Furia(66)

“They found her body.”

The crying around me turned to hushed tones as the news of what had happened to Eda spread.

“She didn’t tell anyone she was meeting this guy,” Roxana said between hiccups. “Her phone was unlocked—they found it at the bus stop—and the police went through her messages. It’s horrible. She was just a little girl.”

The door of the house opened, and a woman walked out with a young girl hitched on her hip. It took me a second to recognize Marisa. The rest of the team started trickling in, including Coach Alicia, whose eyeliner was smeared. Even she had been crying.

I don’t remember who gave me a candle, but Roxana, the rest of the team, and I joined the neighborhood in a silent march, demanding justice for Eda.

Mothers clutched their daughters’ hands. Fathers carried posters with Eda’s picture. In one of them, she celebrated with Marisa, who was dressed in her Eva María uniform.

People opened their doors, left their houses, and swelled the ranks of heartbroken and furious friends and families. A few of them carried signs with the same picture of a smiling Eda that had flashed on the news. Miriam Soto waved at me from her stoop, and I waved back.

Roxana cried silently, her shoulders shaking. Inside me, a fury grew and spread until I couldn’t hold the words in anymore.

“?Queremos justicia!” I shouted.

Justice.

We wanted justice, but what would that mean for Eda and all the girls and women like her? In a perfect world, it would mean that every person involved in their suffering would pay. An eye for an eye. A tooth for a tooth. And then every girl would be safe.

But even though I didn’t want to let the cynical voice in my mind win, it was hard to imagine that Eda would be the last one.

Who would be next, and who would get to grow old?

“Ni una menos,” I sang out. “Vivas nos queremos.”

The chant spread like wildfire. Every voice, every heart demanded that the world let us live.

After the march, the team gathered in Roxana’s elegant living room. In the kitchen, Mrs. Fong spread out boxes of pizza, but no one seemed hungry.

I looked around at the faces of my teammates scattered on the sofa, the silk-upholstered chairs, the marble floor. None of the new girls had known Marisa or her sister, but everyone looked affected. Milagros and Carolina still had tears in their eyes, while Rufina’s jaw was set. She caught my eye and quickly looked away. I loved my team, but I realized I didn’t know much about their lives off the pitch, especially the new girls. What personal horrors were they revisiting as we reeled over Eda’s murder?

Roxana held my hand tightly. I was her anchor to reality, and she was mine. I’d missed her so much.

Finally, Coach stood up, and her gaze swept over the room. She looked like one of those ancient prophets, and we were the parched girls at the edge of a daunting desert.

“Chicas,” she said, “Marisa just texted me. She asked me to thank you all for being there with her today. She also wished you good luck in the tournament.”

“But Coach,” Roxana called out, surprising everyone, “we can’t play. We can’t go out there and have fun when girls are dying every day.”

Coach Alicia took a big breath and said, “Daring to play in this tournament is a rebellion, chicas. Not too long ago, playing fútbol was forbidden to women by law. But we’ve always found a way around it. Those who came before us played in circuses, in summer fairs, dressed as men. How many of you had to quit when you were around twelve, the same age as Eda, just because you dared to grow up?”

I raised my hand, and so did most of the other girls.

“Here we are. Incorrigible, all of us,” Coach said, her eyes glinting. “Many people may think it’s just a game. But look at the family we’ve made.”

Roxana leaned in and hugged me, and I hugged her back.

“Things are changing, and you ladies will have opportunities women of my generation never dreamed of. Vivas nos queremos, and fútbol is how we Argentines play the game of life. Let’s honor Eda and all the other girls we’ve lost by doing what we love and doing it well.”

Her words reignited the fire in me. I imagined the same thing was happening inside each of the girls, and even in Mrs. Fong, whose eyes blazed.

“Chicas,” Mrs. Fong called. “There’s pizza. Come and eat.”

Without being told twice, we all joined her in the kitchen. With three mates going around, we grieved together like sisters, but I also felt the prickle of the challenge Coach had set for us.

One day, when a girl was born in Rosario, the earth would shake with anticipation for her future and not dread.





29





Yael drove me home in her father’s little car. We were quiet most of the way, but when we reached el barrio, she blurted out the question that must have been burning on her tongue since Roxana’s house. “How old do you think Coach is?”

My mind raced with speculations. I’d never even thought about it. She was certainly older than my mom. “Fifty?”

“So old? I think she’s just wrinkly. My mom’s forty-five, and she can’t run a block without coughing up a lung, and Coach? She can outrun me.”

“Let’s look it up.”

The car made an ominous sound, and Yael cringed and hurriedly switched gears. “Ay, I got used to Luciano’s automatic.”