The Player

When he announced in class that he would  dedicate his goals to me, I rolled my eyes. I had already told all my friends that he had no chance and I could never have feelings for him. I had even sworn not to be there for the silly match. Still, after long minutes of deliberation,  I found myself strolling to the small overcrowded football pitch, praying earnestly that he would not see me.

He was an amazing ball player, but I could 

never admit that; at least not to him.

When I arrived he had been fouled and he was going to take the penalty. I had watched his opponent knock him to the ground. His lanky body had fallen into a pile like a stack of bones. I had stared in shock as he picked himself up and dusted his back, taking a stance like nothing had happened.  He swaggered towards the ball when it was time to take the shot and he glanced at it before taking a quick look towards me. I gasped and quickly hid behind the plus size girl in my class who was standing by my left and watching the game intently. I was ready to do anything so he would not see me, but I was not fast enough.

I knew when his eyes found mine. We both knew. I was angry at myself that I could not tear my eyes away from him. He was no hunk. He would have been handsome, but for the small scar under his nose that made it appear slightly wider. He had the best eyes, but you really had to be observant to pick that one up. I was not, but I had stared at him long enough to catch it. Mostly while he was not looking.

Eventually, he had to look away and face the game. He was smiling and his laugh lines had appeared at the corners of his beautiful eyes. He danced ( I mean danced!) to the ball and teased it with his foot before he made it airborne. I watched it along with a thousand others as the ball traveled through the air and past the keeper. I watched the poor boy make a horrible attempt at catching it as it flew past his fingers and towards the bar. When it kissed it slightly and went over, I felt a grip in my chest. Maybe I had hoped for too much.

As I walked away from the pitch, I tried to suppress the gloom in my heart. I was struggling to make my way past a small crowd of boys, when I overheard their conversation.

"Thank God he did not score this one. Three goals are embarrassing enough, abeg," said one of them.

Three goals?

"Somebody should break his leg, so that he can finally rest," said another.

Someone else said something but I had stopped listening. I was too busy laughing out loud when the whistle was blown. I had goals to my name after all.