Chapter 9
Mireya
By minute seven, Iris Vance has already fired twice at goal and both shots have gone over the bar.
The ball sails over the crossbar. The crowd groans. Diana, in the technical area, drags one hand across the back of her neck and lets out a sharp breath. Her hair is pulled back tight, and her pants fit close, and I shouldn't be noticing any of that.
Iris turns toward Jade Herrera with her palms open, and her complaint carries over the crowd's “ugh.”
“Come on, play it to feet before I retire, not always over the top,” she says.
Jade answers something I can't make out. Iris slaps her own thigh and nods before heading back to her position.
To my right, Tina chews gum at a frantic pace while her leg bounces non-stop. Hades works the sideline in frustration, shouting, giving instructions, but none of the attacking moves go anywhere. To make it worse, our backline is a little off today.
I need to be on the field. I'm not used to the bench, and this is killing me. The only thing that gives me any comfort is watching Hades correct Iris exactly as she corrected me in Florida. No closer, no more distant. The same. And that means she works the same way with everyone, no favorites.
One of the opposing center backs is noticeably slower than the other; Nika could beat her for pace easily, but she keeps rushing her runs and walking into offside traps.
In the twenty-eighth minute, an opposing player receives between the lines, turns, spots the space behind Zoe, and sends a pass that lands at her striker's feet. Shot. Castillo punches it away as best she can, and it goes out for a corner.
On the bench, Diana lets out a long breath and jots something on the tablet.
“That pass. Third time she's done it.”
“Yeah,” I say, not looking over.
“You're seeing it?”
“I'm seeing it,” I confirm.
In the thirty-eighth minute, Lucía takes a poor pass from Carter, loses the ball, and the opposing team swarms. Three passes and they're in the box. Shot. Goal.
Down a goal.
The entire bench sinks at the exact same moment. Tina mutters “no, no, no” through her teeth and flattens the gum against her tongue. Ethan drops his pencil on the floor. I stop breathing when I feel twenty-five thousand people go silent all at once.
Iris pulls her jersey up over her head, as if not seeing the scoreboard could erase the result. Then she turns her eyes toward the bench, looks at me, and then at Hades, who still stands with both arms crossed and her jaw set.
Thankfully, halftime comes before they score again, because the other team has found their confidence, and they're basically camped around our goal.
The locker room atmosphere is nothing like what I'm used to.
At Aura Valley, going in at halftime losing was normal; honestly, trailing 0-1 would've counted as a decent result.
Here, the players come in with their heads down, some silent, others cursing under their breath.
It's practically a tragedy. They look like they're about to lose their jobs if they don't turn it around.
Iris drops onto her seat, yanks off her cleats, and throws them at the floor harder than necessary, muttering something about how they don't bring her luck anymore and she's going to burn them in a bonfire.
Lucía stares at the ceiling. Zoe grabs two water bottles and passes one to Tina without being asked.
When Hades walks in, every player goes quiet.
“What an absolute disaster of a game!” she says. First thing out of her mouth.
She takes us through a series of adjustments on the whiteboard, and I start thinking that this team's problem might be that it has too many systems.
At the fifty-minute mark we're still down 0-1. Iris drops five yards deeper to receive. Left foot. She turns. Sends a long ball to Park, who shoots and wins a corner. Exactly as Hades had drawn it up.
The opposing number ten receives between the lines again. This time Zoe is positioned higher and cuts her off without ceremony. Foul and a card. Iris throws her arms up and says something within earshot of the sideline reporters. That'll probably be on every sports show tomorrow.
“Guerrero, warm up,” I hear in the fifty-fifth minute.
I stand and grab one of the orange training vests from the basket beside the bench. The fabric is slightly rough on the inside, and the neck tag scrapes against my nape.
“You're going on for Nika,” Hades says, eyes still on her tablet. “Same position, but drop deeper to receive between the lines. Find the channel.”
Beside me, Tina already has her vest on and signals me to follow her to the warm-up area along the sideline. The game is in the fifty-sixth minute, and Lucía just barely cleared a long ball that could have caused serious problems.
“Okay, with me, let's go. Jog. Ten shuttles, then a sprint,” Tina murmurs, I think more to herself than to me.
Tina jogs to my left with short, loose strides. Her headband is crooked, and the chewing gum is tucked into her cheek. She doesn't talk, and she almost never shuts up, so she must be really wound up.
On the field, Iris receives a pass that's too long and throws her hands up.
“Okay, now.” I hear.
“What?”
“Sprint.”
We sprint. Twenty yards. Jog back. Twenty yards. Jog back.
On the third rep, Tina falls two steps behind, and when we stop, she grabs my elbow.
“You're going to score. I can feel it,” she says with a wink.
I don't answer, but I think a smile slips out.
“Guerrero. You're on, now,” Hades shouts.
I head back to the bench and pull the vest off over my head, feeling the fabric brush my cheekbone as it goes, and drop it on the bench.
“You know what you need to do,” she says, stepping up beside me. “When you receive from midfield, don't go for goal; find the channel. Iris is going to appear. Trust the system.”
When the fourth official holds up her number, Nika's jaw tightens, and she looks straight up at the sky.
Stepping onto the grass feels different. I've played on this field before, but always as a visitor. The crowd applauds every run, every chance; it gives you a little extra charge that you actually feel.
I take the position Hades showed me back in preseason, on a white Florida whiteboard, with a red marker and a water bottle sitting between us.
Zoe picks up the ball, lifts her head to read the situation, plays it short to Walsh. Walsh sends it back. Zoe switches it left to Park.
Then the ball comes to me. I control it with my left foot, and I see Iris already making a diagonal run toward goal, exactly as it looked on Hades' whiteboard. I can almost see the red marker lines she drew.
She calls for the ball with her hand open. Three defenders have gone with her. Three of them, because every time Iris gets close to goal she becomes a threat they can't ignore. The space in front of me opens up.
I have the pass. I see it. But I also see something else.
I don't play it yet. I touch it, touch it again, push forward.
I start to hear the noise rising in the stands.
“Play it, Guerrero!” I hear Iris shout, though I don't look over. “Play it, damn it!”
I keep moving. The goalkeeper realizes I'm not going to pass. She yells at one of her defenders, who's coming for me but isn't going to get there in time.
I decide without thinking anymore. I shoot, and the murmur from the crowd jumps several decibels.
And I stop hearing everything.