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COACH CASTRO STANDS IN THE CENTRE of the locker room, arms crossed and face stern. His sharp eyes scans every player as if daring any of us to lose focus.
“This is it, boys. First game of the season. Home turf. You’ve practiced for this. You’ve earned your spot on this pitch, but that doesn’t mean the work stops here.”
His voice echoes off the concrete walls, and the room is so quiet you can hear the faint buzz of the stadium lights outside.
“Stay sharp. Stay connected. Be the team I know you can be.” He looks at each of us, his gaze lingering on me for a moment longer. “And remember, no matter what, you don’t stop until the final whistle blows. Understood?”
“Yes, Coach!” we echoed, our voices blending into one.
I lean back against the wall, tapping my fingers against my thigh as my teammates talked among themselves. A wave of nervous energy buzzed through me.
Not fear exactly, but pressure. The weight of expectations. My dad’s expectations.
I couldn’t help it. My eyes drift to the bleachers outside as we walk onto the field. Sure enough, there he is, sitting in the second row like he always did. Arms crossed, face unreadable.
Our eyes met briefly, and a knot twisted in my stomach. He isn’t just here to watch me play. He’s here to judge me. To see if I was worth all the sacrifices he made. If I can live up to the O’Connor name.
This is an important game and I seriously can’t fuck up.
I take a deep breath, trying to shake the thoughts. My dad isn’t the one out here running drills or practicing penalty shots until my legs burn. This is my game. I need to prove it.
My gaze sweeps back across the bleachers, landing on another face. Carmen’s. She’s sitting next to Valeria and Alyssa, her blonde curly hair catching bouncing as she nods her head at something Valeria had said, though the smile on her face didn’t even reach her eyes.
I hadn’t talked to her in days. Weeks, maybe.
But there is something about her I can’t ignore, no matter how much I want to. Maybe it’s the way she carried herself or how she’s there, but isn’t really mentally. She interested me. More than she should. And she’s been on my mind more than I like to admit. Especially for a girl I barely talked to.
A sharp whistle snaps me back to the present, my thoughts pausing. The ref signals for us to take our positions on the pitch and we do.
Felix takes a stand in the middle of the pitch and that’s how I know we’re starting off the match. As soon as the whistle blows again, he kicks it straight to me, the balling landing on my feet perfectly.
Before the opposing team can make their way twisted me, I turn and pass the ball over to Carson just like how we were trained to do in practice. Felix passes to me and I pass it over to Carson.
He dribbles the ball with ease, weaving through the opposing midfielders. His footwork is sharp, and he launches a quick pass to Felix, who’s sprinting down the sideline.
Felix controls the ball effortlessly, dodging a defender before attempting a cross into the box.
It’s close, but their keeper managed to punch it away just before one of our players can head it in.
“Stay on them!” Coach Castro shouts from the sidelines, his voice booming over the crowd’s cheers.
The other team counterattacks, moving fast down the pitch. Their striker takes a shot from just outside the penalty box. My chest tightens as I watch the ball sail through the air. It grazes the top of the crossbar and goes over.
I let out a breath of relief, exchanging a quick look with Jack. He gives me a nod and a thumbs-up, his way of telling me to keep my head in the game.
Minutes later, we are back on the attack. Carson intercepts a pass and pushes forward, calling for support. I sprint to his left, ready for the ball. He passes it, and I take a touch before sending it wide to Felix.
Felix cuts inside, dodging a tackle, but as he goes to shoot, an opposing defender slides in hard, taking him down.
The referee’s whistle pierces through the noise.
“Penalty!” he calls, pointing to the spot.
The crowd erupts in a mix of cheers and boos while Felix is on the ground, clutching his ankle.
I jog over to him. “You good?”
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Felix mutters, wincing as he sits up.
Getting tackled on the first game of the season? As the striker? And the captain? Yeah… ouch.
“Felix, off,” the coach -his dad- orders, waving for the physio to come over.
Felix quickly gets up, throwing his arms in frustration. “I’m good. Don’t take me off, c’mon.”
