Chapter 15
I BOUNCE ON THE front of my feet, just barely coming off the ground. “D á KITI” plays as loud as my AirPods will go. After a few hops, I do some extra stretching, feeling the pull of my leg muscles as my gloved hands hold on to the tips of my cleats.
It’s been two weeks since Leana called us off, and I’m feeling good.
Moved on. Clearer in my head. I’ve traded morning runs outside for the student athletes’ gym (and the roomies and Kat even join sometimes).
We’re over a month into the semester. Got a solid B+ on the Plato’s Cave essay with a note from Coolidge saying that I’m doing good work.
Nutrition: A; Calculus: A; except for Philosophy, everything’s an A.
After another away game, we’re back home this week.
It’s surprisingly fresh this Saturday for South Texas, a beautiful day for some football as long as I don’t put too much thought into if cool, low eighties in late September is because of climate change.
It’s like all the pieces of my life are situating themselves now, having figured out what’s what, and we’re entering round two of Gabi’s First Semester of College ready for a KO. Flawless victory, even.
Something bumps into my shoulder. No, not something. Ahmed. First one’s sort of a strong shove and then three, four, five quick ones that are more annoying than actually trying to get me off balance. I let out a breath before turning my head to him, tilting my chin up while taking out my earphones.
“?Qu é quieres, ching ó n?”
“Your tutor’s here,” he says with a smirk. The whole house is in on this now. How Pi n a gets dumped by a girl and steals her best friend. Pinches payasos, all of them.
I give him an eye roll before turning around and immediately spotting Vale at the front, standing next to Kat. A couple weeks ago, I was imagining Leana here too, all excited to have a girlfriend be at my home games, maybe wearing a shirt she made with my name on the back.
Now that’s just a memory, but I don’t feel like I’m lacking anything.
I’m happy. I’ve still got my parents farther down the stands, closer to my goalpost. I’ve got my friends.
My teammates. I’ve got Vale smiling at me as I wave and jog the few steps over to the seats, hopping on the metal railing that separates them and the pitch to get closer to him and Kat.
“You showed up. I thought you had to work.”
“I told my cousins they could handle the store without me for the rest of the day. Especially because their hungover asses had me opening by myself this morning. And there was no way I was missing out on this. But I didn’t have a chance to stop by their house and change into something Islandery.”
I take a look at him and his simple heather-gray tee and navy shorts. “I—hold on. I’ve got you.”
It only takes a few seconds for me to jump back down to the grass, rush over to the bench my bag’s hiding under, open it and grab my team jacket—a green windbreaker, Islander Soccer on the left chest with a ball, and PI ? A on the back above the big, bold 1 —and then be back over to Vale, holding it out for him. “Wear this.”
He looks a little shocked, his mouth open slightly, his arms crossed over his chest. “You—are you sure?”
I shrug my shoulders and shake my hand holding the jacket, like I’m signaling for him to just take it. “Yeah. I’m holding it out for you. Why wouldn’t I be sure?”
“I just … it’s yours .”
“Yeah. I know. That’s why I get to hand it to you. Unless you also think it’d be too warm over your shirt, but it’s pretty thin.”
Kat, first looking just as confused as Vale, eventually calms the muscles in their face and nudges him with their elbow, and that finally persuades him to take those couple steps up to me and grab the jacket.
He slowly puts it on, like he’s trying to be extra careful.
It’s a little roomy on him, but not enough to be wearing him.
“Looks good on you.”
“Thanks, Gabi,” Vale tells me softly. His cheeks get that slight maroon color again, probably from the breeze of wind that rushes by. “Go kick some ass.”
“Always. And first attempt I block today, all yours,” I say back, pushing myself off the railing and giving him a wink before running to Coach and the team, all ready to start the game.
“First block all yours, huh?” P é rez teases, just loud enough for me to hear, nudging my side and winking. “Dale, papi.”
“ Bro , shut up. It’s not like that.”
“Yo s é , Chivo. I saw how fast you moved with your girl. And I live right under you. If it was like that, I’d be hearing some ‘Ay Gabi. Ay Gabi.’ ”
“I hate you.”
