Furia(4)

“Save it for later,” she hissed in my ear. She was right. I couldn’t lose my temper and our chance to win with it.

The ref blew the whistle, signaling the start of the game. Already high on adrenaline, I unleashed the part of me that came alive only on the pitch.

I ran back to my position in the midfield just in time to land Cintia’s cross.

“Adelante, Camila!” Mrs. Fong’s faith in me propelled my feet forward as I weaved through the line of defenders blocking my way to victory. The Royals’ number three tackled me right before the box. I tasted dirt, but the ref didn’t call a foul.

A rain of protests pelted him, but he wouldn’t change his mind. Refs never did.

The Royals goalie kicked. La Flaca blocked the ball with her chest, cutting its arc through the air.

“What a lucky ball to land there!” a boy yelled from the sidelines. Some people laughed, and I saw red, but I couldn’t waste attention on vermin.

Instead, I ran to catch the ball a Royal had wrestled from Evelin. I hooked it with the side of my foot and stole it back for my team.

Cintia waited, unguarded, for a chance to score, and I sent the ball straight to her foot. The Royals’ goalie was tall but insecure. Her feet were glued to the dirt of her box. Cintia kicked with the precision of a tattoo artist. Even the wind held its breath, not daring to interfere with the play.

The ball hit the crossbar, but I was in a perfect spot, right in front of the goal, waiting for the rebound. Without time to think, I jumped into the air and scissor kicked. I fell hard on my hip, but the pain didn’t even register as the net waved like a sail.

“Goooooooalllllll!” I screamed. I pushed myself up and ran with my fingers pointed to heaven. La Difunta had earned her water.

Just as my team jumped on me to celebrate, a cry of victory came from the houses across the pitch, followed by firecrackers. Someone had scored at El Gigante, and I wondered who, but only for a second. I couldn’t be distracted from my game.

During the second half, the Royals’ number four and I battled for a high ball right in the box. Pain shook my teeth and sent me to the ground, and when I heard the shrill whistle, I registered that the girl had elbowed me in the mouth.

While the Royals and my team swarmed around the ref, I recovered, taking deep breaths, making sure my teeth were still firmly attached.

“Are you okay?” Yael asked.

I swallowed the taste of blood and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, hoping none of it had dripped on my uniform. I didn’t have a spare jersey. But when I glanced down to check, it was clean. La Difunta’s blessing was still protecting me.

My knees were a little wobbly as I stood up, but the nerves stayed on the dirt. “I’m fine.”

The Royals didn’t reach Roxana’s kingdom until near the end of the game, when the ref gave them a free kick dangerously close to the box. With only minutes left, there was no way we could let them close the gap. Two to zero is the most dangerous score of all. I joined the defense to make a protective wall in front of Roxana as the blond Royal captain got ready to shoot. She glanced over at her coach, then at me. At one meter and fifty-five centimeters, I was the shortest person on my team. She’d try to send it over my head. I was her only opening. So I jumped, and the ball hit me right in the face.

Stars exploded in my eyes as I fell hard on the ground, where I stayed, catching my breath.

“Hassan, do you need a sub?” Coach Alicia called from the sidelines.

I pretended not to hear her. Mía had already left with a painful ankle. We didn’t have another sub. No way in hell would I have left the field before the final whistle.

Taking my sweet time, I climbed back to my feet.

“One more minute,” the ref called.

Mabel, our number five, kicked the ball back and forth with Cintia, then back to Roxana, the expert in letting time slip by.

The Royals fans shrieked, enraged.

At last, the ref blew the final whistle. Before the sound was swallowed by the roar of the crowd, our team was running to Coach Alicia.

The Fongs and our other fans broke onto the field, kicking up dust that mixed with firecracker smoke.

It smelled of miracles.

“Camila! You were a furia!” Mrs. Fong’s voice was hoarse as she baptized me with a new name.

“Furia! Furia!” my team chanted like a spell.

The part of me that had been set free during the game stretched her wings and howled at the sun.





3





Yael and Yesica tried to lift me up on their shoulders, but we fell down and laughed like little girls. Between someone’s dirt-streaked legs, I caught a glimpse of the chubby, pretty Royal crying in the arms of a tall boy in a Newell’s Old Boys shirt while a woman—her mom?—patted her shoulder.

What would it be like to have my mom come watch my games, comfort me if I lost, celebrate my victories?

Now, that was wishing for the moon, and before I let sadness ruin the sweetness of this moment, I joined my teammates in jumping and singing around our coach.

“Vení, vení, cantá conmigo, que una amiga vas a encontrar. Que de la mano de Coach Alicia, todas la vuelta vamos a dar!”

We did our Olympic run around the field, trailing behind Coach Alicia, waving our tattered flag.

No one wanted to stop celebrating.