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Chapter Thirteen

Darien

‘E xplosive movements are something—’

‘ Explosive movements ?’

Shantal turns to Henri, who looks absolutely appalled. The rest of us can’t hold it in. We burst out laughing. Miguel is slapping his knee while I lean against him. I’m pretty sure even our trainers can hear us from the conference room in the Heidelberg building, despite the fact that we’re all the way out on the track for a second walkthrough.

‘Oh, god,’ groans Shantal. She reaches over and pokes Henri in the ribs, making him jump. ‘Is it any better if I say “explosive motions”?’

‘Not really,’ I tease her, ‘but go ahead.’

She rolls her eyes at me with a generous helping of disdain as we all finally pull ourselves together and continue our early Monday morning track walk, down the main straight and towards the first corner. ‘Well, explosive motions are something we worked on a lot with Crystal Palace,’ she tells us. ‘From some … first-hand observations, I’ve determined that can benefit our team, too.’ We share a knowing glance.

Maybe I’m genuinely hallucinating, but I could have sworn we formed a shred of a rapport up there on Cantagalo last week, and even a shred would be enough to move on from Shantal’s frosty, all-business demeanour. Unfortunately, it looks as if we’re back to square one. In fact, it feels like we’re behind square one. The wall between us crumbled for a minute, but now it’s back up, and it’s sturdier than ever.

‘So that’s what I’d like to begin with on Conquest’s sim systems,’ she finishes.

‘But Shantal, what are explosive motions?’ Miguel echoes all our thoughts. ‘Other than the uncontrollable shits.’

Now even Shantal can’t hold it in. She laughs this big, beautiful laugh with this weird little hiccup in the middle. ‘Beautiful’ almost seems like a criminal word to use for the woman who’s been gradually picking away at my brain, but I guess it’s accurate. Especially considering yesterday. Everything about yesterday.

Man , I need that wall to fall apart for good.

‘Okay, I give in, it sounds funny,’ admits Shantal. ‘But in football, we train explosive motions to allow our players to change direction, move faster, react quicker. I want us to target that. Improve our adaptability, give us an edge on the sharp curves and overtakes. Catch the things the other teams might not?’

‘That I can agree with,’ says Miguel in approval. ‘Turn times were a little slow in the old data, right?’

Shantal nods. ‘Just slightly. So your trainers will work with you on the individual components of the performance plan they got together this morning. We decided to start by running a slightly modified version of this very track on the sim, so we can figure out exactly where we stand.’

‘Is this the Coach Shantal part?’ Henri asks with his usual childlike curiosity.

‘I guess you could say that.’ She’s not being obvious about it, but I can tell that little compliment bolsters Shantal’s confidence. And seeing that, seeing the way she holds herself becomes surer, something in my chest goes warm.

‘This could be the leg-up Heidelberg needs to take the Championship. Coach Shantal,’ I remark with a smile.

It seems to take Shantal aback. I’ve seen people preen before – pretending they know everything about our team’s engines, asking for a hot lap to impress us with their ability to stomach it; I’ve seen it all from people in Shantal’s position. Yet she still doesn’t care about appearances or fame; she just plods along like a kid figuring out a little more about the world with each step.

And for the record, she did look really good in my helmet.

We pack up shop for the day after a weight-training session. Celina has me doing a new exercise on Conquest’s programmable Iron Neck rather than the usual slower stuff: a small but quick turn that leaves my neck and shoulders hellishly sore by the end of it. The trainers show us how to turn Gs up and down, how to switch up the abruptness of a turn, link up our data so the machine knows what setting we need to practise on every session. It’s different. We’re definitely struggling. But struggles, at least in practice, are wins.

Instead of being on track for the remainder of the week, we spend it introducing more motions that will increase our team’s response, using equipment smarter than anything I’ve ever seen in my life (even at that one weird-ass gym in Montreal). Shantal, to her credit, is adapting well to a sport she has so little experience of. It’s got to be the seventh ring of hell, but she does her best to come back the next morning with a coffee and a yawn. She is as persistent as she was about going to Cantagalo, and I’m coming to admire that.

