51. Fallon

Nerves are fireworks in my chest as I step onto the Madrid pitch, surrounded by over a hundred women all vying for two open positions on the team.

Despite my few hours of sleep, I’m wide awake as I take in the scene, imagining this becoming my home field.

The morning air is cool against my cheeks as I glance around, taking note of the others. I’m not the youngest here, but I’m on the younger side, which isn’t surprising. Though you can play professionally starting at just sixteen, the average age in the league is twenty-five.

Two women holding iPads on the edge of the field draw my attention. I recognize them as the head and assistant coaches.

My heart thrums, trying to recall all the details I studied yesterday as I stretch and warm up.

At exactly six, the head coach steps forward. The slight movement is all it takes for the group to fall silent. She welcomes us and introduces herself and the assistant coach, then wishes us luck.

My alter ego wishes she’d tie a threat onto her words, a warning of how hard this day will be and all that is on the line. Still, I lift my chin a little higher, knowing I’m ready.

“Vamos. Let’s go.” She claps her hands.

We’re divided into two groups that represent the open positions. More than half of the group is with me, trying for forward, and the rest are trying out for defender. Doubt teases that I should try for the defender role where there’s less competition. I’ve played the position countless times and could likely do it, but it’s not where I shine or am happiest.

We’re divided into smaller groups, and I rush to decipher how they’re making the selections as I study the seven other women I’m paired with. Before I can begin to guess, instructions are fired off.

I miss the first few words and turn to clarify with the girl beside me, but she’s already moving. I scramble to catch up, realizing there’s no time for second-guessing or questioning anything. Thankfully, we fall into a drill I recognize instantly. I’ve run through this so many times that muscle memory directs me before I can ensure there aren’t any additions or changes. Despite my confidence, it takes only moments to realize the amount of talent I’m surrounded by.

I try not to let this rattle me as I run through circuit after circuit, not holding back for even a second.

When we break for lunch, the assistant coach nods at me. Over the past hour, I’ve caught her looking my way a few times.

“Hale, right?” she asks.

I nod, too winded and nervous to respond.

“What is this?” She points to where my CGM is currently attached high on my biceps. “You’re diabetic?”

Some diabetics are offended by this arrangement of words that defines us by the disease. We aren’t diabetic but have diabetes. It’s a conversation we had multiple times at diabetes camp. Personally, it rarely bothers me. Diabetes is so deeply entwined with every aspect of my life that it feels like it’s a part of me. Yet, there are times when someone can’t see past my chronic condition when I, too, hate this arrangement of words.

“Yes.”

She smiles. “My nephew is, too. He was diagnosed three months ago.” Her lips waver. “He’s only six.”

I don’t know what to say. I’m not sure if she’s looking at me for questions or answers or maybe just hope because I’ve realized that sometimes, while living with a chronic condition we need hope just as much as we need medicine and kindness. Hope that we can live full and normal lives. Hope that we can be healthy. Hope that we can afford medication and specialists. Hope that we’ll be accepted and respected.

“It will get easier,” I tell her.

Her eyes shine, and I’m pretty sure hope and confirmation were exactly what she was seeking. “Janessa told us you were coming.” She raises her eyebrows. “She said you were good, but you might consider finding new friends because you’re better than good.” She pats me and turns around.

Elation makes me want to jump in the air and wave my hands. Being noticed—here—among so much talent feels like I’ve just won the lottery.

I manage to tuck my excitement in, though, and head for lunch. I”m hoping I’ll be able to play just as well this afternoon.

“So I take it your first day went well?” Janessa asks, smiling at me over her sangria glass.

I take a deep breath and lean back in my seat, feeling untouchable. “I was so on today.” I grab my water and drink half of it to stop myself from bragging about how impossibly perfect everything went for me.

She laughs. “I knew you’d have no problem. I swear, you have nerves of steel. The more pressure, the better you perform.”

“There are two days left, though, and a lot of really good players here, trying out. I nearly stopped to applaud a woman from Iceland with a rocket for a foot. I kid you not, she nearly kicked the ball to Portugal. It was impressive.”

Janessa leans back and chuckles, taking me back several years to when we played together. It feels like twenty years and only a day at the same time. I’ve missed this feeling. I’ve missed the security of being able to drop my guard rather than constantly watching my back, fearing my teammates will say or do something vicious.

Plates of steaming food are delivered to us, and my stomach grumbles, remembering how long it’s been since lunch.

“You don’t plan to eat Patatas bravas every day for the next month, do you?” Janessa teases.

“Month? Tryouts end Thursday.”

Janessa blinks once. Twice. “They won’t decide on Thursday.”

“Why do they need a month?”

“They’re going to the combine in California in a few weeks. And while I know you’re a badass, there will be some tough competition.”

“The combine?” It’s an annual occurrence that draws coaches, trainers, and players from across the globe. For three days, everyone eats, breathes, and lives soccer as players work to get drafted. I’d planned on attending when I turned eighteen, but the full scholarship I received from Westfield had me prioritizing my education and the chance to hone my skills, pushing it off until after graduation.

“They’re attending the combine?”

She stares at me like a nipple has appeared between my eyes, and she doesn’t know how it got there. “They want the best of the best. It wouldn’t make sense for them not to go.”

Panic is a glacier, shifting across my chest, paving new fears and consequences into my thoughts. “Yeah. I mean, of course, but…” I run a hand down my face, feeling so na?ve for not asking more questions. “I’m skipping classes and practices to be here. I didn’t realize the decision would take a full month.”

“Classes? Fallon, you’ll be pro if you make it. Who gives a single fuck about a college degree?”

