Page 80 of Futbolista
My cousins are out drinking with their friends tonight, I finally get.If you’d want to come over? Maybe even stay the night?
OMW.
The second I hear thewhoop-ish sound of my message going through, I toss my phone to the side and turn my truck back on, nearly speeding out of the parking lot.
Because I’m not all the way ready to be back in real life just yet. Give me the rest of the night. And Vale. Tomorrow I’ll man up and do what I have to do. I’ll go back to pretending. Tonight, I don’t want to pretend. I don’t want to end this weekend having to be someone I’m not. Not being able to say those words. I don’t want to have to wait a whole twelve hours to see him again.
I just want the person who I’m falling in love with and who is falling in love with me back. Who calls mecorazónandmi futbolistaand tells me this will all work out in the end.
28
“PIÑA,” BARRERA CALLS FROMin front of his locker. “Stick around a minute, little bro.”
The rest of the team shuffles out, giving me handshakes or pats on the back as they pass by. We’re only a couple days away from the Border Conference finals. Two weeks away from the start of the NCAA tournament. Going in as the number one ranked team in the country but still heavily seen as the underdogs riding luck and having the right team at the right moment, the excitement is heavy in the locker room. There are somehowmorebanners in the University Center. Downtown and near the mall there are blue and green signs on light poles with our faces and “ISLANDER SOCCER” on them. Even on billboards down SPID, there are pictures of me, Barrera, and other members of the squad, like we’re the biggest thing to hit this city in centuries.
But, when the whole room is empty except for Barrera and me, I don’t feel excited. I feel nervous. I’m always so on edge with this guy, and even more so lately. He’s no longer the coolteam captain I want to impress and be bros with. Even when he calls me “little bro,” it feels wrong. Because now he’s standing between me and every good thing I want for myself. And I know I can’t count on him to be that brother he loves to say he is.
“Take a seat,” he tells me, eyeing a bench nearby. I do, trying my best to look relaxed, taking a deep breath, forcing my shoulders to untense. Trying to breathe away all the anxiety tells on my face as he sits down next to me, letting out a sigh of his own.
“Conference Freshman of the Year, Conference Player of the Year,” he starts, looking at the lockers straight ahead instead of at me, his hands clasped in his lap. “First-Team All-America. You’re shortlisted for all of those. They’re saying you could be named a Most Outstanding Player if we make it to the finals.”
I watch the way his mouth stays in a straight line. How his whole face is almost unreadable. Months ago, we were sitting right here when he told me how I was a Freshman to Watch this year, and the difference in energy I’m getting from him is night and day. Back then, it felt promising, and like he was even more amped about it than I was. That he was ready to make sure everyone saw how I deserved to be on that list. This time, though, it feels like—
“I’ve got to admit, I’m a little jealous,” Barrera says. He shakes his head, now letting out a huff as his mouth goes into a half smile. “I’ve put in so much work for this team. Carried all of these mother— Tell me why it’s only when they see a freshman show up and be pretty good at blocking goal attempts that they finally want to try. What is it about you that lit a fire under their asses when I couldn’t?”
“I … I don’t—”
“Maybe they didn’t want to be showed up by some rookie. Maybe every single time you stop a ball from getting past you, someone like me, who’s been here for years, knows we’ve gotto work even harder to make sure that you know this isn’t your time. It’s ours. It’smine.”
“Barrera, I’m not—”
“And then everyone’s fucking talking about you like you’re some celebrity. Like if we took you off your post for a minute, we’d be S-O-L. We’ve got another goalkeeper who’s has been sitting there all season, benched, even though he’s a junior. Because all the glory goes to fucking Piña, right? Because we’ve got to get you more minutes on that shutout. Because now people are interested. They want to seeyouplay. You’re making more money for this school than maybe this team ever has, every season its played, combined.”
“Ba—Cap, I’m just here to play some football.”
“You know, when you got into that fight, I told Coach to bench you.”
A wave of fear goes through me at those words, down and then nearly back up as something way more bile tasting. My fingers clench on my thighs. And I look away from him for a moment, to the door, thinking that maybe we’re actually done now. MaybeI’mdone. That there’s nothing positive he’s got left to say, and it might be better for the both of us if I gave us some distance.
But the moment I move, give aminimalsign that I’m trying to get up, his hand comes to my shoulder, pressing down, keeping me here. And I hate that I flinch. That, as wounded as he’s showing me he is, some part of me is still terrified of him.
“Don’t you want to know why?”
“I … you said it. I got into a fight. I mean, Ialmostgot into a fight. Some refs would’ve benched a player for that. I don’t need to know why. And I really don’t want to, when I thought you had my back then.”
“Whose back do I really have?” he asks, this time looking at me, his expression a mixture of lost and angry. “Tell me. Becausethe player sitting here next to me right now isn’t the same one I was sitting by in August. He isn’t the same player on that pinche Freshman to Watch list. You … you’ve become too unpredictable, Piña.”
“Or maybe I’ve become better? Isn’t that what you also told me way back when? We were going to get me from number three to number one? That’s what I’m doing here, isn’t it? I don’t see how I could be doing any better. I’ve got, like, the thirteenth-, fourteenth-longest shutout in college football history. I’m putting this team first.”
“Why don’t I believe you, then?”
“What else is there? School, football—”
“That boy of yours.”
Sounds that should’ve been confidently said words instead trip out of my mouth. And it’s just a second of me turning from him to the ground, but, in that much time, I feel like I’ve cracked open in front of him.
“I … You’re making some wild-ass assumptions right now, Cap.”
