Luciano helps me to my feet. I wave to the crowd with an overly brave face, kissing my badge on my shirt, and I’m met with cheers and whistles and the soft chant of, “Alejo, Alejo!”
Okay. Back to the game.
Now that Barcelona might think I’m no longer as much of a threat, I’m about to show them how much of a threat I really am.
Unfortunately, they have control of the ball and are spending too much time at our end. Messi gets another shot on goal, but our goalie’s skill and height aren’t to be messed with, and he catches it before it tips into the top of the net.
Another shot goes near the goal, hitting Luciano’s back.
Barcelona get a corner kick.
Rene manages to jump up and punt it out of the way with his chest.
It rolls to Kroos.
Kroos runs with it, passing it to Luka.
Luka gets it close to the goal, but no one is watching me and I’m running as fast as I possibly can down the side of the pitch, having gone off like a rocket.
I hear my breath, the beat of my heart, the footfalls as I churn up the turf, the rising tenor of the crowd as I get closer and closer and there’s no one to check me.
I don’t think I’ve ever run so fast in my whole life.
Except once.
When I ran away from the police and into our house.
But I don’t let the memory of my father’s death stop me in my tracks.
I use it to fuel me.
Because he would be proud of me.
He will be proud of me.
I dart in-between two players who have suddenly become aware of my existence, one sliding toward me but missing by a few inches.
Luka kicks the ball to me but it goes high.
I go high too, jumping up several feet and twisting in a spiral as I go, hoping to make a header.
My head makes contact with the ball, and it’s already moving in the right direction.
I fall in slow motion, watching with wide eyes as the ball shoots to the left of the goalie and soars to the back of the net.
GOOOOALLLLLL!
I land on my feet, and, buoyed by pure joy and adrenaline and a special kind of madness you can only feel when nearly a hundred thousand people are making noise and paying attention to you, I run and do a leap into the air in the corner of the pitch near the cameras, screaming at the top of my lungs in a dramatic stance while the crowd wearing white erupts.
Seconds later, it feels like all my teammates are jumping on me, hugging me, yelling my name, and we’re all caught up in pure euphoria.
We haven’t won yet, and Barcelona could easily score again.
But I made that goal.
Maybe the most important goal of my life so far.
The goal that proved I’m back.
And as luck would have it, Barcelona doesn’t score again that night.
We win El Clásico, three to two.
The team is back on track.
Chapter 18
Alejo
Even hours after winning El Clásico, I’m still full of so much energy and adrenaline, I’m not sure what to do with myself. Everyone wants to go out drinking and partying in Barcelona’s Gothic Quarter, and I’m tempted, considering it’s one of my favorite cities.
But my need to be with Thalia trumps all of that.
So while they’re off drinking, I tell them I’ll join them later, that I’m going to call my mother and brother. I’m not sure if they believe me or not, but since family is as sacred to them as it is to me, they let it slide, so long as I make an appearance.
And I do quickly text my mother and brother, but then I’ve only got one thing on my mind.
My interactions with Thalia tonight have been professional and brief but I text her to make sure she’s around and to find out what her room number is.
It’s important that I don’t get caught going io her room. I’m sure I could pass it off as something innocent if I tried — perhaps she has to take a look at my knee to make sure there was no damage done from my fall, but I would rather not raise any suspicion at all.
Her room is at the opposite end of the hall from mine, by the elevators.
I slip down the hall, dressed in black track pants and a white shirt, totally not the thing you’d plan on wearing out for a night of partying, and