Furia(76)

“You are incredible,” she said, crying too. “I’m la yeta. I made you lose.”

I pulled away to look at her eyes and said, “Mamita, without you, I wouldn’t even have played.”

A little farther away, César waved timidly at me.





Soon, strangers and family alike showered us with congratulations. Coach Alicia’s praise echoed around us.

“That was an amazing game. You almost had it,” said a man with a thin mustache.

By the time Mrs. Tapia found me drinking a Gatorade, I’d run out of tears, but the disappointment lingered. Coach Ryan was talking to a group of Praia Grande girls, and I tried not to look jealous.

I must not have done a good job, because she ruffled my hair and said, “What you did in the last goal was heroic. To sacrifice personal glory for the team is something to be proud of. Not a lot of players would do that, but you did.”

“Thank you,” I said.

She wasn’t done. “There are rumors that the federation is putting together a seleccionado for Copa América and the World Cup in France in a couple of years. Keep playing hard, and I’ll do what I can so you have more chances. This won’t be the last time we talk, Furia. I promise you that.”





33





The next morning, instead of going to Parque Balbin to network with coaches and watch other girls live my dreams, I stayed home with my mom.

While she worked on yet another dress, I watched cartoons with Nico. Coach had said no days off, but after a short run to the soy fields and back, I allowed myself the luxury of laziness.

Soon, I fell into a routine. The days stretched into a week, and one afternoon, when my mom went out to meet with Marisol and her mother to plan the baby shower, I realized the commentators on TV were talking about Diego.

They sounded like kids on Christmas.

“AFA has just released the list of World Cup qualifiers,” the man said. “The one newcomer is Diego Ferrari, Juventus’s wonder boy.”

His female companion added, “Diego had previously played well, but after missing that game against Roma, he came back and had a hat trick and two assists out of a FIFA video game. The boy is on fire! We can’t wait to see what he does next to Dybala, Messi, and company.”

I turned the TV off.

Weeks later, my mom gave me a laptop as an early Christmas present, and I used it to pore over tryout schedules for women’s teams. Urquiza and Boca Juniors in Buenos Aires had put calls out for players. Roxana and I would head there in January.

Rufina was still deciding if she’d accept an offer from Praia Grande, who had defended their title and won another Sudamericano. They were going pro, and they wanted her.

An incoming message chimed, and I opened the email. It was the file I’d asked Luisana to send me. For the next ten minutes, I watched the video version of Furia she’d edited together. It was mesmerizing. I saw the joy, the sparkle in the championship game, the bits and pieces of practices, and the Sudamericano tournament.

Luisana had made me look like a player any team would want, and before I chickened out, I sent the video to Mrs. Tapia.

What could I lose?





Christmas came and went. Pablo and Marisol spent the holiday with her family, so my mom and I headed over to her sister’s, my tía Graciela, whom I hadn’t seen in years. Now that she was free of my father, Mamá had plans to open an atelier downtown. Her sister was helping her find a locale.

My eighteenth birthday was on Three Kings Day, January sixth. Of course, I wasn’t expecting presents. But just as I was coming back from my run with Yael, the home phone rang.

“Camila? Is that you?” Gabi Tapia asked.

At the sound of her voice, I had to sit down.

When I recovered enough to speak, I said, “Yes, Gabi—I mean, Mrs. Tapia.”

“I got your video.”

“You did?” I probably should have been speaking English, but I was so nervous I could hardly remember my own name.

“First of all, you’re eighteen today, right?”

“Yes.”

“Happy birthday. Do you have a passport?”

My father had made all of us get passports when Pablo signed with Central, in the event the call came to move across the world. “Yes,” I said.

Mrs. Tapia sighed in relief. “The national league is expanding. I’ve been offered the position of assistant coach on a new team, the Utah Royals. I want you as a discovery player. I hope you haven’t already signed with another team?”

I shook my head, and then, realizing she couldn’t see me, I said, “I was going to try out for Urquiza and Boca next week . . .”

“What do you think about giving us a chance? I know you have to talk to your parents, look at the details. It’s not an offer for a contract yet, but the lead coach wants to see you in person. Can you be here next week?”

“Yes,” I said.

With the money I’d saved from El Buen Pastor and my mom’s help, I could afford a ticket, even if it was the kind that stopped in every time zone.

“I know you will have many questions. I can talk to your parents.”

“My mom,” I said. “She’s my agent.”

“Good,” Mrs. Tapia said, “I’ll talk to her in more detail about where you’ll stay and the paperwork you’ll need. But for now, do you have any questions?”