I woke up to the sound of boxes being hauled across the landing. It took me a minute to realize what was going on but when I did I felt myself stiffen. Dad was moving Matty's stuff out of his bedroom and into the room that holds all the other shit which reminds him of stuff he can't deal with, i.e. my mother. I wondered, if I got up would he make me help? Not sure I can handle that just yet. Better to make myself scarce and hope he's not whipping himself up into a frenzy. I pulled out my phone and hit the group message option marked 'the boys'. Wake up your little knobs, it's time for shits and giggles. Meet you at the field in 30 mins. I jumped out of bed, showered and did a few exercises for good measure. I looked in the mirror and was suitably impressed with what I saw. Just a few press-ups and sit-ups and everything was where it should be. Ripped and ready. 'Where are you off to? I need a hand here.' Dad was struggling along with what looked like a box of ten-year-old trophies. From back when Matty gave a shit about his sport. 'No can do Dad, captain business, can't be put on hold, sorry.' 'No problem. The boys need good leadership. Don't take any prisoners son, sport and a pussy attitude don't mix. You remember that it's rugby that has got you into Roundview. You're only there because we assured Professor Blood you'll win matches.' 'I know that, Dad.' I sighed remembering the Ds on my GCSE results page. 'Don't let us down, OK?' I felt my body tense at the thought. I wouldn't let that happen. 'All under control, Dad.' I smiled. I sprinted down the stairs before he could say anything else.