The shrill whistle of Coach Martinez sliced through the cool morning air. The U-15 starters stood in a huddle, their breaths visible in the crisp light of dawn. Alvaro adjusted his position in the semi-circle, his heart pounding in rhythm with the hum of the day's first training session.
"Alright, listen up," Martinez began, his voice sharp and commanding. "you've many matches coming, which means no room for laziness, no room for errors. We focus on tactical drills today. Cortez, don't think starting means you've made it. You're under the microscope more than ever."
"Yes, Coach," Alvaro replied, his voice steady, though the pressure gnawed at him.
As the session began, the starters worked on fast-paced possession drills. The objective was clear: retain the ball under pressure, move it forward with precision, and exploit gaps in the opposing team's defense.
Alvaro stationed himself in midfield, scanning the field like a chessboard. When the ball came his way, he trapped it neatly and looked for options. But a split-second hesitation cost him, and Diego intercepted the ball with a sharp tackle.
"Too slow, Cortez!" Martinez barked. "You need to think faster!"
The words stung, but Alvaro gritted his teeth and refocused.
The next play came quickly. Alvaro found himself surrounded by two defenders, their shadows closing in. He feinted left, then turned sharply to the right, slipping the ball past the defenders and into open space.
"Good, Cortez!" Martinez shouted, a rare note of approval in his tone.
Diego, now on Alvaro's team, offered a quick nod. "Better. Keep it up."
By the end of the session, Alvaro's muscles burned, but he felt a small flicker of satisfaction. He was holding his own, even under the weight of expectations.
---
After a rushed breakfast, Alvaro boarded the academy shuttle to the school, slumping into a seat by the window. His body ached, and his eyelids felt heavy, but he forced himself to stay alert.
The classroom buzzed with energy when he arrived, students chatting and laughing in small groups. Alvaro slipped quietly into his seat near the back, keeping his head down.
"Still quiet, I see," Rivera's voice broke through the din.
Alvaro glanced up to see her smirking, her pen tapping against her notebook.
"Long morning?" she asked, her tone laced with humor.
"Something like that," he replied, his voice low.
Rivera chuckled softly. "Well, don't fall asleep on us, football star. You might miss something important."
Before Alvaro could respond, the teacher called the class to order.
As the lesson dragged on, Alvaro's mind wandered. A faint smell of roasted peppers wafted in from the cafeteria, triggering a memory of his mother's cooking back in Valle Sol. He could almost hear her laughter as she teased him about his football obsession, feel the weight of his father's hand on his shoulder, and see Mateo's wide-eyed excitement whenever he talked about his dreams.
The ache of homesickness settled in his chest, heavy and unyielding. He missed the simplicity of life in Valle Sol, the warmth of his family, and the familiarity of the dusty streets where his dream first took shape.
By the time lunch rolled around, Alvaro found himself sitting alone in the courtyard, his sandwich untouched.
That evening, after returning from school, Alvaro retreated to his dorm room. The lights from the training pitches cast long shadows on the walls as he sat on his bed, staring at the phone in his hand. Finally, he dialed home.
"Alvaro!" Mateo's voice burst through the line, full of excitement. "Did you play in another match? Did you score?"
Alvaro chuckled softly. "Not yet, Mateo. But I'm working on it."
Elena's voice came next, warm and soothing. "How are you, mi hijo? Eating enough? Sleeping well?"
"I'm fine, Mamá," Alvaro said, though his voice wavered slightly. "I just… I miss you guys."
There was a pause before Roberto spoke. "We miss you too, son. But you're doing something incredible. Keep your head up, and remember why you're there."
Elena chimed in, her tone full of gentle encouragement. "We're so proud of you, Alvaro. Mateo talks about you every day—how his big brother is going to be a star."
Alvaro smiled, the weight in his chest lifting slightly. "Gracias, Mamá. I'll make you proud."
"You already have," she replied.
As the call ended, Alvaro felt a renewed sense of purpose. The homesickness hadn't disappeared entirely, but it no longer felt overwhelming.
The final training session of the day was brutal. Martinez had the team running high-intensity drills, simulating match scenarios that demanded quick thinking and precise execution.
"Faster, Cortez!" Martinez shouted as Alvaro hesitated on a pass.
The pressure mounted, and fatigue began to creep into his movements. He misjudged a cross, sending it out of bounds, and missed a tackle moments later.
"Come on, Alvaro!" Diego shouted, clapping his hands. "Shake it off!"
Taking a deep breath, Alvaro refocused. On the next play, he intercepted a pass and launched a perfect through ball to the striker, who scored with ease.
"Good recovery," Martinez said, his voice softer this time.
---
Back in his dorm room, Alvaro stared at the ceiling while lying on his bed. The day had been a rollercoaster of emotions—moments of doubt, small victories, and the steady pull of home.
But as he replayed his parents' words in his mind, he felt a renewed determination.
"This is for them," he whispered to himself. "For everything they've done for me. I won't let them down."
As he lay down, exhaustion finally claiming him, a faint smile crossed his face.
---