dumb blonde | pablo gavi

04

— You're playing very rough.

Sarah lifts her head, looking up from her book for the first time in a long time. Boom - and the girl puts a small book aside, on the bedside table, and she looks expectantly. Pablo was sitting on a chair at the computer desk, buried in his phone, and after his unreinforced phrase, he didn't even bother to honor her with a drop of attention. It's time to get used to it, but Sarah did not like it when her style of play was criticized, and especially when it was done by Pablo, who, in fact, was no different from her.

— Repeat it. — she hisses angrily. The bed creaks with old springs; the girl gets up slowly. He doesn't care. — What did you just say?

— You're playing rough. You'll probably have some problems. — Gavira replies indifferently, turning the screen of her phone towards the girl. Obviously he wanted Hernandez to read this, and she would have to if she wanted to understand what was going on.

The loud title of the article was highlighted in red. A clear photograph took up most of the page, it was clear that this was the front page. Sarah sliding towards Alexia and knocking the ball out from under her feet; the girl was even a little surprised where the photo came from in such good quality. The inscription, which was impossible to miss, literally screamed: "Putellas VS Hernandez: "war" between the old and new generations in the Barcelona camp." The girl twisted her face and immediately pushes the guy's hand away from her along with the phone, which he held tightly.

— I don't have any problems with that. It's all lies. — she confidently answers, again returning to the bed.

— Let's start with the fact that I was there and saw everything with my own eyes. — Pablo mumbles unhappily. — Therefore, you can turn off your performance, somehow it's rather weak.

I swear, at that moment Sarah was ready to pounce on Pablo and give him a good slap in the face. But he was even right about something, and she was quite a bit interested in listening to him.

— Why are you even starting this, huh?— Hernandez is outraged loudly. — Why do you care what I have there?

— Trust me, I don't care. — Pablo sighs. Even the thought of having to say it out loud unbelievably strained him. —But it's not my fault that your mother for some reason thinks that I'm the only one you can listen to, and she sends me to talk to you. So let's pretend you just got a lecture full of moralizing and fix it all by yourself, okay?

— No.

Gavira grins, folding his arms across his chest. So they start arguing again. He was not particularly opposed, on the contrary - he liked it.

— What's "no"? — he asks. — All that is required of you is to be adequate, at least sometimes, so that such things do not appear in the news. Is it really that difficult for you?

Hernandez was pissed as hell that this conversation was even happening. That Pablo thinks he's so smart that he has the right to lecture her and try to teach her something. She may well deal with everything herself, and she does not consider all this to be a problem. So, everything Gavira said simply did not make sense for her.

— Why don't you finally shut up, huh? — the girl folds her arms over her chest so that the desire to punch him in the face becomes at least a little less. — It's not for you to lecture me.

— It's just for me. — Gavira stands up from his chair and jerks her hands apart. — I, unlike you, have everything fine in the same football.

Boom. Here it is - the phrase that marked the beginning of everything. The image of Pablo quickly floats before her eyes, turning into motley lines from the fact that her eyes were eclipsed by a white veil. The girl feels herself falling, because her legs could no longer support her. He had just veiledly hinted to her that she was nothing compared to him. She had achieved nothing. And it was hard to accept. Very hard.