“So that’s why?” Kat asks.
I nod, taking a deep breath and trying to swallow the still-very-much-aching pain I’ve got in my heart. “I let him go. I let him go because I couldn’t fight for myself. But I’m ready to fight for myself now. I want to be in control of my own future. And I’m ready to say fuck all that talk. Fuck who does and doesn’t belong here. I’ve put in the work. I’ve shown that I’m dedicated to this game. Now I want to show myself that same love. Barrera said so himself, that I’m destined for greatness. And if that’s true, if I’m so great already, then that’s got to include everything.”
“You sure?” Kat asks. “You ready for this?”
“I want to achieve everything I’ve ever dreamed of while being exactly who I am. No less. So, yeah, I’m ready.”
“Then we’ve got your back,” Pérez says, his hand reaching out for mine and squeezing it. “Always.”
“And Vale?”
“I miss him. A lot. And maybe he can forgive me.”
“A huevo, hermano,” Pérez says, coming in for a hug. A second later, Kat’s in on it too, shoving us onto my mattress. “You’reEl Chivo. El papi. He will. And staying true to yourself only makes you and this team greater.”
For the first time in a long time, it feels like all of me is here. It feels like a brand-new me is lying here with some of the best friends I’ve made this semester. A Gabi Piña who’s figured some stuff out, gone through a couple changes, only gotten better as a player, and is never leaving anything behind again.
This is me, whole. Exactly as I am.
I’ve been saying the words out loud in my room and then when we got to North Carolina, in front of the hotel bathroom mirror, to a point where they come out easier, but still, standing in the middle of the changing room at WakeMed Soccer Park after our last practice before the championship game tomorrow, the entire team still high off our incredible semifinals performance against Clemson, having yelled,“Listen up, guys,”followed by my whole squad doing exactly what I said, turning around and giving me their attention, this one’s pretty terrifying. Even after having gotten more pep talks from Kat and Pérez, yeah, I’m scared.
This is my moment. Terrifying and rest-of-life-defining. And I’m reaching for it and grabbing it.
I think of the me who’s going to exist in five years, in ten years, in twenty years. The Gabriel Piña who will look back at this version of me, at this moment right here and now, and be proud. Who will know beyond a single doubt that I am good enough. Who got out of that cave and embraced change and never looked back.
Barrera’s glaring at me like he’s daring me to say something. Daring me to challenge him. He can sense it. And, when I feel bodies behind me, hands on my shoulder, when I look back and see Pérez, and Ahmed and Nguyen close by, Barrera gets even more tense.
And I know I can do this.
Pues, post up, Capitán. You don’t get control over me anymore.
“I just want to say … I’ve been in a really weird place this season. A good weird, mostly, but in lots of ways it’s been really scary. I’ve always idolized people who look change in the eyes and go at it fearlessly. Or maybe they just make it look like they’re fearless. Maybe they’re scared too. Maybe they saw all the things that could go wrong, all the ways growing pains hurt, all the reasons they could fail. But they still did it.”
I let out a laugh, shaking my head. My hands at my waist squeeze some of the tension out. “Which is weird because, up until recently, I thought I was already done changing and growing, for some reason. Even though lots of people in my life told me I was a clown for thinking that.”
I catch a couple teammates nodding and I wonder if maybe there are lots of us who secretly have thought we were too good for change. That we’ve already hit the end of growing up so soon. And I wonder what they’ve gone through that woke them up to the reality that, actually, maybe we’re never done growing up.
“I want to look back and know that I was a person who did that too. I want to be someone worth looking up to. And, with that said, I want to tell y’all that I’m … I’m bisexual.”
I can feel the tension coming from a few of the guys. See the way some of them bite their lips and tighten their arms crossed over their chests. Watch two of them glance at each other, and I can’t help but wonder if they’re both thinking it: “Not on our team.”
But then I hear footsteps behind me and see Ahmed and Nguyen come closer, adding their hands on top of Pérez’s, see their small but sure smiles, and I know that I’ve got my boys. From running into the gulf in the middle of the night to right here, in this locker room, we’ve got one another.
“It’s something I’ve known about myself for a few months now, and something that, if I’d listened to myself a little closer,I might’ve realized about myself a long time ago. And, at first, I tried to fight it. Not because I’m uncomfortable being bi, but because I know there are guys in this room who are. I know there are guys in this stadium who are. I know there are guys who look like my Pops and my tíos who are.”
I lock eyes with Barrera, wanting him to hear me, to know that I’m fighting for myself now. He’s red in the face, trying to hold in his anger. And, maybe even more, that jealousy. He has to stand here and see someone who—his words—is the future of this team sayThis is me, motherfuckersand he can’t do anything about it. Whatever’s got him stuck in his ways, keeping him from just being cool and decent, that’s not going to be my journey too.
“And I let the expectations of the people in this room, the people out there waiting for us, nuestra gente, and what I thought they would want from me define me. I let the line that they and y’all drew become the one I can’t cross. So, I tried my best not to. I tried to fight something about myself that, actually, I feel great embracing. I gave up a really great guy because I didn’t want to cross that line. And, shittiest of all, I nearly gave up myself too. I was so ready to. Pero, ya basta. I’m done fighting.”
“Yeah,”Pérez yells, his voice loud in my ear and his body pushing into me as his arm reaches out and points to our team captain. “You hear that, Barrera? Pinche pendejo, puro vergüenza.”
“Pérez, you—”
“Shh,Gabo.” My teammate looks fed up. This boy who is almost always all smiles and goofy as shit is now glaring across the room. “I knew Gabi wasn’t about to say it out loud because he’s not a narc and he’s just trying to play this game. ¿Pero yo? Nope.That guyright there threatened Piña. So, what now then? Can’t do shit to someone who’s not scared of your bitch ass anymore, huh? Come on. Do something. Big bad not so big anymore, punk—”
Barrera’s fist hits a locker, the force of it probably making a sizable dent. Our teammates, who had started talking among themselves after hearing me and Pérez, all go quiet, their heads turning to him. His eyes are bulging and red, staring at us, his chest rising and falling with heated breaths.
“Shut up.Shut up. Yeah, I said what I said. There’s no room for a joto on my team. I don’t give a shit who it is. And, you know what? Better for us anyway. It’s like I told him, this little fucker’s been on the team for barely a season now and it’s like everything we’ve worked for and those of us who’ve been here for years don’t matter anymore. All the sweat and tears and blood mean nothing because everyone fuckingloves Piña, look how great Piña is, there goes Piña breaking a record. Fuck Piña!”
