Second Chances: Indonesian Football Player

Chapter 34's

After working out at the gym, my flatmates and I rode bicycles to the BIS (Brussels International School )

I've been used to riding my bike outdoors for hours over the past year. Riding a bike is freedom for me. That has been my way of moving quickly through the streets of Brussels.

"Damn ! When will the rain stop?" Stefan, who was riding his bike beside me, cursed loudly as we turned the corner and headed down the narrow asphalt road that connects Anderlecht's main road to our school .

Rain fell from the white sky—the velvet ceiling steadily and gently. The days in Brussels start to fade—as the inevitable winter draws near, every night arriving sooner than ever. The warm days of summer are long gone.

"Stop complaining and just go up" Damon snapped from behind me. "It's almost 10, and we're almost late for class."

"OK, Okay," cried Stefan, glancing back at his brother. "Let's race to see who will reach the school gates first. The loser cleaned the bathroom this week." He grinned from ear to ear.

"Friends, is this a deal?" He asked, making his bike stop all of a sudden. The other three followed and braked beside him.

"Agreed." Ryandi and Damon nodded in unison before preparing to start the race.

"What about you?" Stefan turned towards me as he tightened his jacket. The Norwegian is also preparing for a small race.

"I'll race" I replied. "But there is no penalty or bathroom cleaning for the losers. We have to keep a tight rotation of who's cleaning the apartment every week. That's the only fair way."

"Ner." Stefan took a breath. "You're not fun."

"Let's race without punishment" Damon cut, agreeing with Nero.

"This time, I won" Ryandi said, gripping the handlebars tighter.

"You wish..."

"Friends," interrupted Damon, his tone impatient. "We have to go to school before class starts."

"Three, two, one, and go" cried Stefan before leaving and preceding the others. Another boy followed him. Their bicycle wheels rolled over on the wet track, their speed bringing cold rain splashing onto their faces much harder than if they had just walked. Their waterproof outerwear has long failed to keep their bodies dry, making their pants wet like their legs.

Their race through the rain managed to get them to the school gate in less than four minutes. Damon Kvensson first, his brother second, me third, and Ryandi last.

I was unceasingly amazed by how quickly my Norwegian housemates were able to ride their bikes even though they were much slower than I was on foot. I sometimes contemplate how they might be better as professional cyclists than football players.

"My bike is not in the best condition." Ryandi sighed. "Otherwise, I'll cover the distance in less than a minute" he added in a serious tone. Others ignore him because this is not the first time he has blamed his equipment for losing a bike race.

They drove quietly across the school grounds at moderate speed. The courtyard is a lushly planted garden with a fine white stone walkway located on several winding paths above it. As a result of the rain, none of the students sat on the bench, chatting, reading, or eating packaged snacks. It seemed like they were all in three buildings, 3 stories tall, surrounding the vast U-shaped courtyard.

I parked my bike in the bike parking lot and took off my waterproof outerwear. I then followed my flat friends through the big glass door— into the building that contained my classroom.

Inside, the noisy conversation of the students rushing and frenzied in the corridor attacked our sense of hearing. They seem to be in one of the ten-minute breaks at the end of each lesson. A lively crowd of young students from various countries filled the hallway. Chaos is perfect, like a movie. Friends greet each other with hugs—or playful blows while the newcomers stand with frightened faces.

Most of the students gave way as Nero and his flatmates passed through the hallway to the staircase at the end of the building. Sports students with scholarships get a lot of respect from their peers. Nero rarely faced any bullying despite being relatively new to school.

But there are always exceptions to the norm.

As they climbed the stairs to the next floor, a group of students, one year older than them, blocked their steps. Jelle Mercx, Anderlecht U-19's replacement goalkeeper, descended the stairs in front of her small troupe of three, her lips curling into a wide grin.

"Well, okay—what do we have here?" She said. "Two wannabees from the third world pit accompanied by their two loser friends. What can I say? Anderlecht has fallen very far to include you as one of the potential players." The sycophant laughed at the comment as if he had just listened to a funny monologue brought by Eddie Murphy. I wonder how adults can find such nonsense funny.

"Here's the fool who messed up our day" whispered Stefan. "I just don't understand why the school didn't take it out." He groans.

"Disregard him," said Damon, his voice a little slow. "With the support of his father, he would never be expelled no matter what he did."

I didn't even stop my steps even to glance towards Mercx. I've long been used to the constant insults from tall Caucasian goalkeepers.

Following Damon, I avoided the silhouette of the goalkeeper and continued up the stairs. I can't waste my precious time on a useless quarrel with a jealous teenager.

However, Ryandi and Stefan stopped and stared intently at Mercx. The latter licked his lips and said in a sharp tone: "Give it, someday, I will hit you so badly that not even your mother will recognize you. Keep insulting me—and you will get what will happen. You." The Norwegian snorted before moving past the goalkeeper.

"Rinjandi!" I turned around, looking towards the boy who was still facing Mercx, who was standing almost a foot taller than him. "Have you come? We have less than ten minutes before the lesson starts."

Ryandi secretly gritted his teeth in frustration before following Stefan to climb the stairs.

"Coward was born a loser, from a loser mother," scorned Mercx, as Ryandi and Stefan were only a few steps away from him.

The two stopped in the middle of the stairs before turning around. "Tell me that again" grumbled Stefan, clenching his fists.