian early". He was "on time".
He walked into the locker room.
It was quiet. Everyone was tired. The Liverpool game had broken them a little bit.
Bastian was sitting in an ice bath. He looked like a polar bear.
"Professor," Bastian grunted. "You are walking like a penguin."
"My legs are gone, Bastian," Alex admitted. "I left them at the Emirates."
"You ran twelve kilometers," Bastian said. "For a small boy, that is too much. You must be careful. The engine will explode."
