There I stood, the most embarrassed boy ever to pout on a soccer field. 

"He should be on your team!" insisted Rock, even though it was her turn to pick a player. Only I remained unchosen. 

"What are you talking about?" blurted Folk, "Gabriel's clearly meant for your team."

Grunge put his arm around Rock's shoulder. "Hey, if Rock says she doesn't want him, why don't you just take him on your team? A freebie!"

"I don't think he'd really, uh..." Folk looked for a politic way to phrase things, "...fit. You know, like, with the team chemistry."

"Would someone just choose?" urged Alternative. Prog made a polyrhythmic grunting noise that suggested agreement. 

I could hardly take the shame anymore. I didn't care who chose me, I just wanted to play and try to forget about the whole thing. I took the ball and started kicking it around the field, just to distract myself.

Suddenly the other players were around me, each taking lunges at the ball. I scooted and fell and darted and jumped. Eventually I made an assist to Pop who kicked the ball into the goal.

Whose goal was it? Who knows? No one could decide on me, so there were no certain teams.

But, hey, it was kind of fun nonetheless.