enigma | reus

11.

ROMESSA | Playing Games

"We'll be going on a special excursion tonight. Germany's first match in this year's Euro competition will be against Iceland, and thanks to Bella's father—who was gracious enough to pull some strings for our group—we will be attending it." Mrs. Langford, one of Romessa's chaperones, waved a handful of match tickets for the group to see.

Romessa turned to Bella, eyebrows risen. "What does your father do?"

Bella had always been a mutual friend to Romessa. Cindy De La Torre, Romessa's best friend who hadn't received an invitation to come on the trip, was Bella's cousin. Romessa knew that Bella came from a wealthy family; Cindy herself was spending the summer at their family's estate in Laguna, a luxury you could only afford if you had tons of extra money laying around. "He's like the CEO of a sports agency, or something," Bella responded, carelessly.

Romessa bit her lip, accepting her ticket from Ms. Langford as she handed them out. Perhaps for the first time ever, she spoke loud enough for the entire group to hear her. "What are the Euros?"

Scott, an avid sports fan, responded with offense. "You seriously don't know? The Euros are one of the most major soccer championships in Europe. It's awesome that we get to go to an opening match. Do you know how much these tickets cost?" He firmly held up his ticket, gripping it as though his life depended on it.

Romessa stared at her own ticket, unthinking. It didn't occur to her at all that she might see Marco play; she still didn't quite grasp what it meant for him to be a footballer on the national team, and usually forgot about it altogether.

"This'll be fun," Gianna stated, as the group boarded the subway they'd take from their hotel to the stadium. "German guys are hot. Athletes are hot. German athletes? Orgasmic." She rolled her eyes back, feigning what she must've perceived to be an orgasm. It's not like I'd know what it really does look like when you have an orgasm, Romessa suddenly thought, blushing. Only then was it that she began to think about Marco; to wonder what he was doing and where he was. She wished that he'd text her or talk to her other than to ask if she wanted to meet up, but figured she couldn't act surprised that this was how he behaved. She supposed she should consider herself lucky at all that he favored her; lucky that it was her who he called and invited to spend nights with him, as opposed to some supermodel who was actually in his league.

She wished she knew more about him. More about his past, more about his present. He was an enigmatic figure to her, luring her in and often pushing her out the moment she was gone. But being so inexperienced with romance—if she could even call what they had a romance, for he'd certainly made it clear the other night that they weren't dating—she didn't know what behavior was normal and what behaviors weren't.

When Romessa and her classmates got off of the crowded subway, the group spent what felt like hours waiting in a long line before they could finally enter the stadium. It was the first live sporting event that Romessa had ever been to; she quickly realized that tens of thousands of people were in the arena, cheering and being loud, and grew anxious amidst so many strangers speaking a foreign language. Of course, she was the only one who felt this way—she wasn't surprised that Gianna and Bella grew excited by the atmosphere, by how many German boys were smiling and eyeing them, by how many alcoholic drinks they could buy.

"Guys! Come here." Bella quickly grabbed Gianna and Romessa by their hands, tugging them to the side fast enough for the rest of their group not to notice. Confusedly, Romessa watched as Bella dug in the back pocket of her denim shorts and pulled out three entirely different tickets than the ones they'd been given by Mrs. Langford. "Don't tell anyone, but I got my dad to get us better seats than the rest of our class. They're closer to the field, so we'll get a better view. Thank me later." Bella placed Romessa's ticket in her hand, grinning mischievously.