We are proud to announce that Carla is joining us as the new head coach of the girls’ 16–18 team for the remainder of the season.
Carla started four seasons as a forward for the Chicago Tornadoes and brings an impressive background as a dedicated advocate for women in sports. We are confident that, under her leadership, our girls will continue to grow both on and off the field.
Let’s go all out this season!
(Post translated into English for our international families.)
@teresasabes2 ¡Grande Carla! Mi hija está feliz con la noticia.
@womeninsports Let’s go, girls!!
@JaimeLovesSoccer WOW! This is amazing!
@jose98 ¡Enhorabuena a todos!
8
Luca
“How was your first week, cucciola?” I call out as Carla crosses the pitch to meet me.
She points a finger at me. “No pet names.”
“Rightttt,” I draw out, putting my hands up in a defensive position. “How was your week?”
She grins. “It was…interesting.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Interesting good…or interesting bad?”
“Good, mostly.” She reaches my side and drops her training bag on the bench next to mine. Sitting down, she digs into her bag and tugs out her boots. “The boys’ coach is an ass.”
I frown. For her to admit that means they’ve already had exchanges that left a bad taste in her mouth. “Is he going to be a problem?”
“Nothing I can’t handle.” She slips her foot into her boot and tugs on the laces.
My jaw tightens. That means yes. As much as I admire her confidence, hell, I’m attracted to it, I don’t like the thought of some wannabe futbolista giving her a hard time.
“But the girls are awesome,” she continues. “You know, I forgot what it’s like to be sixteen, seventeen, years old, but after a few days with them, it all came back. The friendships, the relationship drama, the wanting to prove myself and feel good enough…” Carla trails off as she finishes double knotting her boots. “They’re already a cohesive group. Loads of team morale; they’re big on respect.” Carla looks up at me, her eyes softening. “And they’ve gone out of their way to make sure I feel welcomed. I’m glad you got me to apply.”
“I’m happy for you,” I tell her, tying my boots. “Next up, national team.”
She snorts, shaking her head. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, DiBlanco.”
“I’m not. If you want it, it’s yours.” I swipe a ball. “We just gotta train for it. You ready?”
She backpedals onto the pitch. “Give me your best.”
Over the next two hours, I run Carla through drills. We do sprint intervals and run through passing patterns.
“Vale, listen up,” I say, taking a swig of water. “That was good. Good work, hard effort.” I raise my hand and she high-fives me. “But I want to close out with some body positioning.”
“I know how to?—”
“You’re fast, but you’re small,” I cut her off.
Her jaw tightens and she crosses her arms over her chest, her frustration flaring to life. But my job is to make her a better player and that’s what I’m going to do.
“Don’t get pissed off,” I remind her. “I want to help you. To better shield that ball, you gotta get lower. Defend, Carla.” I bend my knees, splaying my frame wide to take up more space. “I want you to mirror my movements.”