Friday rolls around fast, hot and sunny. No one’s in the frame of mind to work out with the weather so nice. It almost feels like a sin. So it’s a relief when the trainers let us all out for a much-needed off-day.

I watch Miguel and Henri chatter excitedly, gym bags and suitcases on their arms as they head off into the atrium for the weekend, not a care in the world. I’m pretty sure Miguel’s already buzzing with excitement about seeing Diana again for winter testing weekend – they’re suffering through a forced exile from one another while their respective teams prepare for the season. Henri’s just starstruck by the thought of actually meeting ‘ the Diana “Danger” Zahrani’. Henri, as young and new to me as he is, seems to allow absolutely nothing to knock him down, and when it does, he gets back up right away. We still joke with the kid, because there’s an obvious opening there – I mean, he’s barely allowed to drink – but both Miguel and I have earned a new respect for him over the past two weeks.

‘Hey, Dar!’ Miguel calls, waving me over. ‘You know a guy, right?’

‘Depends on what you need.’ I grin and sling my bag over my shoulder. ‘But odds are, I know someone for it.’

‘Do you have a good pitch around here?’ Henri cuts in eagerly.

‘Oh. Oh , are you asking me that?’ I feign extravagant insult. ‘There’s a turf in Leblon, someone’s uncle has a membership … and I can absolutely get us in. Plus I know a couple of guys who wouldn’t mind joining us.’

Henri is in complete awe, and Miguel’s just about ready to burst with anticipation, until his attention abruptly shifts … to Shantal Mangal and her iced coffee.

She’s just on her way out through the atrium when Miguel, the fool, shouts, ‘Hey, Shantal!’

She turns and doubles back to join us, slightly warily. ‘Uh-oh. What’s going on over here?’

‘Nothing, don’t worry. Well, except football … what? Tomorrow?’ Miguel glances at each of us in turn, and Henri and I both nod.

‘Tomorrow,’ I echo, and I’m not sure what kind of spirit has possessed me, but I’m pulling out all the stops in prayer that she’ll say yes. I swallow hard. Shantal, a head and a half shorter than me with a voice like a Disney princess’s, has me off my game. ‘You should come. I know we’ve been busy since last week, but I just wanted to apologize for the Cantagalo chaos – the car and everything—’

‘Darien.’ Shantal looks exceptionally guilty as she holds out a hand to stop me. ‘No, it’s okay. I made you take me. It’s my bad.’

Henri and Miguel watch us with eyes ping-ponging back and forth between the two of us. I clear my throat and shake off the fact that glimpsing the momentary chink in Shantal’s armour has just completely fazed me. ‘Really?’ I raise an eyebrow. ‘So this means we can stop rehashing the whole André thing?’

Her expression quickly morphs right back to a scowl. Ah, how easily she freezes me out. ‘Never.’

‘ Anyway ,’ Miguel cuts in. ‘He’s an idiot, but he’s right about the fact that you should come. You’ll enjoy it, we’re just playing for fun. It’s nothing serious at all, right?’

Shantal gives Miguel an apologetic smile. He’s getting smiles? Definitely on her good side. ‘I’d love to. But I have work to do on the numbers I picked up with Darien.’

‘Maybe just pop in for like, an hour. Please?’ I try anyway. I meet her eyes while waiting for a response. Please, please, please.

‘Okay,’ she finally gives in. ‘I used to play, but that was a while ago. And you are all scary good at football here.’

I wave a dismissive hand, even though she’s right, because most kids in Brazil who have a penchant for the sport practically learn to dribble and walk at the same time. ‘You’ll be just fine.’

I hide the relief I feel immediately after the word ‘okay’ leaves her lips. And I try not to think about why I’m already so obsessed with the specialist who’s going to leave in just a few months’ time.