STARGIRL, alexia putellas

8. a different kind of intensity

Four days. That's all the time I had left to mentally prepare for my first match with Barcelona.  Four days filled with intensive training sessions, tactical briefings, and the kind of anticipation that makes your stomach feel like it's hosting a swarm of agitated butterflies. The adrenaline, the excitement, the sheer terror – they all mingled in a chaotic dance in my head. It was the kind of mental state where your mind shifts between "I can't wait for this" and "What was I thinking?"

My coffee mug, eternally by my side, was now an extension of my hand. It didn't matter if it was midnight or dawn; I was locked in a race against time and against my own racing thoughts. Preparing for a match is a bit like cramming for an exam, but instead of regurgitating theorems and equations, you have to memorize the tendencies and strategies of the Sevilla players. Over time, I've gotten used to it, still, it never fails to spike the anxiety levels to an all time high. Especially in this situation. 

Leticia said she, my mother and father have bought tickets for the match so no there pressure at all for me just my whole dignity at stake if we lose, no biggie. Now, I really have to score a goal, or at least defend like my life depends on it. In a way, my job kind of does, my family's view of my lifestyle does, Alexia's view of me does... not that that matters really... ahem. All I'm saying is, if we win it makes this relatively monumental time in my life a lot less stressful. 

Training with Aitana was no joke. She was like a force of nature on the pitch, and I marvelled at her boundless stamina. As I struggled to keep up during the drills, I couldn't help but question my life choices. Why did I think it was a good idea to leave the comfort of Arsenal for this? The water breaks couldn't come soon enough.

Amidst the sweat and exhaustion, Aitana managed to summon her infectious enthusiasm once more. As we caught our breath, she launched into an animated discussion about her upcoming birthday. Apparently, she was planning a super fancy celebration, and my ears perked up when she mentioned renting a rooftop bar.

She extended a warm invitation to me, explaining that the event would be attended by our entire team and friends from different teams. The prospect of letting loose at Aitana's birthday bash after the upcoming match sounded like a much-needed relief valve for the pressure that had been building up. Plus, it would be a good opportunity to reconnect with players I hadn't seen in a while and bond with my new Barcelona teammates. So, with an exhausted but eager smile, I gladly accepted the invitation.

Aitana had specified that the dress code for her birthday celebration would be formal. This, of course, brought back the classic "what to wear" dilemma that haunts anyone invited to a fancy event. Luckily, my past self had the foresight to maintain a selection of dresses from each season in my wardrobe for exactly this kind of situation. It's probably the only bit of organisational skill I'll ever possess, and at that moment, I was internally thanking my past self for being a sartorial visionary.

After the session, I had barely enough energy left to drag myself to the locker room. The anticipation for the upcoming match continued to build, and I knew I needed to push my limits to prove myself to my new team.

Little did I know, the locker room wasn't going to be the sanctuary of solitude I'd hoped for.I showered in peace as I was one of the first ones in from training, before wrapping a towel around myself and moved to the row of mirrors to start on my hair. As I fumbled with my blonde curls, I realised that I had inadvertently blocked access to some of the lockers, but with no one else in sight, I didn't think it would be a problem. My hair still dripped with water as I started to style it. It was a casual, almost careless act. I hadn't even noticed that I was slightly blocking the pathway to some of the lockers. My attention was solely on getting my unruly hair back under control.

And then it happened.

Before I could dwell on the workout further, the door to the locker room swung open, and in she waltzed, the one and only Alexia, the reigning queen of intense gazes and hair so perfectly unruffled it defied the laws of physics. My heart did a quickstep in my chest, but I pretended not to notice her arrival and focused on the task of reviving my curls. Footsteps began to approach, and my heart quickened its pace, I could feel the heat of another body, and the sound of someone stepping closer. Please don't kill me. Please don't kill me. And here I was, thinking I'd have the locker room all to myself. Guess my "alone time" fantasy was a tad too optimistic.

Alexia, however, had other plans. She decided to get hands-on – quite literally. She glided up behind me, getting so close that I could feel her body heat, and if it wasn't for the sink, I might have mistaken this for an impromptu tango lesson. Alexia placed her hands on the sink on either side of me, effectively hemming me in. My reflection in the mirror captured her intense gaze, like a predatory cat locking onto its prey.

