Carson Messi

Chapter Eighteen

"Good afternoon, guys." Coach says. "I'm going start you out with three miles." He says.

The guys groan but take off anyway. I jog up to the front and laugh as the guys try to stay on my heels. They really wanted to beat me now. I pick up the pace eventually gain a lead on them. Despite them being ten feet behind me, I can hear their pants and heavy steps on the track.

I finish the 12 laps around the track and take another lap to cool down a little before getting water. I reach the bleachers last, and grab my standard Gatorade water bottle. I squeeze some water in my mouth and notice them staring at me.

"What?" I ask.

"Nothing!" Nate yells loudly, causing all of us to laugh.

I shrug. "Yeah okay, Nate."

"Okay. Today I'm going to work with the defense while West will work with the offense. He'll give you the instructions. Carson, you're working with the offense as well." Coach Leeper instructs.

Coach West?

I head over to the other half of the field. The forwards and attacking midfield form a group ahead of me.

I sometimes wonder what it'd be like for me to live in Europe. Football is so much more appreciated. I've been living in America for my whole life so I have no idea how school in Europe works.

"Let's get this party started, bitches!" I yell in Portuguese. I don't even know why I yelled it in Portuguese, but I did.

Miles looks at me first. "What the heck? Your speaking crazy." He says.

I roll my eyes at the brunette. "I'm speaking Portuguese, you ignorant ass." I say the last part in Portuguese just to confuse him. He doesn't need to know what I say.

Miles just shakes his head.

"I can speak Spanish." Derek says, joining our conversation.

"Fluently?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. He nods. "Well let's try to have conversation." I suggest. "What's you're favorite color?" I ask in Spanish.

"Blue." He replies easily. "The sky, the ocean, and you're eyes are all blue. Marry me?"

I laugh. "Why not? We are definitely not too young. Can we elope though? My dad will not approve so we'll need to run away to Mexico where we can speak Spanish freely." I answer.

"Wonderful!" He grins. "Will we have to change our names?"

I nod. "I'll become Maria and you'll be my Paco. It'll be great." I say. "We'll play on the national teams and start a new life with little football playing children named Miguel and Mariana." I say.

Derek smirks. "I'm sticking you to your word-"

"You guys done? Can we start the practice?" Coach West interrupts in Spanish.

He was listening to our whole conversation. I'm dying. Of laughter.

"Yeah sure. Why not?" I answer his question.

He nods thoughtfully. "If you're so great, why don't you shoot a crossbar goal? We're practicing shooting, so go ahead." Coach West says, crossing his arms.

I roll my eyes. A crossbar goal? Please, Uncle Leo taught me personally. I could probably do it in my sleep, Leo pounded it into my brain. It took a month of constant practice to score five in a row. Uncle Leo does not give up and inspires me with his integrity.

I take the soccer ball from West's hands. I set it down on the ground. "This distance okay for you?" I ask, sassily.

He nods. "Whenever you're ready."

I take a few steps. I count in my mind as I step back then over. Then I look at the ball. With a small smile I run forward. I lean on my left foot as I kick the ball with my right. My foot connects easily with the amount of momentum I've grown accustomed to.

Like I pictured in my mind, the ball flies across the field. It connects with the crossbar and the force causes it to change direction and into the goal.

I watch the now still ball.

"Well okay then." Miles says, whistling. "I'm just gonna put it out there that I'm not going to be able to do that. Don't get your hopes up on my following up that one, West."

West ignores Miles and sets the ball down, a few meters back from where I had it.

Wordlessly, he takes his steps backward. Then he kicks the ball and it hits the crossbar and lands in the goal.

I silently grab another soccer ball. I move back to the center of half line. I take my steps back quickly. Then I kick the ball and it hits the crossbar as well.

Everyone watches quietly as Coach West goes back a few meters from my starting point again.

He concentrates on the ball before kicking it. The ball goes way over the goal. Looks like he thought he was kicking a field goal. Wrong kind of football, I reckon. (If you haven't seen the video, I put it in the media. It's hilarious and I stole the last two sentences from it!)

All eyes were now on me. I take a ball and set it up a few feet from where West's ball was.

I give him a wink, as he broods moodily.

Then I kick the ball. It soars through the air and finally lands right smack dab on the center of the crossbar.

"Eh," West says. "Everyone go run 10 laps for Carson's behavior."

My behavior? Excuse me, but I did not have any bad behavior. I think he's just jealous that I outshined a good collegiant soccer player.

Instead of complaining like the rest of the guys, I put a smile on my face. If he's going to punish me for being better, I'll punish him by enjoying his torture.

I push myself harder than I have ever before. I've completely zoned out from my surroundings. I push myself harder and harder.

Focus on your steps. Inhale, run two steps. Exhale, run three steps. Repeat.

Straighten out your arms. Shake them out to loosen up a little. Become a little less tense or you'll end up with shoulder cramps.

Think of old songs you and Neymar would sing to distract you from negative thoughts.

Think about what you're having for dinner. What should you watch next on Netflix.

Anything to distract you from yourself.

I count my 16th lap before finishing. I'd lapped a lot of the guys 5 times and I was finishing right after the last guy, who was Jared who ended up being a substitute.

Coach West frowns at my extra laps, but I ignore it. I take a sip of my water.

Bring it on, West.