american dream || pulisic

intro

He saw her.

The first time he saw her, it was at a World Cup qualifier—USMNT vs Honduras, San Jose, California. She was right in front—in those lucky seats—wearing a USA jersey, practically screaming her lungs out.

Well, as unrealistic as it seems, Christian didn't just suddenly find her.

Christian specifically remembered her because:

1. It was raining as hell
2. When he scored in the forty-sixth minute, he heard her scream, out of everyone else's cheers.

It wasn't the type of screaming where you would just look away creeped out, no. It really was something that made him think: Wow, she really loves this sport.

It was the kind of screaming where it prompted the boy to look at the crowd as he celebrated his goal. It was just a small glance. Just a normal fan. No biggie.

He didn't see her after the match ended, and he eventually forgot about her when he went into the locker room, celebrating their 6-0 win against Honduras. Of course he had forgotten about her—his mind was on more important things.

The match. The outcome. His goal and how it could potentially shape his future.

God, Christian felt like he was dreaming.

The national team, the World Cup...everything he had was everything he dreamed of, and he just couldn't get it through his head.

And apparently, it was like that for the rest of the night because as he tried to settle it down and get some rest, his mind just kept racing and racing. Tossing and turning, occasionally checking his phone, Christian couldn't find the effort to fall asleep no matter how tired he was.

It would eventually come to the point where he couldn't take it in his shared hotel room with Alejandro Bedoya. He couldn't sleep and it was nearing midnight, and he still couldn't find himself to sleep.

So his first idea was to get out. Go outside and get some fresh air, clear his mind, get it fresh for their next match in Panama so he could repeat tonight's performance.

It was only a small walk outside the hotel. To Christian, that was a really, really long walk.

He didn't want to take a long time, though. He wanted to rest well before tomorrow, so he was constantly checking his phone to make sure it wasn't too late.

Not included in his little midnight walk was a stop to the local 7-Eleven nearby. He just "wandered" in. (Not really, he wanted to buy some celebratory ice cream.)

He walked into the empty 7-Eleven, his instincts telling him to walk straight to the ice cream freezer.

He kind of wants a popsicle but remembers the one time he accidentally swallowed the stick of a cherry popsicle when he was six (don't ask him how or why), so he steers away from the red, white and blue packaging. There's the ones covered in chocolate and he could pop them in his mouth, then there's a giant chocolate and vanilla concoction that he's been in love with since grade seven.

A dilemma over ice cream. Only in the life of Christian Pulisic.

Eventually, he settles for one of those strawberry shortcake ice cream bars. You know, those little packages of heaven.

His hands goes down to grab the package, and when he does, another person comes along to the freezer. Whatever, I'm getting my ice cream.

Ice cream bar in his hand, Christian turned and the first thing he saw were two eyes.

Not even creepy as it sounds, but like, the person right next to him's eyes. They're blue. So blue, they're like the ocean.

Stand back a little, and he realizes that it's the same girl from the match. The screaming one.

She still has her USA jersey on, leggings paired with long socks and birkenstocks. Long black hair, olive skin, inches shorter than him, and those ocean eyes. Man, they were pretty. She was pretty.

And Christian, like the teenage boy with hormones he was, stared for a little while. What a loser.

I mean, he was eighteen, turning nineteen this year, but his heart beat like a fifteen year old's. Other guys would consider her average. Maybe ask for a phone number or Snapchat, but he's beat.

If this was heaven, God punch him back to reality.

"You okay there?" She smiled at him, reaching into the freezer to grab the same ice cream. How was she not acting out of her mind? She was screaming at the game. He had expected her to flip the fuck out because he was Christian Pulisic who scored a goal today.

Christian snapped back into reality, stepping away from the freezer. "Uh...yeah." Then he watched her take her ice cream and head for the register.

What the fuck just happened?

He goes behind her in line—not in a creepy way. The boy's gotta pay for his ice cream.

Once he's done paying, he grabs his ice cream and rushes out the door, hoping to catch the girl before she disappears forever. But he doesn't, and he's left standing in front of the 7-Eleven like an idiot.

There she goes, right into the night, and Christian might as well have to forget about her.

Another chance wasted.