desiderium | m. o'hara

fifteen

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  "Come on, Rosie," I whisper into my gloved fists. Miguel's standing beside me, just as tense, just as invested. Even the frigid chill couldn't distract me.

  In all terms 6th grade soccer isn't that important. But it's important to Rosalina, so it's important to me, so I stand on the sidelines with my heart in my throat as the game rolls into its last few minutes. Miguel's leaning on the fence, almost bending into the pitch, watching with the same intensity that he watches his multiverse.

  I clasp Miguel's sleeve when a kid of the opposing school steals the ball from Rosalina's teammate. They're nil-all, two teams so closely matched that neither have managed to score. Even this far away I can read the frustration on my daughter's face as she chases the play with all the energy she has left.

  She'll be so upset if they lose this close to the finals. I don't think even Spider-Man could cheer her up.

  I gasp when Rosalina manages to snatch the ball and runs it back up the pitch. She's ferocious in the game, and the set of her jaw and the fire in her eyes are as fierce as her father's.

  A handful of the opposing team's defence bunch towards Rosalina, blocking her path. I hold my breath. She looks around with wide eyes, trying to spot her teammates before the ball can get stolen again. She kicks it to the side with a second to spare, shooting it past the others and into the waiting stance of her fellow attacker.

  "Yes," Miguel hisses. He moves one hand over his mouth in apprehension. "Bueno, bueno."

  Her teammate runs with it towards the goal and hits the penalty area. Rosalina gives chase, yelling support. I can't speak from over my clenched hands, but the parents around me raise their voices in encouragement, Miguel included.

  The goalie crouches, waiting for the kick.

  "I can't watch," I whine. Miguel places a solid hand on my back in support, though his entire focus is on the game.

  Rosalina hits the penalty square just as her teammate swings her foot back and sends the ball hurtling towards the goal. The goalie leaps for it and falls short. The ball hits the netting of the goal just as a loud ovation around me rises in triumph. The referee whistles - once, then three more times. Game over. The cheering grows triple the octaves.

  "Yeah!" Miguel shouts. I startle at his volume and laugh with relief. He spins to me and plants his hands on my shoulders with a blinding smile. "That means they go to finals next week, right?"

  I nod. Miguel pumps his fist in the air, and I have to laugh again at his joy. He looks out at the pitch with a proud grin, where Rosalina's team is celebrating within a massive group hug.

  "That was the most stressful hour of my life," Miguel breathlessly admits.

  "Just wait until the finals," I say. He groans.

  The two teams line up to do their 'good game' claps before dragging their feet to the dugouts, where us parents wait while chatting excitedly. Rosalina beams up at us, tired but happy.

  When she exits the pitch, I bend down to bring her into a tight hug.

  "Great job, baby!" I exclaim. I push back her damp, loose hair and squeeze her flushed cheeks. She weakly giggles. "You did so well!"

  "You did so good!" Miguel gushes, crouching before her. She slumps into his arms for a hug and he growls with the effort he puts into squeezing her to his chest. He kisses her forehead multiple times, ignoring the sweat running down her face. "¡Muy bueno, papita!"