Furia(41)

“Thanks for giving her a ride, Titán,” Coach Alicia added.

Then everyone left. Coach followed the bus full of North Americans in her beat-up Fiat, and I was alone with Diego.

I turned to face him in all my post-game grime. On TV, he always looked like a superhero after a brutal game. Diego stared at me. His eyes were mirrors. In them, I saw how my hair frizzed out in a cloud around my dismayed face.

And because Deolinda must have decided to collect her debt just then, the nausea came back. I sank to the ground and dry-heaved. Diego was next to me in two strides, holding me up. I started shaking. Stars popped in my eyes, and I inhaled as deeply as I could, but my breath came in ragged gasps. I tried to pull away from him in case I actually threw up, but he wouldn’t let go. My leg hurt so much I couldn’t stand.

When my head stopped pounding and my heartbeat went back to its normal pace, the shaking slowed. Diego kissed my forehead, and I leaned into him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I finally asked.

He let go of me, and I looked up at his face.

“Here? This is my pitch, Furia.” From his lips, my new name sounded majestic. “I played here in the baby league. I wanted to practice some shots in my lucky goal before heading back to Turín tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” When he’d said he was leaving Thursday, it had seemed so far away, but it was just a few hours from now.

He shrugged and looked over at a group of kids playing on the crumbling basketball court next to the pitch. Carefully, I took off my boots. Along with my hamstring, my feet were throbbing.

Although he wore old shorts and a sweatshirt, Diego’s silver shoes were slick and futuristic. He rummaged through his backpack and took out a pair of flip-flops. “Put these on,” he said, and I slipped my feet into the too-big sandals. The prickly rubber tickled me.

“Too bad I’m injured, or I’d challenge you to some shots.”

As if I’d ever be able to beat him.

Diego looked at my legs, and his mouth twitched. “I would challenge you to a best of ten, but I have fresh legs, and you, Furia . . . you have legs.”

My legs were too muscular and short to be sexy, but Diego stared at me.

“Remember when Pablo called me patas de tero?” I tried to deflect.

“And now they’re glorious and fast. Do you remember Princess Camila?”

The glow of that afternoon long ago filled me with light. “Yes, the virgin warrior,” I blurted out. The word virgin bounced between us for a second too long.

Diego laughed, then took my hand. “Maybe you’re dehydrated. You probably need to eat, too. When was the last time—?”

“I had mates sometime today, and a protein shake Roxana brought me . . .”

“Warriors, even virgin ones, need to recharge, Furia,” he said. In spite of the playful banter, there was something else I’d never heard in a boy’s voice before: admiration. “You’re tough, but if you don’t take care of your body, you’re going to keep getting injured. You can’t live off mate.”

Although a part of me swooned at the concern in Diego’s voice, the critical side of me recoiled from his words. It wasn’t my fault I’d been hurt; it was his for distracting me.

“Let’s go get something to eat,” he said, my hand still in his. When I resisted, he added, “I have los mates in the car. We just need to stop at the bakery.”

I closed my eyes, trying to center myself.

“One last time by the river, Camila,” he said in a soft voice. “And then I’ll be gone.”

He had me. He’d had me all along, even if he’d made me fall.

A warrior virgin. What was I thinking?

“One last time,” I said, warning myself that this was the end.

I followed him to his car.





17





The air conditioner blasted my face, and sweaty as I was, I started to shiver.

“Sorry,” Diego said, and reached over me to close the vent. He twisted the dial back and forth, but the air didn’t stop. I saw the off button on the dashboard, and I reached over. When I did, my whole body pressed against his arm. I hit the button, and the air died like a held sigh.

He fell back in his seat, flustered.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, putting my hand on his arm, and I felt him flex automatically.

“It’s just that . . . I’ve been wanting to talk to you. Yesterday I only went to your house because Pablo insisted, but you didn’t even want to see me. I’m not a jerk, you know? I can take a no. And now . . .”

If we were going to have that conversation, I needed food. “Weren’t you going to get me dinner? I’m about to pass out in your brand-new car, Titán.” I paused. There was no trace of a superstar in the boy sitting next to me. “Diego.” I said his name the same way I’d said it that night when we’d kissed for the first time. Like I did in my imagination when the kiss led to other things. Things I’d never done with a boy before. But my body craved him all the same.

Silently, Diego turned on the engine, and we left.

Time stood still when I played fútbol, but now, like Cinderella at the ball, I felt the clock rushing. Diego was leaving again, and I didn’t know how to cope with all my feelings.