PREVIEW
... e kind of purgatory. The coach, a sleek, impersonal thing of blacked-out windows and leather seats, was silent. Not a nervous silence, not a fearful one, but a focused, almost meditative quiet.
The boys were all in their matching club tracksuits, a sea of blue and red, each lost in their own world. Some had headphones on, their eyes closed, the music a barrier against the enormity of what was to come.
Others stared out of the windows, their faces blank, their minds a million mile ...
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