Chapter 6

July 29th (Monday)

Aurora

A week in Barcelona had felt like a year. My legs were constantly heavy, my skin was three shades darker from the Mediterranean sun, and I had learned more Spanish swear words from Pina than actual useful sentences.

But some things hadn’t changed. Namely, the storm cloud named Alexia Putellas.

I sat in the darkened tactical briefing room, the only sound being the low hum of the air conditioning and the rhythmic tapping of a laser pointer against the white screen. We were analyzing transition play, and—surprise, surprise—the video clip frozen on the screen featured me.

“Look at the body positioning here, De Luca,” Alexia’s voice rang out from the front of the room. She wasn’t the coach, but when she spoke, even the staff listened. “You’re squared up. You’re inviting the press. If you don’t open your hips, you’re dead in this league.”

I felt the familiar heat rise to my cheeks. I stared at the screen, my jaw tight. In my head, I was imagining myself standing up, walking over to her, and sticking my tongue out like a five-year-old. It was petty, immature, and completely beneath a professional athlete, but God, it would feel good.

Instead, I just nodded, my expression a mask of stony, Italian silence. Just keep breathing, Ora, I told myself. Don’t give her the satisfaction.

“Understood,” I said quietly.

Beside me, Pina nudged my knee with hers under the table. She had become my shadow over the last seven days. We grabbed coffee before training, sat together at lunch, and she’d even helped me find a vet for Luna. She was the buffer between me and the “Queen.”

I shifted in my seat, feeling a strange prickle on the side of my face. I glanced toward the front. Alexia wasn’t looking at the video anymore. She was looking at me. It wasn’t the usual sharp glare of a critique; it was a heavy, lingering gaze, as if she were trying to solve a puzzle she didn’t particularly like. The moment I caught her eyes, she snapped her attention back to the screen, her mouth a thin, hard line.

She was watching me. Not just when I made mistakes, but all the time. I could feel her eyes on me during drills, during water breaks, even when I was just laughing at one of Pina’s ridiculous jokes in the hallway. It was exhausting.

The meeting finally broke, and the room filled with the sound of chairs scraping and players stretching.

“Ignore the ‘Dragon Lady’ vibes,” Pina whispered as we gathered our notebooks. “You played out of that press three times yesterday. She knows it. She just hates that she can’t find a reason to bench you.”

“She’ll find one,” I muttered, packing my bag. “She’ll probably tell me I’m breathing too loudly next.”

“Hey,” Pina grinned, looping her arm through mine. “At least you’re breathing. Most people stop when she looks at them. Come on, let’s go. I told you I’d show you that bakery near the beach today. And no, you can’t bring your tactical notebook. It’s a ‘No-Alexia Zone’.

I laughed, feeling the tension bleed out of my shoulders. As we walked toward the exit, I felt that gaze again. I turned my head just enough to see Alexia standing by the projector, still watching us—watching me—with an unreadable expression.

I didn’t stick my tongue out. But as I walked out the door with Pina, I made sure my head was held just a little bit higher.

Alexia

I stood by the projector long after the room had emptied, the blue light of the frozen tactical slide reflecting off the glass walls. My fingers tapped a restless rhythm against the table.

Through the glass partition, I watched them. Pina and De Luca—Ora, as everyone was calling her now. They were leaning into each other, Pina saying something that made the Italian girl throw her head back and laugh. It was a genuine, carefree sound that seemed to vibrate through the hallway.

A sharp, cold knot of irritation tightened in my stomach.

It was the lack of discipline that bothered me. Or at least, that’s what I told myself. We were in the middle of pre-season, the most grueling part of the year, and there they were, acting like they were at a summer camp. Pina was usually focused, but ever since De Luca arrived, she had become a distraction. They were inseparable—coffee, gym, recovery, leaving together. It was a clique forming in the middle of my locker room, and I hated the imbalance of it.

I don’t like her, I thought, the words landing with a heavy finality in my mind.

It wasn’t just the “softness” anymore. It was everything. I didn’t like the way she lowered her head when I spoke, only to catch my eye with that silent, defiant fire. I didn’t like the way she was integrating so easily with everyone else while I remained on my island of responsibility. Most of all, I didn’t like the way I kept looking for her on the pitch, waiting for her to fail just so I could justify the strange, restless energy she stirred up in me.

“You’re going to burn a hole in the back of their heads if you keep staring, Ale.”

I didn’t turn around. I knew Mapi’s voice anywhere. She was leaning against the doorframe, her kit bag slung over her shoulder, watching me with that annoying, knowing smirk.

“They’re being unprofessional,” I said, my voice tight. “They should be focused on the transition drills we just discussed, not where they’re going for lunch.”

“They’re twenty-something-year-old girls having a laugh after a two-hour meeting,” Mapi countered, walking over to stand beside me. She looked out at the pair just as Pina playfully shoved Aurora’s shoulder. “Since when is it a crime to have a friend? You and I were exactly like that at their age.”

“It’s different,” I snapped. “The stakes are higher now.”

“Or maybe you’re just annoyed that Pina found a new best friend and you didn’t get an invite to the party,” Mapi teased, though her eyes were observant.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I hissed, finally turning off the projector and plunging the room into shadows. “I don’t like her. Her energy is wrong for this team. She’s a variable I can’t control, and she’s making Pina soft.”

I pushed past Mapi, heading for the exit. I didn’t want to hear her logic or her “psychology.” I wanted to go home, ice my knee, and forget the way Aurora’s laugh had echoed in the hallway.

I didn’t like her. I told myself that again as I walked to my car. I repeated it like a mantra, hoping that if I said it enough times, it would finally feel like the truth.