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Iwas dying.
Oh my God, I was dying. Nearly three hours of doing various drills with and against Franz had almost killed me. Death was on the cusp, I could feel it.
“How old are you again?” I asked as we both sat cross-legged across from each other at the park closest to my house.
“Forty-four.”
“Jesus Christ.” I laughed and put my hands behind my back to recline. “You’re amazing, seriously.”
“No.” He mirrored my movement. “You are. With time and better coaching…” He shook his head. “Reiner said you don’t play for the American team. Why?”
I crossed my legs close to my chest and looked at the nice older man. And for some reason I didn’t completely understand, I told him. “I had a problem with one of the other girls on the team, and I left.”
“They let you leave because of a problem with another player?” He reeled back, his accent becoming stronger.
“Yes. She was one of the team’s starting players, and I was pretty young back then. She said it was either her or me, and it was me.” Yeah, it hurt a little being so frank about it.
“That is possibly the dumbest thing I have ever heard.” Franz stared at me like a part of him was expecting me to say, ‘just kidding!’ But I wasn’t, and after a minute he finally realized it. He genuinely looked astonished. The older German sat up straight, giving me his total attention. “Why are you still here then?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you playing in this league if you can’t play for the U.S. team?”
I blinked at him. “I have a contract with the Pipers.”
“When does it end?” he asked, completely serious.
“Next season.”
His nose scrunched up for a split second. “Have you thought about playing elsewhere?”
“Outside of the U.S.?” I started fidgeting with my socks, his questions leaving me curious with where he was going with this.
“Yes. There are women’s teams in Europe.”
I leaned back and shook my head. “I know some girls who have played there, but I’ve never given it much thought. My brother is on loan in Europe right now, but… no. I haven’t thought about it. My family is here, and I’ve been happy here.” Until recently.
Franz gave me an even look and said eighteen words that would haunt me for weeks to come. “You should think about playing somewhere else. You’re going to waste your talent and your career away here.”
I would later wonder why of every person in my life, I chose to talk to Franz about my career, but in the end something in me decided he was the best option. His view was more unbiased than anyone else’s. While he might have cared a tiny fraction about my future—if that—he was giving me a clinical view. He was telling me whathewould do, what the best thing would be without taking everything else into my life into consideration. Not my parents, my job, the Pipers or anything.
Play somewhere else?
I blew out a long breath and told him very honestly, “I don’t know.”
“Don’t give the best years of your career to a league that doesn’t appreciate your talent. You should be playing on the national team—any national team, and you could do it. It isn’t complicated. Players do it all the time.”
He was right. Players did do it all the time. I wouldn’t be the first and I definitely wouldn’t be the last to play for a different country. Fans didn’t think twice about it. They didn’t care as long as someone played well.
“Really put some thought into it, Salomé,” he said in a gentle encouraging voice.
I found myself nodding, feeling confused and the slightest bit overwhelmed by this new possibility. Play somewhere else, a different country. That sounded kind of scary. “I’ll think about it. Thanks.”
“Good.” Franz smiled. “I’m here for three more days. Are you free tomorrow for round two?”
Iwas drivinghome when my dad called. I let it go to voicemail and waited until I got to a red light to call him back.
“Hey, Daddy,” I said into the speakerphone once he answered.
