Furia(38)

“Before we proceed with the scrimmage, let’s talk about the Sudamericano.”

She motioned for the parents behind us to approach the group. Then she took a stack of photocopied packets from her backpack. She handed half to me and the other half to Roxana. We passed them around to the players and the parents. Mr. Fong smiled at me when I handed him the papers covered in numbers.

“The tournament is taking place the second weekend in December,” Coach explained. “Mandatory practices will be twice a week with scrimmages on Saturdays. You must do conditioning on your own every day. We don’t have players to spare, and although I’m still aiming for a full roster of eighteen, every one of you is essential.”

Roxana and I exchanged a look. Our graduation was the second Saturday in December.

“What if Sofía has to miss a day of the competition?” a mom asked from behind the group. “Her cousin’s quincea?era is that weekend.”

Coach shrugged. “Then she can’t be part of the team. I have to make a FIFA file for each of the players by next week. I won’t be able to add anyone after that. This is the real thing, people. We wanted to play seriously, officially, and now here we are.”

I looked over my shoulder at the parents whispering amongst themselves. Luciano winked at me, and I smiled. Beyond us, a boy wearing a shirt with the sleeves cut off and a baseball cap practiced shots in a netless goal.

Coach Alicia continued, going over the entrance fees, the practice schedule, and then the Sudamericano format. “There will be three games guaranteed in the first round. Only the best two teams in each group will go on to the knockout stage, then on to the semifinals and the final. Very standard. There will be teams from all of CONMEBOL, the South American Football Confederation, and the lottery will take place in November. We’re the only team from Rosario to qualify, and there are three more from Argentina in our age group, which is the oldest.” She looked at Lucrecia, our baby at fifteen. “The price will be high, but it’s only because the reward could be priceless.”

Coach cracked one of her rare smiles and added, “Now, this is my sister, Gabi Tapia. Mrs. Tapia, they call her in the States.” Gabi walked up to her. Side by side, the resemblance was uncanny.

She elbowed Coach playfully, and we all laughed. Roxana and I exchanged a look, and she raised her eyebrows.

Coach continued, “Gabi coaches at a club, Wasatch Rage FC, which is a pipeline for colleges and the National Women’s Soccer League program.”

The air turned electric with anticipation. She might as well have been talking about a secret passage to Narnia.

Gabi took the baton. “This is my U18 team,” she said, pointing to the Yankee players. “These girls are heading into their last year of high school, and most of them have been committed to universities for a while. They’re multi-state cup champions and three-time regional champions. Two of them are with the junior national team right now. We’ve been touring South America for two weeks, and we’re heading back home tomorrow. But I’ll be back in December for the Sudamericano. The current recruiting system—playing in college first—is hindering our professional program, so we’re looking for ways to inject younger players into the national league, bypassing university teams.

“Teams from all over the world will be scouting at the Sudamericano, and the national league is sending me. I’ll have the chance to offer invitations for discovery slots. You must be eighteen by the time the transfer season opens, but other than that, it’ll be down to what the other coaches and I see on the pitch.” She gave out another form with NWSL deadlines. Their league started in April.

I’d be eighteen in January.

While we all read the paper, Coach Alicia stepped back in. “There’s a Women’s World Cup in two years. The Argentine federation is taking a team to qualifiers. The Sudamericano will be a showcase for all of you.”

Her words painted visions of glory in my mind. Every girl on my team was picturing herself wearing the Argentine jersey in a World Cup or the colors of a professional team.

It took so little for a spark of faith to ignite a fire. It took so little for that faith to turn into ambition. In that moment, each one of us stood a little taller.

Finally, Coach Alicia clapped her hands, ending our trance, and said, “But now, let’s go play. Start warming up. Gabi’s girls are ready.”

The group, including Rufina, started running. Roxana sent me a pointed look, but Coach Alicia waved me over.

“This is Camila Hassan, my discovery from last year,” she told her sister. “She speaks perfect English, too. She looked into attending college in the U.S., but you know how it is.”

“Impossible,” Mrs. Tapia said. Then she turned to me and said in English, “So, you’re the unpolished diamond. Alicia sent me a video of the championship game, and I was impressed.”

“Thank you,” I said, trying to sound confident. I had picked up a few tricks for talking to recruiters from watching Pablo and my father. “That day, we were all magical. Everything went our way.” I hoped my American accent impressed Mrs. Tapia.

Alicia’s mouth curved in approval. Her sister studied me. After a second, I averted my eyes, worried she’d be put off by my obvious desperation.

A few of the girls from my team slowed down to eavesdrop, and anything I could’ve said to make myself memorable turned to stones in my mouth. When we played, we were all the same. We were all one. English singled me out in an unwelcome way.