STARGIRL, alexia putellas

4. when life gives you... orange juice?

The Barça Femeni training ground was buzzing with activity when I arrived. The sun hung low in the sky, trying its best to make the grass look greener than it actually was. The scent of freshly mowed lawn and the distant laughter of women who could run for miles without breaking a sweat brought back childhood memories. Or at least, memories of watching others play while I caught my breath.

Jonatan, the team's manager, was there to greet me, looking like he'd been up since dawn, which, let's face it, he probably had. He led me to my now fellow teammates, otherwise a sea of curious and slightly awestruck gazes. Just fantastic. Maybe I should've opted for a neon sign above my head that read, "Lost girl from Arsenal, Arsenal being the operative word." They're probably think I woke up deciding, "You know what's a great idea? Leaving my usual ponytail behind in London and sporting a half-baked French braid in its place."

"Isabela!" Ingrid Engen, my saving grace in this sea of uncertainty – and no, I'm not being sarcastic this time – calls out with an enthusiastic wave. My face must have lit up like a Christmas tree because within the span of three milliseconds she ran over and embraced me as if there was no one in the world she possibly wanted to hug more. She introduced me to her girlfriend, Mapi Leon, who I had technically met before but in a less friendly manner as we were playing against each other. It was like making friends on the first day of school, except this time, we were grown adults with a lot more baggage.

"Isabela, welcome to Barcelona!" Mapi said with genuine warmth. "I can't wait for you to meet everyone. They're a great team."

I wasn't sure if "great" meant "You'll love them" or "You'll survive them." I gave a non-committal nod and a polite smile.

As we waded through the sea of unknown faces, I spotted Keira and Lucy. They were huddled in what appeared to be an intense conversation, but they looked up as I approached. It was a moment of shared recognition, like spotting fellow survivors in a post-apocalyptic wasteland."Isabela!" Keira exclaimed, and Lucy echoed her enthusiasm. We exchanged the usual pleasantries and a dash of nostalgia. It was nice to see familiar faces in a new land.

Then, Ingrid, Mapi, Keira, Lucy, and I approached a trio of players: Aitana, Patri, and Mariona. They gazed at me with friendly yet inquisitive smiles. Aitana, who seemed to have an endless supply of words, took the lead.

"Isabela, I've heard so much about you. How was your time in Arsenal? What's London like?" Aitana's questions flew at me like a rapid-fire interview, and her companions nodded eagerly, like they were checking off a list. It was like playing some sort of verbal dodgeball. I tried to answer her barrage of inquiries about Arsenal and London, not quite sure if they were genuinely interested or simply trying to determine whether I was the real deal or just a football-themed hologram. A couple of other players such as Jana, Claudia and Marta came to join the conversation.

"Hey, you're the model player aren't you? I mean they weren't kidding." Jana says, I feel a blush creeping to my cheeks.

"I'm not even going to lie, we were all stalking your Instagram before you arrived - you're even more gorgeous in person." Mariona adds.

Well, it appeared my reputation had paved the way for me, and I'd unintentionally created an impression. And here I was, thinking I'd be the quiet one on the team.

As the conversation flowed, I began to relax a bit, thinking that maybe this new team wouldn't be such an ordeal after all.

But of course, life loves to throw you a curveball when you least expect it. Just as I was beginning to feel like I fit in, disaster struck. As I walked with Ingrid and Mapi toward the changing rooms, I had a graceful collision with someone. My hands decided that holding orange juice was a great idea, and... well... you can guess the rest – it went all over her white training top. Her name? Alexia Putellas, the team's captain.

She stared at me like I'd just performed a massacre on her whole bloodline or something. I tried to apologize, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to—"

But she didn't want to hear it. She spun around, muttering who-knows-what under her breath, and stormed away, with her teammates Jenni and Salma following in her wake.

Salma and Jenni wore apologetic expressions, probably wishing they'd brought an umbrella for this juice shower.

"It's alright," I shrugged off the minor disaster. "Stuff happens."

Now, you'd think that'd be the end of my little juice escapade, but no, life had other plans. Later on, Jonatan, approached. "Isabela, meet Alexia Putellas. She's our team captain, and I'm sure you've seen her face before."

Yes, Jonatan, I have.

It really didn't help that Alexia was significantly taller than me and more muscular, perfect. I always thought she looked intimidating on pitch and in photos, I think I may have tackled her once and actually gotten away with it? Pretty sure she fouled me afterwards... never mind. She was undeniably sophisticated, I'll give her that. I desperately wanted to compliment her but this was not the time and probably wouldn't be the time for the next decade at least.

Alexia's smile was so polite it was borderline frosty. "It's nice to have you here, Isabela. Welcome to Barça Femeni."

The hair on my neck prickled. Alexia's polite words held an underlying warning. This was not the welcoming committee I had envisioned. It was more like entering a lion's den dressed as a gazelle and realizing you left your running shoes at home.

"Thank you, it's lovely to meet you." I smiled disdainfully and to my mistake I let that become obvious because she stopped smiling and now was just staring coldly.

I shrugged it off. Refusing to let her get to me. There was bound to be a few sour grapes in every bunch, right? Jonatan nodded and turned his heel, leaving me and Alexia alone at the sidelines. That's when she leaned in closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "Just remember, this is Barcelona, not London. Things are different here."

A shiver crept down my spine, and I couldn't help but feel like I'd just stumbled into a completely different ballgame – and not the fun kind. And with that cryptic message, she sashayed back to her entourage. I was left pondering the cryptic remark, feeling like I'd just become an unwitting player in some mysterious game of football politics.

I brushed off the encounter, determined not to let one person's icy demeanour sour my hopes for a fresh start. After all, I was here to play the game I loved and build a new chapter in my career. The drama could wait.

That's the thing about life – it's unpredictable. Sometimes it throws oranges at you, and sometimes it serves you oranges as juice. Either way, you roll with the punches and hope for the best. In this case, the ball was in my court, and I was ready to take my shot.