Can I Go Where You Go? - Pablo Gavi

Chapter 6: Proud Coaches

His foot connects with the ball and we all watch as it flies towards the net and into the top right corner. He's made it.

He turns around and runs towards the line up of our teammates. Pedri and I jump out of the group and run towards Gavi, meeting him halfway and colliding with him into a hug. 

"You did it!" I yell as we're bouncing on the balls of our feet.

"We did it," he corrects, his voice breathy. I'm not sure if he believes he made the shot quite yet.

We separate from the hug and Pedri rubs both of our heads, messing up our already sweaty hair. Smiling like idiots we jog over to the rest of the team, Gavi running over and jumping on someone's back. When Pedri and I get there they make room for us and we join in on the giant team hug, everyone bouncing and yelling.

We've won the match and we've officially made it to the semi-finals. And on top of that we got our revenge on Morocco.

We celebrate together on the field---first a giant circle, then a line to thank the fans, followed by individuals hugs with each of my teammates---until we're satisfied, then we move the party down to the changeroom to celebrate some more. 

Down in the changeroom everyone pulls off their red jerseys and throws them around the room. That action is quickly followed by everyone spraying each other with our water bottles. Still the yelling and chanting continues. If this is what it's like when we win a quarter final game I wonder what it would be like to win the final.

When everyone is done weaponizing their water bottles and throats become too sore we calm down and get changed. Shortly after I head out to the hallway by myself; knowing Gavi is going to be a while and I need a chance to breathe, I told him I'd meet him back at the hotel.

I walk down the hallway with a little skip to my step, a smile evident on my face. How could I not be happy right now? A ways down the hall I see my uncle, standing with another, familiar man.

"Jonatan?" I ask as I approach them. 

"Nice to see you Isla," he says, sticking out his hand for me to shake.

I take it before looking over to Xavi who provides no explanation, then back to Jonatan. "I didn't know you were here?" Jonatan is the Barca women's team coach and has been for four and a half years now. Back when I was starting out at the club I thought he was going to offer me a position on the women's team, instead Xavi offered me one on the men's team.

He shrugs, hands replaced in his pockets. "Came to watch."

"All the way from Spain?" It wasn't a last minute trip, that's for sure. Even after I started playing on the men's team Jonatan showed a special interest in me, almost as if he's scouting me for when I can't play in the men's league anymore; as if I'd play anywhere besides Barcelona.

That being said it is the World Cup, who wouldn't want to watch it?

"Came to support the Spaniards," he says, "and congratulate you. You've come along way."

"Thanks," I say, feeling the blush creep up my cheeks.

"Yes, congratulations Isla," my uncle agrees. "You played amazing today. You are more then deserving of a spot in the starting eleven in the semi-finals match."

"Thanks," I say again, this time a bit awkwardly. I'm not sure what else to say.

"Next we've got to watch out for Germany," Xavi says. Germany is the team we're playing in the semi-finals as they won their game this morning. "They're out for blood, upset they didn't make it out of the group stage last time." He leans in and whispers, "And that was partly our fault."