Page 58 of Anatomy of Us

“Fucking post, Jesus!” she screams as she drops to her knees, hands on her head, and the whole stadium groans one long, aching sound.

Two more minutes and it’s PKs.

Nobody wants PKs. They’re a lottery.

Last minute, we win a corner.

Lucía grabs the ball. Sets it in the corner arc. Her hands shake a little, but her face goes pure focus.

She raises her arm. The signal.

The stadium holds its breath. I hear my own heartbeat thud in my ears.

The cross comes with curl, bending toward the near post. Their keeper punches it away but doesn’t catch it. The ball pops up and drops toward the top of the box.

Toward me.

I bring it down off my chest. A defender lunges. I slip past on instinct alone.

I lift my head and I see her.

Jade ghosts to the back post. There’s a window. Small. Closing.

I don’t think. I just hit it.

Jade doesn’t trap it. Doesn’t settle it. No time.

She jumps and volleys it, her laces cracking the ball out of the air, and it rockets while she watches from the grass.

Time doesn’t slow down. I swear it stops, because every split second burns into my memory with brutal clarity.

The ball skims the keeper’s gloves.

Hits net.

Goal.

And the world blows apart.

Jade drops to her knees, hands over her face, crying from joy. Iris sprints at her, yelling something that makes no sense. The rest of the team floods in.

“Good ball,” I read on Jade’s lips.

“Great finish,” I mouth back.

Final whistle.

End of match.

Champions.

I don’t know who screams first.

Maybe me. Maybe Iris. Maybe the twenty-five thousand people filling the stadium in one single sound.

I run toward the stands. Section 112. Row 8.

There she is.