Never Leave Again

i'm ready

As expected, I don't play a minute of the first leg. Jonatan pulls me aside after the match. We are all aware of the reason I am here. Training with the top teams never necessarily extended into playing for them.

"I want you to play," he tells me, sounding quite serious. However, his words are hollowed out, as though he is only saying them to keep me motivated. "No, no, Talia. We need you to play. You really are very good; extremely talented. Perhaps in the return leg. It is important that you continue working hard and learning from the more experienced players here."

I nod. "Yes, coach."

His smile is a nice touch. "I see great things in your future. There could be a future for you here." He pats me on the back as a form of dismissal, and I head into the changing rooms. Clàudia is right – the best teams party hard when they win and feel it deeply when they lose. I am glad we won.

Jonatan's words swirl in my mind as we make the journey back to Barcelona. I had not thought to inquire about what will happen when the season ends. I certainly don't want to continue at Sevilla after being shown a new world of talent and elite sports. Spanish football is not developed enough. The league is hardly competitive unless I were to play at one of three clubs.

I could always play in a different league. Chelsea's kit is nice. I have heard good things about the WSL from Lucy and Keira, and Fleur is encouraging about stepping outside of my comfort zone. She would know, I suppose. She left Ajax, her home club, at eighteen to play in France. She told me that she knew not one word of the language until she arrived. "It was not so bad," she reflected. "It had its bad times, but I am the player I am today because of those foundation years."

On the coach to the training facility, I talk about it with Salma. She, like me, is always thinking about the future. Apparently, it is something young players often do. "It's not like I have a contract here," I say.

"You probably could get one. They like to have a good bench."

"What if I don't want to be on the bench?" It is not egotistical for me to think this way. Not if I am one season at Sevilla away from wearing the captain's armband. "Hopefully, I'll get selected for the World Cup squad. I could gain some traction from that. Would you ever want to leave Spain?"

"For me, leaving Spain is not ideal. I'm not sure I'd cope with football and a new country. Have you seen how cold it gets in Germany?"

"Well, yeah. It's no different to the temperatures at home and in Barcelona for me. Snow seems fun, too. I've never seen snow." I'd love to be someplace cold, even if I'd regret it in the actual moment. Something about the whiteness of the frost – the crispness I imagine the air would possess – seems refreshing. "You can't stay here your whole life."

"But I can try," she says with a smirk, raising her eyebrows. It is an FC Barcelona trait. They sign and extend and extend until, one day, they die in a blue and red shirt. "Why? Are you thinking of leaving?"

"Salma, I'm here on-loan," I remind her.

"I would sign you immediately. You're too good not to want at the club." Barcelona, in their extremely welcoming nature, seem to have forgotten how temporary my presence is. It worries me to think that Clàudia may also feel this way. It would be a terribly difficult conversation to have. "Plus, your girlfriend would do everything in her power to make it so that you never leave."

"She's not my girlfriend." Salma giggles. "She's not! We have been on, like, three dates."

"You kiss a lot."

"Nothing is official."

"Well, you should probably check in on that. Ask her." I can't. Not yet. "But, alright, I will let you be slow. This isn't the Talia I know, so maybe I should let her figure her things out." She references the girl who wasn't sure enough of her sexuality to have a relationship. I think about her, glad that she has disappeared. "Fuck, she's actually coming ov–"