The Perfect Match

Prologue

It’s the last minute of the game and the Red Stars have the ball.

I try to keep up, but it’s hard to drown out all the noise.

My heart is beating too fast in my chest, and I can hear the rush of blood in my ears.

Our team captain, Stacey, gives me a concerned look as she races past me to get back to defend.

She’s counting on me – the whole team is.

The roar of the fans reminds me that they are too.

The referee blows the whistle, but the noise from the crowd doesn’t stop. I slow down, take a deep breath. I can feel them looking at me. When I missed the goal earlier, they were booing me, and I can already imagine their comments online.

Maya Alam didn’t seem like she was on top form today, did she?

The Vikings lost because Maya couldn’t get her shit together.

Maya Alam let the team down. Again.

‘Hey, you OK?’ Stacey’s hands are at my elbow, her bright blue eyes peering down at me.

‘Yeah. I just can’t believe we’re still tied.’ I sigh, trying to catch my breath.

She gives me a sympathetic smile. ‘We can still pull it off. We’ve got extra time.’ She gives me an encouraging pat on the back before she heads off to speak to the other girls on the team.

We’ve got fifteen minutes to turn things around.

I jog up to the field, taking my position for the final kick-off of the match. I close my eyes for just a moment, trying to tune everything else out. I have to be here, in this moment. In the match, thinking about the game. I can’t be worrying about what comes next.

You’re Maya bloody Alam. If anyone can do this, it’s you.

The words are like a balm.

My eyes flicker open as the referee blows his whistle. I head straight for the ball, almost running into one of the players from the opposing team. I manage to get it before her, dribbling it in front of me, past the other players. Right towards the goal.

I’m laser-focused, sharp-eyed. I’m not going to miss this time. I race forward with the ball at my feet, dodging other Red Stars players around me. And then, the goalie is in front of me, shifting from one side to the other, hands outstretched, waiting for me to mess this up.

I drive my foot forward through the ball. It flies through the air and I watch with bated breath as it moves right past the goalie and bounces into the net.

The crowd around the stadium erupts into cheers, just as the final whistle sounds.

Game over – 2-1 to the Vikings.

Around me, the blue-uniformed Vikings – my teammates – are jumping and clapping, hugging each other happily, but I can barely muster a smile.

All the adrenaline that has carried me through the game is gone now and all I’m left with is this empty, deflated feeling.

Because this was my last win. My last match. It’s the last time I’ll ever be in a stadium like this, surrounded by my teammates and the cheering crowd.

When I go back to the changing rooms, I’ll change out of my kit for the very last time and that will be it. I’ll no longer be a Viking.

I’ll just be Maya Alam. Retired footballer.

Not a winner, but a failure. And in light of all of that, I can’t bring myself to celebrate the win, even though I was the one who scored the winning goal.

My teammates clap me on the back, tell me how great a job I did, but I just nod and plaster on a practised fake smile that slips away too easily.

All too soon, I’ll be boarding the flight back to London.

Back to my old life.

And back to Dina Chowdhury, the girl who broke my heart.