Ethan noticed the dragon on a Tuesday, which was his least favorite practice day because Coach Renata always made them run the long loop.

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The dragon was small — smaller than a border collie — and she had curled herself into the back corner of the goal net like she was trying to be invisible. She was doing a reasonable job of it, because her scales were the exact green of freshly cut grass, and her wings were folded flat against her sides.

Ethan was the only one who saw her. This was the kind of thing that happened to curious, quiet people, he had decided. You notice things because you are watching instead of talking.

He waited until practice ended and everyone else jogged to the parking lot for snacks. Then he walked to the goal very slowly, the way you walk toward a bird you do not want to startle.

"I'm not going to do anything," he said quietly. "I'm just curious."

The dragon lifted one golden eye.

"My name is Ethan. I play center midfield."

The dragon's name, it turned out, was Pell, and she had a problem that was exactly Ethan's size of problem: she could not get the ball past the goalkeeper. Not a human goalkeeper — the goalkeeper of her home team, a cloud dragon named Fenwick who was nine feet tall and had four arms.

"He reads every shot," Pell said, in a voice like rustling leaves. "I cannot surprise him."

Ethan sat down in the grass, cross-legged. He picked up a pebble and thought about this. He had the same problem with Marcus on the school team. Marcus was taller and faster, and the only goal Ethan had ever scored on him was an accident.

Or was it?

"Did you feint?" Ethan asked.

Pell blinked. "What is feint?"

Ethan stood up, found a pinecone that would serve as a passable ball, and showed her. You plant your foot like you are going left. The goalkeeper shifts. Then you go right. It is not lying exactly — it is letting someone's assumptions do the work for them.

Pell watched three times, her tail switching with interest. Then she tried it.

She was not graceful at first. Her wings got in the way on the second attempt and she tumbled sideways into the net. Ethan pressed his lips together so he would not laugh in a mean way, only a kind way.

By the fourth try, she had it.

She went left, stopped, and curled a neat shot to the right corner of the invisible goal she was practicing on.

"Fenwick would have dived the wrong way," Ethan said.

Pell's scales shifted from grass-green to the warm gold of late afternoon sun. It was, Ethan understood, a blush.

"Thank you," she said.

"Come back Thursday if you want to practice more," he said.

She did.