There were no dreams of goals, volleys, or embraces in the middle of the court. There was only the heavy darkness of a dreamless sleep, giving way to the gray and indifferent light of Friday morning. Elismar opened his eyes and felt a void where once there had been euphoria.
He sat on the bed, his body still sore from practice. Fuzzball and Soft Paw were there, faithful sentinels of his melancholy.
"She didn't show up," he murmured to the cats, the phrase echoing the sadness of the previous night. "Today's the game. I wanted her to be there. But I think I messed it all up without even knowing how."
The morning ritual was carried out on autopilot. Shower, uniform, breakfast. His mother, Dona Valdi, noticed the change instantly. The vibrant energy of the past days had dissipated, replaced by a cloud of discouragement.
"Did something happen, my son? You're so quiet. Aren't you excited for the game anymore?"
Elismar just shrugged, pushing a piece of couscous around on his plate. "I'm fine, mom. Just focused."
The lie felt heavy on his tongue. He wasn't focused — he was confused. He left the house with a rushed kiss on her cheek and a "bye" that barely left his mouth.
The walk to school was lonely. He hoped, against all hope, to see her along the way, maybe at the bakery's corner. And then, he saw her.
But it wasn't the Clara he knew.
The girl walking toward him looked like a different version, almost a stranger. Her straight hair, which used to fall naturally, was now perfectly aligned. There was a subtle shine on her lips and a dark line outlining her blue eyes, making them seem even more intense — but in a different way, less spontaneous. The baggy shirt and workout shorts had been replaced by a tight-fitting blouse and a denim skirt that looked uncomfortable for someone used to running and kicking balls. Even the way she walked was different, more restrained, less tomboyish.
She stopped in front of him, a rehearsed smile on her face. "Hey there, apartment Pelé. Like the new look?"
Elismar blinked, trying to process the transformation. "Wow. You... look different. It's... cool," he managed to say, but the confusion was obvious in his voice. "But... why? Did something happen?"
"Nothing. Just decided I needed to embrace more of my 'feminine side,' as my mom puts it," she replied, doing a little twirl. "Oh, and I've got news. My dad got me transferred. Starting today, we go to the same school."
The news should've made him happy, but only deepened his unease. That wasn't the girl he had shared laughs and bad passes with on the dusty court.
"Really? That's... great," he said, as they started walking together.
Their arrival at Colégio Santo Sertão caused a stir. The same boys who used to mock him now looked at him with newfound respect. Yesterday, he'd been walking with Sophia, the most popular girl. Today, he arrived with a new and pretty student. Elismar, the awkward kid, suddenly had "status." He hated it. It wasn't because of his football, or who he was — it was because of who was beside him.
Clara seemed to enjoy the attention, waving to people she didn't even know. Elismar felt a knot in his stomach. He wanted his training partner back, not that polished, unfamiliar version.
The morning dragged on. During break, the school announced a final practice match before the interclass tournament officially began in the afternoon. Gentle Tigers vs. the "Sharks from Class C," another team considered weak, but infinitely more organized than them.
On the court, Elismar tried to focus. He gathered his team. "Listen, this is our final test. Let's do what we trained yesterday. No fear!"
The whistle blew. And for a brief moment, there was progress. Elismar managed a tackle. Piter held the ball like a pivot for three full seconds before losing it. And then, a miracle: a strong shot from the Sharks headed for the goal. Markin, instead of closing his eyes or dodging, stood still and the ball hit his chest, falling to his feet. A save! He made two more similar saves, using his body like a trembling but functional wall. The crowd (three of Ryan's friends) applauded.
But that was where the progress ended.
The first goal they conceded came from a quick counterattack. The second, a marking failure by Piter. The third, Ryan tripped over the ball and handed it to the opponent. The score kept climbing. 4, 5, 6 to 0. The humiliation was back.
The tenth goal was the climax of the tragedy. A Sharks player shot across the goal. The ball was going out. Lester, in a peak moment of his defender's spirit, stretched his leg to intercept. He hit the ball perfectly with his "thunder kick," sending it straight into the top corner of his own goal. An epic own goal. He stood still, looking up at the sky, as if asking "Why?"
Final score: 10 to 0.
They left the court under laughter and comments like, "At least they improved, last time it was 23." Elismar looked to the bleachers. Clara was there, sitting next to Sophia and her group, chatting animatedly. She saw him, gave a pitying smile, and turned away.
That smile was worse than Lester's own goal.
That day, which should've been glorious, was turning into a nightmare. A crushing defeat, the girl who inspired him turned into a stranger, and the real game was still to come. Elismar felt the confidence he had built so carefully crumble like a sandcastle.