Janessa has a trust fund to fall back on, which allows her to afford taking risks I can’t. “Employers,” I say. “If I get hurt or cut, I’ll need a job. Health insurance.”

“People make money without degrees. This is a huge opportunity.”

“I know, but it’s also a huge gamble. If I stay for a month, I’ll lose my scholarship and my chance at Camden to play for Coach Mackenzie.”

“You hate your team,” she reminds me.

“I’d hate not being able to play even more.”

“Is this because of your boyfriend?” Judgment narrows her eyes. I told her about Corey and my hellish acceptance to Camden last night at dinner.

The impulse to tell her no is at the tip of my tongue. I never imagined a guy or relationship would be a consideration when making this kind of life-changing decision, but I’d be lying if I said no. Over the past couple of months, Corey has become my confidant, my best friend, and now my boyfriend. It’s impossible not to consider him.

“There’s a joke that anyone who moves here with a boyfriend breaks up within a month. Hell, my ex and I barely made it two weeks. They get jealous, needy…” She shakes her head. “We’re pro athletes traveling Europe. You don’t want to be tied to someone during these years. You want to be free to sleep with who you want and do what you want.” She takes another drink and her eyes flick to the side before returning to me. I wonder if she can see my panic. “Besides, look around. The guys here are gorgeous. Give it a week, and you won’t even remember your boyfriend.”

The knot in my stomach constricts. I know she’s wrong, but explaining this to her seems impossible because I’d likely think the same in reverse roles if I’d never met Corey. So, I focus on other facts and concerns. “If I stay and don’t get drafted, I won’t be able to play soccer this year,” I remind her again. “Plus, I’ll lose my health insurance since it’s through Camden, which will royally screw me over. My medications and supplies are several thousand out of pocket every month.”

“Stay here. They have national healthcare.”

“For citizens,” I cry, feeling exasperated.

“Fallon, you only live once. You have to choose. Do you want to enter the rat race or stay here and live your dream?”

“I don’t understand why I’d need to stay all month.”

She stares at me with rounded eyes. “It will show you’re dedicated. It might persuade them to pick you.”

“Where would I stay?”

“On my couch,” she offers. “You can make this happen if you look at it through the right lens. The choice is yours.”

My dinner is heavy in my stomach as I return to the hotel. I’m eternally grateful to not be staying with Janessa tonight, but even the allure of the beautiful hotel suite doesn’t distract me from my spiraling thoughts.

Janessa’s words are a taunt in my head, making me feel foolish and ignorant for even considering leaving Spain when this has been my dream for so long. At the same time, the more cautious side that led me to change my major and transfer to Camden has me ready to pack my bags this very second so I don’t miss more practices and potentially lose my spot at Camden.

I plop down on the couch and drop my head into my free hand as I scroll to Corey’s name.

“I was just thinking about you.” Corey’s voice is silk, running along my tattered nerves.

I release a slow, shaky breath. I didn’t realize my emotions had become tears until they’re racing down my cheeks. “I don’t know what to do,” I confess.

“What happened?” His voice is soft but sharp, like he’s ready to find vengeance but still wants to comfort me.

“I just learned I might have to stay for a month to make it.” My voice is thin.

“A month?” He sounds panicked but quickly clears his throat. “Why a month?” His voice is level and calm. Too damn calm.

I relive my conversation with Janessa. “I feel like I’ll be turning my back on my dream if I come home, but at the same time, there are over a hundred women here—and that doesn’t account for those who will be at the combine. And even if I do make it, I’ll only earn around forty thousand a year and retire in my early thirties. Then what?” I sigh, but my chest feels tighter as if I’m holding my breath instead.

Corey echoes the sound. “That’s a lot, but you have a few days to think about it. You can always finish your degree after you retire.”

“What if I stay and don’t get drafted? I’d lose my scholarship and soccer.”

He releases another sigh. “Camden recruited you and found a way around the rules, so you didn’t have to redshirt. If I had to bet, my money would be on you getting drafted.”

“I wish they could just decide on Thursday. It would make everything so much simpler.”

“I’m beginning to believe we don’t do simple.”

I smile faintly. He’s right. Nothing about the past couple of months could be defined as simple.

“How was the rest of your day?” he asks. “How was the field? The coaches? Did you see the facility?”

The question pivots me from my panic, recalling how perfect the details of today were. “It’s incredible. They definitely love soccer over here.”

“Football,” he corrects me.

I chuckle. “Football. And the day was…” Flawless. Perfect. “Really great. Being here, with so many women who love this sport and have worked so hard to get here, was inspiring. There are players here from Germany, Australia, and Egypt… all over. And you’d think that would make it impossible to play together, but it doesn’t. It’s really quite beautiful.”

“I wish I could see it.” His voice is sincere.

“How was your day?”

“I just finished my final class of the day.”

The six-hour time zone difference isn’t even near my top ten concerns about staying in Spain, but for a second, it feels like the biggest. If I stayed, I’d be waking up in the middle of Corey’s sleep cycle, and he’d be waking up in the middle of mine.

“I’m heading to the facility,” Corey says. “Hudson called an impromptu meeting. I’m guessing it has to do with our air-conditioning being busted and trying to figure out what to do with the team for practice.”

In the background, I hear Palmer’s voice.

“Tell them ‘hi’ for me,” I say.

“I will. They want to wish you good luck, too.”

Similar to last night, the line draws out as neither of us seems to know just how to end the conversation. I’m not ready to say goodbye and still don’t know what to do regarding the idea of staying here for a month.

“I’ll talk to you later,” I say.

“I’ll text you when I’m done here.”

I hang up and lean back against the sofa, and for the first time, I miss my empty dorm room at Camden.