“I’m just happy to see you not all mopey anymore after what’s her name broke up with you.”
“Also not like that.”
“Whatever. First goal I make today’s all yours, papi,” he says, even adding the wink before running onto the pitch.
The biggest payaso, that one.
And, twenty-three minutes into the game, when one of the players from New Mexico State sprints toward me, flanked by a couple of his teammates, eyes red with determination, I’m more than ready. I do a couple extra hops, smiling, showing him that he’s got a keeper who can’t wait to block his shot.
I watch his movements, where his eyes go, looking for any sign of what’s about to go down.
Any footwork that says he’s about to pass or try to fake me out.
Whether I should step forward and away from my goal or stay put here.
My attention goes to his teammates for a second and I notice them focused on him too, like we’re all waiting for something that should’ve happened already.
Instead, he’s rushing closer and closer, ignoring his guys, blinded to everything but him, me, and the net behind me.
Even as his boys start yelling at him, nothing. Closer, and closer still.
He’s gone rogue. He’s not thinking anymore. He’s just going to— shit .
A slow keeper wouldn’t have seen it coming, and a too-cocky one might’ve bet that this guy is bluffing with his shot. Either might’ve ended up with a concussion for it. A more timid one might’ve decided holding their ground wasn’t worth it and dived away, pretending to have miscalculated.
But me? In the less than a second it all happens, that fight-or-flight mode firmly decides that we’re fighting.
My stance goes firm, my arms spring up in a diamond shape, bending at the elbows, and my hands close right at my forehead, keeping six or so inches of space so that when my gloves stop the ball, that recoil doesn’t end up knocking me out.
It’s the second after that when my brain catches up.
When I start feeling the sting on my palms and fingers, I’m letting out a thankful breath for gloves.
If I had been any slower, I’d most likely be lying on the grass, unconscious.
As I catch my breath, the adrenaline rushing through my body starts going away, and frustration follows it.
“The fuck was that?” I yell to the other player.
He only gives me his back, showing me the TRUJILLO on his jersey while he walks away, ignoring me.
He knew what he was doing. Everything about it, from how close he got to the fact that he was aiming directly for my face, was purposeful.
He better be glad my family’s here. My mom would drag me off the pitch by my ear if I started a fight.
The sound of a whistle and Coach’s “Leave it, Pi n a!” forces me to clear my head. We’ve still got more game. And, if anything, now I’m a hundred times more committed to making sure we send them back to New Mexico with a fat L on their record.
“I’ve got it handled,” Nguyen tells me, patting my shoulder. “He won’t get that close again.”
“Good,” I say before moving on, spotting Barrera out of the corner of my vision. A solid kick sends the ball flying and landing right at his feet, and he’s off.
After that, when everything on my end’s not going a million miles a minute and I can finally let my brain and body take a breather, letting out a sigh, walking in a slow circle, my hands clasped at the back of my head, I hear a familiar voice yelling, “?Dale, Pi n a! ?A huevo!” Kat screams for me and then starts cheering on Nguyen protecting Cap.
And next to them, I see Vale, wearing my jacket, hands cupped over his mouth as he lets out a “Woo!” When he notices me looking his way, he gives me a wave, and I point back to him, whatever bothered was left in me washed away seeing his smile.
Because what’s important is that I stopped that ball. Just like I always do. And there’s no way today, while Vale’s watching me, wearing my name and number, after I told him that my first block of the game is all his, I do anything less than my usual and my best.
Told you. First one’s for you. And the next one too.
No one keeps me humble like my parents. They’re my day-one cheer squad, and if I had a dollar for every time they’ve told me they’re proud of me, I wouldn’t ever have to worry about if I have enough scholarships to pay for school.
I know they’re going to tell all their friends and the family WhatsApp about how I’m nearing the top twenty-five in a lineup of NCAA Men’s Record Holders for Consecutive Shutout Minutes.
They scream louder than anyone else in the crowd as they watch me increase that shutout by another ninety minutes.
And I know that, whenever Pops has any critiques about my gameplay, he’s always going to sandwich them in between all the things I’m doing well.