Impossible is Nothing

Benz decided to break and a yellow trickled into the corner, bringing ironic groans of disappointment from the assembled spectators. He couldn't follow up though and you levelled things with a straightforward red into the opposite corner. You couldn't quite cut the next shot into the middle pocket so Robbo stepped up and punished you by pocketing two easy yellows. He also left Curtis with no real options as he was tight to the edge cushion so he nudged into a cluster of reds to give Mr Benz few options either.

He tried anyway and brilliantly ricocheted the white into the pocket as well as spreading the reds for you into the bargain. You now had two shots and the table had opened up nicely. You frustratingly didn't quite connect enough to send the first red in but left it blocking the corner pocket whilst tapping in an easier option with your second shot. Next up, you angled a good strike into the top corner but hit it too firmly so the ball rattled off both knuckles and span away.

The audience audibly cursed your misfortune as Mr Robbo skipped back to the table. He had a couple of options but only managed to leave a yellow agonisingly teetering over the middle pocket before leaving the white ball close in to the black. Curtis had little option but to pocket the red you'd left in the corner previously but that opened the game up some for him.

He potted two but Mr Benz potted two himself to leave both teams with two remaining balls and the black. The tension was ridiculous for a fun game and every face in the room had a smile on it as though something special was happening. Benz's second shot was a really smart cut into the far corner and you felt his confidence was utterly unhampered by potting that white earlier.

You potted your first red- a straight shot into the middle pocket but hadn't got the backspin right and would have to set Curtis up and hope Mr Robbo couldn't capitalise. The black was tight against the bottom cushion so finishing in one visit would be no picnic. You rolled the last red ball into the vicinity of the corner pocket but where Robbo left the white would determine how straightforward a shot Curtis would have. You'd at some point taken to patting one another on the back or fist-bumping between shots - this shared, tense encounter had brought you into a strange state of temporary friendship.

Robbo and Benz were chest-bumping, high fiving and all sorts which kept the spectators entertained but, you felt, very firmly in your corner. It'd be hilarious to see these two brought down to earth.

Robbo pocketed one yellow but he really fluffed the last, which meant Curtis had a rudimentary shot on that final red. At this point, Courtney arrived - perching on the arm of a battered brown leather sofa in a big fluffy dressing gown and some of those God-awful sliders.

Why? Who could say? But her arrival meant Curtis tried to show off. He'd played brilliantly all game but now, trying to rub the shame into the teachers, he ostentatiously looked away as he hit the shot. It was showboating but this was the Titanic. The red rattled off both cushions in the corner and away into the middle of the beize.

The disappointment in the crowd was like a living thing. "Garstang, you dickhead!" Cried one of his mates and Curtis had his face buried in his arm. He knew he'd blown it. Immortality evaporated in an instant.

He apologised as Benz and Robbo danced around with glee but Benz's shot on that last yellow wasn't simple by any means and surely even grown-ass men would be nervous in this environment?

However, he got his angles spot on and you watched that yellow ball roll directly towards the corner pocket.

And stop. He'd just left it right in the jaws - a featherlite touch would send it in and Robbo clapped him on the shoulder because his task would be easy.

Your best chance to get this last red was the middle pocket. Curtis could barely watch, he had been ashen-faced since his miss and you could see him biting his lip and almost praying you pulled something off here. Your hands were shaking and you took several deep breaths. "C'mon Elliott!" Said several kids from the year above. In ten minutes, everyone on the trip had learned who you were...

Benz and Robbo clung to one another in excited apprehension. You could kind of see exactly where you needed to hit the red, about 40% right side but gentler than your earlier effort, the middle pocket's knuckles were sharp and unforgiving. But a little love-tap would send her on her way...

You connected and felt a surge of hope. That felt good and you watched the angle the red made from the trajectory of the white, this would be in the ballpark.. a huge "ohhhhhhhhhh" rose as the ball made its agonising journey - it was bang on, wasn't it?

The cheer that erupted as it dropped brought complaints from neighbours of the hostel went the rumour the day after, Curtis bear-hugged you and raised you off the ground and most of the onlookers were out of their seats. Now, in the crowd, were Daisy, Lauren and Millie as well as Sam and Holly- still together in conversation but eager to see what all the noise and fuss was about.

The black was nestled against the cushion and whilst you could probably cut it - the corner pocket was obstructed by the last remaining yellow. The only options were to lay it up so Robbo would be snookered (but even then it wasn't too difficult to bounce it in off the opposite cushion and that would leave a really simple shot on the black), or to try to double it into the opposite corner yourself. With the second option, all sorts could go wrong- the white could follow it in or go in instead, the black could get left right over the pocket as the yellow was in the other corner and Mr Robbo would have two shots a seven year old could make to win.

You looked around. Lauren had done her makeup and had lost the chapped lips, she was in skintight black leggings and a baggy grey hoodie with her hair up and these preppy black spectacles on. She looked, and you'd never forget it, fucking spectacular. But it was the way her glossy lips mouthed "go on, Elliott" and her eyes widened in excitement that for everyday afterwards still had the potential to electrify your every nerve.

So in slow motion, the world becoming numb and some form of out-of-body trance-like state taking over, you bent into position felt your eyes flit from the black, to the empty corner, and back again. Your head nodded. "That corner" you promised and you smacked the cueball squarely in the centre. There was no breathless pause this time because there were three sounds: the cue striking the ball, the white colliding with the black and the black rattling into oblivion exactly as you'd intended. The white trundled into empty space off the bottom cushion and the whole gaff erupted.

A game of pool against a couple of teachers on a school history trip was the spark that ignited your popularity. Your life now was pretty sweet (if complicated!) but you will always feel it was Curtis and that moment that set things in motion.

From an instinctive and good game of pool, life was about to get very much more interesting...