After the match, the community field became a jamboree. Victory deserved music, and celebrations needed snacks. At the end, empty soda bottles and cellophane wrappers littered the field.
Diego trudged to where his family was seated to spend a few moments with them before returning to school with his team. To his credit, Coach De allowed this for all his boys after reading the room.
He sat halfway up, enveloped by his mother, who wedged him in between the rest of the family.
Mr. Montoya had already left the seating area to speak with Coach De in the field, offering solidarity just as the other fathers were doing.
This left Diego stranded among the chatterboxes.
"That was it?" Yazmin nagged, clicking her tongue and shaking her head. "They didn't even do anything. Football is ninety minutes. What did you people play, like… twenty?"
Mrs. Montoya turned sharply. "Yazmin. Don't start."
"I'm just saying—"
"They're eleven-year-olds," her mother interrupted. "Not professionals. Sit and let your brother breathe."
Yazmin scoffed.
Tormenting Diego was her life's purpose.
Only their mother and Olalla showed some care. Mrs. Montoya even saved snacks for Diego. She handed him a paper bag and pressed a bottle of yoghurt into his palm. "Eat your buns. Drink this."
Without a word, Diego nodded, slipped in a straw, and began sipping.
But it didn't take long before it drew the appetite of his youngest sister.
"I want yoghurt," Ollala whined.
"Not now," Mrs. Montoya snapped. "You just had juice."
The little girl sank back into her seat, defeated.
But the trouble hadn't ended. Paloma chose this moment to lean against Diego's shoulder. He looked at her, and she had this bright gleam in her eyes.
"Did you tell Damian?" she whispered urgently.
"Tell him what?"
"You know," Paloma continued, nudging him, "that I like him. I asked you to tell him."
Diego's grip tightened on the bottle. His head buzzed like a broken radio. His school had lost, been eliminated from the Copa Escolar. Now, his sister thought it was the right time to bring up her crush on Damian.
"I didn't tell him," Diego still answered. "I forgot."
Paloma frowned. "But you had all day!"
"Paloma," Mrs. Montoya said firmly.
The girl pulled back at once.
"That's enough," their mother continued, sweeping all of them with one look. "Let him rest."
Silence finally settled, and Diego exhaled, staring down at his hands.
Losing was always going to be hard because nothing hurt more than hearing the phrase "next year." It sounded like comfort backed by postponement; being asked to shelve a dream that was still vivid.
Still, even in defeat, a good team had to acknowledge what it had achieved.
The principal understood that much and had already arranged a small celebration for the boys despite the loss. It wasn't a trophy, but it was something. That was the only thing Diego was looking forward to.
"Diego!"
Diego looked up at the call and spotted his father standing near the edge of the field, waving him over.
He quickly stood up to leave. His mother caught his arm, pulled him down gently, and kissed him on the cheek. "Take care, my boy."
Tired, Diego only nodded. He jogged down the steps and toward his father.
Mr. Montoya proudly embraced him, holding him by the shoulder and presenting him to Coach De like Diego was up for sale.
"Haha! Our very own lefty magician!" Coach De chuckled, fistbumping the boy. He then pointed at their bus. "Go on now."
Diego jogged toward the bus, the evening breeze brushing his face, carrying with it the strange, light feeling of still being alive to dream.
~~~~~~~~~~~
The San Gregorio boys rode back to school on the bus, boots dusty, jerseys damp.
The school building waited for them in the evening like a deserted cathedral. It felt strange arriving in empty corridors and classrooms, the noise of the community field replaced by echoes.
Diego and his teammates changed into casual clothes. As they did, they discussed nothing but the match they lost, talking about what could have gone differently to give them the win, and the players from the other school who had given them a hard time.
Surprisingly, no one blamed anyone for the loss.
It became a moment of unity in defeat, strengthening their bond, even though this was the last Copa Escolar for some of them.
After changing, they hopped back onto the bus and headed for the fast-food meal the principal had arranged.
There, they ate their fill, enjoying themselves. The simple comfort of chicken and fries brought out smiles and sparked a round of jokes. After all, good food, good mood.
For boys their age, the sting of loss healed quickly.
What's more, Diego noticed something too.
He was gaining a new kind of status and making friends he'd never had before.
With Ronaldinho's charisma on his side, who wouldn't find him engaging?
As the boys ate and laughed, a man entered the fast-food restaurant, followed by three others, but the boys didn't see him.
He had a pen and a small notebook, and he immediately spoke to Coach De and the two other managers.
Who could this be, and what did he want?
A moment later, Coach De came to their table, looking for the five boys that the man had identified.
"Ruben, Damian, Kebehi, Chema, Mario—come with me."
"Okay, coach," the mentioned boys answered, rising and following him without suspicion. Behind them, the rest of the team returned to their food.
Coach De led the boys toward the man, who recognized them very well over the course of the tournament.
The instant they saw him, their hearts skipped a bit.
His dressing. That pen. That notebook.
Could this be…?
"Hello, boys," the man said. "I'm Mr. Ruiz, talent coordinator for EDM San Blas. I've been following your performance, and I'd like to register you for our youth program. Please write down your ages and your parents' phone numbers so we can begin the paperwork."
Without wasting a second, Damian snatched the pen and hurriedly scribbled the required details.
This was the moment they had been waiting for!
This is the first real step toward becoming professional footballers!
One by one, the boys followed suit, writing their ages and their parents' numbers, hearts pounding with excitement.
Coach De watched them with pride, but he frowned when Mario hesitated, shook his head, and refused the pen.
"What's wrong, Mario? Are you nervous?" Coach De asked, trying to understand the hesitation.
Mario shook his head again.
"It's not that I don't want to… it's just that my family is moving to Zaragoza by Christmas," he said. "I won't be here long enough."
The words hit like a ton of bricks. Damian and the rest couldn't believe their friend had never told them about this earlier.
On the other hand, Coach De exhaled deeply, shoulders sagging.
Mario was the best AMF he had ever seen and the team's previous captain. The boy was also an A student. Hearing now that he wasn't only leaving the team, but the school, was heartbreaking.
Mr. Ruiz, the recruiter, frowned, shaking his head.
"That's a problem. This is a local club here in Madrid. It won't work for him."
Coach De rubbed his chin, unsure what to do.
"So… what now?" Ruiz asked patiently, and Coach De shrugged helplessly.
"It's alright," the recruiter intoned softly. "The four will do. They're ready, and this is already a lot to handle."
When Damian heard they were only taking four, a pang of disappointment hit him.
At least one more from their team should be recruited to replace Mario.
As he thought of it, conviction sparked. He believed this person should make it.
"Sir, please! Wait, you can take one more from our team!" he blurted, pointing emphatically at the table where the other boys sat.
"Who do you have in mind?" Mr. Ruiz arched a brow.
Damian glanced over.
"DIEGO! DIEGO!"
All heads turned toward Diego mid-bite.
"COME QUICK, DIEGO!"
Confused, Diego froze, but his teammates weren't waiting around.
"GO, you bum!" they yelled at him, nudging and shoving him down the aisle.
Heart thumping, Diego jogged toward the group of men and boys standing formally at the back.
Coach De's eyes settled on him. 'Diego…? Hmmm,' he mused, weighing the boy carefully.
This was Diego's first Copa Escolar, meaning there were others like Nathan and Gabriel, who might have deserved this sport more.
But since Damian of all people vouched for him, so be it.
"You're Diego?" Ruiz asked once he arrived.
"Yes," Diego answered.
"You know your parents' numbers off-hand?"
"Yes."
"How old are you?"
"Eleven."
"And your full name?"
**inhale
**exhale
"My name's Diego Montoya."