Barrera circles around, looking between me and my roommates and the rest of the team. Giving off some lion-about-to-fight-for-his-territory vibes. “This isnothis team. But he’s all they care about. He’s the one with the shutout, the one with the Freshman of the Year award, the one with a Player of the Year award thatIshould’ve gotten. That belonged to someone who’s put in the fucking work. And you know what happens now? He’s the brave player who fucks guys. Next thing you know we’re all wearing pinchelove is loveshirts. Getting interviewed not because of our skill or every goal we’ve made but because they want to hear about how much we love having a maricón on our team, forcing us to celebrate and smile about it. That’s not happening. I’mnotcaptaining that team!”
“Pues, if you don’t want to be a part of that team, then don’t, Barrera.”
The entire room stills. Swear, we’d be able to hear someone dropping a pen back in Corpus Christi. I watch as Coach walks toward all of us, right down the middle of the room, stopping between Barrera and me and my boys, his back to us.
“And if there’s anyone else who doesn’t want to be part of that team, if there’s anyone who cares so much about who your teammates are spending their free time with that you’d rather not play with them, don’t. Feel free to watch from the stands or head back to the hotel.”
“Coach, I—”
“Am finished,” he says, cutting Barrera off. “You’re done here.”
Barrera bites down on his bottom lip, like he’s trying to replace his rage with pain. And when he finally realizes he’s lost, he lets out one last “Fuck you, and fuck that maricón!” before walking out. A few others go after him, mostly seniors—most ofour seniors—while the rest of us stay quiet, waiting for Coach to tell us where we go from here. Some, catching who’s left, even look lost, like they’re ready to give up and go home.
“Ibekwe, you’re captain now,” he says, picking his chin up toward our junior winger. “Ready to lead these men to a championship?”
Ibekwe looks from Coach to me, like he’s trying to get a read on where we’re at now with all this. If there’s still a lingering chance the whole room erupts into shouting and throwing fists or quitting. Ibekwe’s face is stern and serious, and he takes slow steps up to me, the two of us nearly the same height. Finally, he lets out a loud sigh, shaking his head and laughing. “You good now? Got all your secrets out?”
I let out a chuckle and feel the tension fall from my shoulders. “Yeah. I think so.”
“You back? No more letting balls get past you?”
I nod, standing up straighter, more serious. “I am. I’m back.”
“Good. And after we win this whole thing, you’re going to go make it right with that boy you dropped. The one that was at all our games cheering you on?”
“Yeah. I am.”
He holds his hand out, dapping me up, and brings me in for a hug. “He’s a good-looking guy. Give him your jacket back, yeah? Looks better on him anyway.”
I laugh, nodding. “I think so too.”
“And we’ve got your back, Piña. Today, tomorrow, and the day after. Heard?”
“Heard, Cap.”
“Then let’s go win this thing, boys.”
35
“I’LL BE IN AHMEDand Nguyen’s room,” Pérez says, walking toward the door of our hotel room. “Want to just come over when you’re ready and we’ll go down to the lobby together?”
“Yeah. Sounds good.”
I wait for him to leave before moving, slowly getting dressed, taking time to put on each part of my uniform besides my gloves. I’ll grab those on the way out. And then I start setting up. A Croc goes on the nightstand to help my phone stand up, the chair gets brought up front and center, I make sure the lighting’s as good as it’s going to be, pull up the camera, set it to video, press Record, sit down, and then all that’s left is to talk.
I stare at myself on the screen for a moment. The light green kit I’m wearing for the very last time this season. The person wearing it; someone who feels like a completely different Gabriel Piña than the one who put this on for the first time in August.
And, for a really brief moment, I see a future me: an LAFC kit on, an El Tri kit on, twenty-three, twenty-five, thirty. Notgoing to lie, I look good in those kits. I see a captain’s band on my arm, blue and purple and pink. I see my potential and the possibilities. I see my dream take shape. All I’ve got to do is bring myself—my whole self—to the pitch every game.
I’m ready.
“Hi. I’m Gabriel Piña, a footballer and goalkeeper for the first ranked team in the NCAA, the Texas A&M–Corpus Christi Islanders. I’m a freshman there and eighteen years old. I’m a Mathematics major, and I’m getting my teaching and coaching certifications too. I’m a first-generation Texan with Mexican blood running through my veins. I hold the record for longest shutout in the Border Conference, I’m this year’s Conference Freshman and Player of the Year, and I’m about to play my very last game of the season. I’ve played football for almost as long as I’ve known how to walk. And I … I’m bisexual.
“I—I don’t want this to be a coming-out video. It’s a bringing in. One of my friends told me to call it that, and I think it’s pretty fitting. I’m bringing you into my world. I’m sharing with you something about me not because I feel like I have to, but because I’m ready to let people know who I am. Every single part. And, yeah, it’s scary. This isn’t how I imagined doing it, or how I wanted to do it, for that matter. I know there are going to be a lot of people out there who aren’t ready for someone like me. Being Mexican, Latino, it comes with different standards. This game is life for so many of us. The way an athlete lives and acts—especially men—there are expectations attached. And in football, in my community, queerphobia exists. Homophobia, biphobia. Machismo is seen as the ideal. That’s not the world I want to live in. And I’m tired of waiting for the world to change. I’m going to help change it myself. I’m going to be a presence that people can’t ignore. I’m going to be too good for you to ignore. I’m apologizing to myself for every moment I thought there was no way I could have it all. For all those times when I putmyself second because that was the only way I thought at least some version of me could come out of this in first. I don’t wantsome version. I want me. All of me. And that’s what I’m going to give from here on out. That’s what I deserve. Because I’m good at what I do. Because I’m the future.
“I don’t expect it to stop being scary overnight. I don’t expect the culture to change overnight. But I’m not going anywhere. I’ve got a lot of game left to play. And I’m not leaving my bi-ness, my bisexuality, off the pitch. I think … Ihopethat, if anything, the kids who look like me, who have an accent like mine, who’ve been kicking a ball around since the day they were born like me, and who, at some point in their lives, realize that maybe they aren’t as straight they thought they were, like me, will find the courage to be themselves, to play the game they love, and be great. That, maybe, when things get tough, they’ll think of Gabriel Piña and remember they’ve got someone to look up to. That they’ve got someone in their corner, always.
“Anyway, I’ve got a game to go win. Thanks for watching. And I—I’m just really happy to finally feel like I’m not trying to hide any part of myself anymore just to make someone else feel more comfortable. Just because they aren’t ready for someone like me. I’ve had way too many people I care about tell me that they’ve always been ready, and I’m going to listen to them. So, for y’all, ready or not, I’m here. And I’m going to be around for a long while. All of me. I promise you that.”