"You had quite a session today, Isabela," she said, her voice low and tinged with a hint of amusement.

I choked back my initial response – "No kidding" – and cleared my throat, not trusting my voice to respond adequately. "Yeah, Aitana doesn't pull any punches."

With deliberate slowness, Alexia let her gaze wander down, shamelessly checking me out in the mirror. I couldn't deny the surge of heat that rushed to my cheeks. It was an entirely unexpected turn of events. Here was the same person who had treated me like a barely noticeable insect during training, now presenting a flirtatious side that I never could've predicted. I was intrigued, befuddled, and maybe a tad flustered. She offered no words, no explanations, just a lingering gaze that said more than she ever could with her lips - the tension was so thick you could've cut it with a metaphorical knife.

Alexia broke into an expression that can only be described as "the anti-smirk." And she leaned in closer, her breath warm against my ear. "You've got potential, Isabela. Don't let it go to waste." Her hands slid off the sink, and one of them brushed lightly against my waist. It sent a shiver down my spine, and I could feel my cheeks flush with heat.

I stood there, my mind doing an interpretive dance routine trying to make sense of it all. And Alexia? She just sauntered away like a mystery wrapped in an enigma.

It was official. My life at Barcelona had just taken a detour into the Twilight Zone, and I was now stranded in a parallel universe where my rival on the pitch might also be my... What? My admirer? My flirtation partner? My friend? The possibilities were as vast and unclear as an abstract painting, and I had no idea where this peculiar path would lead. The interaction was intense, slightly risqué, and left me feeling like I had just been caught in the crossfire of an interpersonal chess game with her as the queen. My response? Checkmate, I guess.

As soon as I left the building I got in my car and immediately called Mila. This was the biggest 'you won't believe what just happened' moment of all moments.

She picked up after what felt like an eternity. "Hey, babe. What's up?"

"Mila, you won't believe what just happened," I blurted out, my words a jumbled mess of confusion and frustration.

"Whoa, slow down, Isabela. What's going on?" Mila's voice was filled with curiosity and concern.

I took a deep breath to gather my thoughts. "So, after training today, I was in the locker room, minding my own business, trying to style my hair, you know, the usual. And then, out of nowhere, Alexia waltzed in like she owned the place. I mean, literally, she stood so close to me that if I took a step back, we'd be waltzing together."

"That's... unexpected. And kinda hot?"

I couldn't help but scoff. "Exactly! But that's the thing, Mila. One moment she's treating me like I'm dirt on her shin pad and now she's giving me these intense, seductive looks in the mirror and  whispering something about potential in my ear, all while casually brushing her hand against my waist." I gulped. It was all too overwhelming. Don't get me wrong it's not that I didn't enjoy it, I just didn't expect it. Even though her intimidation in general wasn't much to enjoy, anyway.

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. "Isabela, you do realize this sounds like an enemies to lovers novel, right?"

Christ, Ingrid was right. 

"Oh... don't be ridiculous." I try and brush off what she said in an unconvincing tone. "That's most definitely not going to happen." 

"But, think about it, Iz. Is having the 'la reina', the queen of football who happens to also be super hot flirting with you that bad?"

I pause, when Mila puts it that way - no, it doesn't. But not when you're the newly joined member of the team who seems like they're trying to seduce the captain. Career wise, there's no brownie points for that. 

"Yes!" I exclaim, stubbornly. I can practically hear Mila's eye roll over the phone. 

Mila, not one to back down, persisted. "Iz, it's not like you're trying to sabotage your career by being polite to your captain."

"I'm not... trying to sabotage anything. But I need to prove myself, not have people think I got here because I caught someone's eye," I reasoned, attempting to navigate the high seas of professionalism while trying not to be swept away by Alexia's undertow.

Mila sighed, her voice holding a touch of sympathy. "You've always been a headstrong one, Isabela. Just remember that not everything's black and white. Maybe this isn't about your career; it's about discovering the unexpected. And life's full of those, you know?"

Her words lingered in my mind as I ended the call. Maybe Mila had a point, and I was too caught up in the whirlwind of professional paranoia. For now, the mysteries of my parallel universe with Alexia would have to remain unsolved.