“Have the physios check on you for five minutes, Felix.”
“Fine.” With a huff, he walks off the pitch not taking a second glance back at us.
Coach then turns to me. “Connie, you’re taking the penalty.”
I freeze for a second, the weight of his words sinking in. All eyes are on me now. I nod my head in response and his lips tug up. “You’ve got this.”
“Yeah.” I better.
Jack jogs up to me, clapping a hand on my shoulder. “Ignore all the pressure. Pick a side and commit.”
“And if I score?” I ask, putting on a smile. The penalty is on me, the perfect chance to prove myself to the team and school of course I’m feeling a hundred pounds of pressure on my shoulder but I can’t let anyone see that.
“Lunch on me for a week.”
“Watch and learn, lad.” I nod, taking the ball and placing it on the penalty spot. The keeper is already bouncing on his line, trying to throw me off.
I tune out the noise from the crowd, focusing only on the goal in front of me. Deep breath in.
Pick a side.
Run.
Shoot.
The ball flows past the keeper, slamming into the back of the net.
The crowd erupts, and my teammates swarm me, shouting and cheering. For a moment, the pressure lifted, replaced by the thrill of the goal.
“Go on, Connie!”
“Let’s go!”
“Fuck yeah!”
The grin on my face grows as I hear the cheers of my teammates. Turning around, my eyes fall onto the Coach and he nods his head proudly.
Fuck. This feels good. Winning feels good. Proving myself feels good. Making my team and coach proud feels good.
The final whistle blows, and the match ends with us winning 2-0. Me scoring the first goal and Carson scoring a sick shot from outside the box.
The team is high-fiving and talking with big grins as we make our way off the pitch.
“King Connie fucking smashed it,” Jack says, throwing an arm around my shoulders.
“Don’t call me that shit again,” I mutter as I push his arm off me as Hassan laughs.
“What?” he grumbles. “I thought it was good.”
“No,” shaking his head, Carson replies. “It really wasn’t, Jack.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah, buddy.”
“Fine. No nicknames for any of you dickheads.”
A chuckle escapes my lips as I roll my eyes at their antics. “You lot are like a married couple.”
“I’d jump off a cliff if I was married to that muppet,” Carson is quick to say.
“Me? The muppet?” Jack scoffs. “The only reason you scored was because of my amazing assist. Now keep up this attitude and I’ll stop passing to your moody ass.”
See what I mean? A married couple.
Just as I’m about to enter the school, I notice my dad standing off to the side from the corner of my eye.
“I’ll be with you guys in a second.” Not waiting for their replies, I head towards him, preparing myself for what he’s about to say. I don’t know what to expect when it comes to him.
“Connie.” He grins. “You’ve made me happy today, son. Proud too.”
I let out a breath of relief at his words. The words should have made me happy. And at first, they did. But as he kept talking, the familiar weight settled back on my chest.
It was always about doing well. About winning. About making him proud. And I knew what would happen if I didn’t.
“Next time don’t just score one goal, score more. Aim higher, you know? And next time it shouldn’t be a penalty. It doesn’t show your real skills.”
I nod my head at his words. I did good but not good enough. There’s always something I could have done better.
He taps my shoulder, snapping me out of my thoughts. “I’ll wait for you in the car, alright? Don’t be late, lad.” he says before walking off.
I watch him go, my jaw tensing. Well, for the first time in a long time I’ve been him proud so I guess I should feel something about that.
Shaking my head, I turn around to head back to the school but I stop in my tracks. There she is. I wanted to get her out of my thoughts badly. So badly. But every time I try, there she is.
She meets my gaze for a brief moment, the glow of the lights reflecting on her honey eyes.
Should I go over? Say something maybe? Anything. She hasn’t said a word to me after that party.
But before I can decide on what to do, she turns and walks away, heading in the opposite direction.
“Connie!” Hassan’s voice calls out, pulling me back to reality. “C’mon, man, we’re celebrating in the locker room!”
I hesitate for a second before following him, my eyes never leaving her as she walks away.
Why can’t I just forget about her?
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