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The weather was warm today, so I threw on a black crop top, my favorite black pants, and my boots. Then I gathered my braids into a ponytail at the base of my neck with a new, not worn-in black scrunchie, finished my makeup, and headed out.
The crowd at the field had already grown to an insane level by the time I got there. I had to park at the far end and hike over to the stands. Glancing up, I could barely find an open spot to sit, which would make blending in a lot easier.
That was, until I saw Malia. Actually, she saw me first. She jumped up and bounded down the stairs of the bleachers until she reached me. I glanced around, wondering why on Earth she would be at the soccer game. And especially why she was here and didn’t tell me.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“I could ask you the same thing.”
She shot a glance back to where she was sitting, but pulled me in the opposite direction before I saw who she was looking at.
“Seriously, Una, why are you here?” she said in a harsh whisper, leaning in close as we made our way across the metal bleacher seating. We finally found a spot about halfway up the stands on the far right side, surrounded by a sea of blue and gray.
“I mean, my dad is the coach,” I reminded her, dropping the lie I planned.
She stared at me, her dark-rimmed eyes narrowing. She didn’t believe me for a second, but there was nothing else to say.
“What’s the real reason?”
“You tell me,” I countered, still trying to figure out how a girl like Malia would ever be caught dead at a school sponsored event. Especially asportingevent. I didn’t think she was familiar with the rules of soccer. Or what team our guys would be on. Or even where this stadium was located.
Before she could answer, the announcer came over the loud speaker, introducing all the players.
As captain, they announced Charlie last, and he jogged out from the sidelines to tremendous applause. Between the crowd of people in the bleachers, on the field, and the mess of players Charlie jumped into when he came out, I didn’t see him for a minute.
But then, there he was. His hair held back in his skull wrap, exposing all the angles of his face. His jersey blew around his torso, his shorts hugging his hips and butt.
My mind flashed back to the day I sat in these stands and videotaped their practice. I still had the image of Charlie’s six-pack ingrained in my brain.
“Your dad, huh?” Malia asked again. I could feel her staring at me, but I didn’t answer.
The game started, and the masses roared. Malia and I hung out casually, clapping when our guys did well, and booing when the other team did.
Right before the half, after Malia started whining about how long games were, Charlie got the ball. He broke away from his defender and launched the ball at the goal, to the top left corner.
The goalie had no chance. Charlie sunk it right into the top pocket, out of the goalie’s reach.
The stands erupted in cheers and his teammates jumped on him. I responded appropriately on the outside, but on the inside, I was goinginsane.
As soon as things died down, I slipped out my phone and shot him a text. I didn’t know if he knew I was here or not, but when the game ended and he got back to his stuff, he would find out.
Secretly, I hoped he would have seen me by now. Or somehow figured out I was watching. But it was okay. I was fine just knowing I was here to support him.
The team was still up one to nothing with about ten minutes left of play. If they kept the ball out of their net, they would move on to the next round.
Every moment was tense, the crowd and myself holding on with bated breath. I zeroed in on Charlie, watching his movements, in awe at how natural he looked on the field. He made it look easy, when I knew from experience that the amount of running had him ready to pass out, and the level of strategy he needed in his mind was equally exhausting.
Having a background in soccer made me appreciate his efforts even more. While he worked hard with his team, his skills were actually amazing and made the game enjoyable to watch.
My phone buzzed in my hand, breaking my intense focus on the game. Malia’s phone went off at the same time.
Numerous phones around us all made some sort of noise, like we all received the same message.
Curious, I tore my gaze away from the field and looked down.
“Oh shi—” Malia swore. “Una.”
My face dropped, my heart falling to the floor as I opened the notification on my screen. The Fairy Godmother was at it again—this time, a littletooclose to home.
