“It was a very sweet gesture and they both appreciate it. Especially Mar. I think she was touched that someone outside of her family thought about her.”
Luca blushes, shrugging it off. “It was nothing.”
“It wasn’t nothing. Thank you for thinking of her.”
“Of course. Here, try some burrata.” He picks up a serving plate and adds some burrata cheese to my dish.
I stare at him, noting the effortless way he steps in to care for everyone around him. And I wonder how I got so lucky to have Luca looking out for me.
“Our playoff game is before yours.” Sergio falls into step beside me in the hallway of Santa Isabel.
“Congratulations,” I remark dryly. Where is he going with this? Both teams made the playoffs. The schedule of games is not a criterion for competition.
“I’m just saying, if the boys end up getting more support from the student body and the administration, it’s because we’re playing first.”
“Great.”
We step outside and near the pitch.
“Coach!” Julieta calls, pointing excitedly at the ice cream truck.
I grin. “Surprise, chicas! It’s for after practice.”
Beside me, Sergio falters. “You got them an ice cream truck?”
“Just a little surprise ahead of playoffs.”
“You’re spoiling them.”
“Or building team morale.”
“They should be ecstatic just to have made playoffs.”
I clear my throat and fix him with a look. “The boys and you are welcome to ice cream, too. Have a good practice, Coach.”
Then, I walk away from Sergio, round up my team, and put them through a rigorous practice.
But they perform each drill without complaint. They give practice their all and leave every drop of energy on the field.
And when I blow the final whistle and the girls run to me, it’s with smiles on their faces. “The ice cream is really for us?”
“As much as you want,” I confirm, waving to the ice cream company’s staff members. “Invite the boys’ team to join you.”
Julieta lifts an eyebrow. “Why? Sergio’s been horrible to us.”
“Maybe, but that’s not the boys’ fault. And sometimes you catch more flies with honey.”
“Huh?” Anna wrinkles her nose.
“We’re gonna kill them with kindness,” Carmen translates.
I laugh. “Something like that. ¡Vamos!”
They take off toward the ice cream truck and I hold back, watching the scene unfold. The boys’ team approaches and the girls pull them into line. Together, both teams enjoy ice cream cones stacked with various flavors and dipped in nata, or sweet cream.
“For you, Coach?” one of the staff members calls out when I’m the only one without a cone.
“Fresa, por favor.” I order a strawberry scoop and reach into my wallet to settle up with them for the awesome experience they provided.
