“Let me handle it,” Sasha said. “You just prove me right.”
Sunny and Sasha decided to go for a warm-up jog and see if they could meet up with the other players.
“We’re going to check out some of the shops,” Chichi said. “We’ll see you on the pitch.” Orlu slapped and grasped Sunny’s hand, then did the same to Sasha. “Be cool.”
The game was in the same field as the wrestling match. Sunny didn’t like the idea of playing soccer where someone had just died. Still, when they got there, everything from the match was already cleared away; it looked as if nothing had happened. A boy was walking around the goals inspecting the bright, crisp white lines.
“Wow,” she said, looking over the field. “The lines look so perfect.”
“They have a little machine to help,” Sasha said. “Let’s jog.”
After the first lap, she realized the field was really uneven. There were rocks sticking out and small holes probably made by snakes or rodents. This was going to be a challenge for everyone, not just her.
“Who’s your favorite soccer player?” Sasha asked as they jogged.
“Pele,” she said. “You know, during the Biafran War-that’s the Nigerian civil war back in the sixties-the Nigerian and Biafra sides stopped fighting for two days to watch him play.”
“Really?”
“Yep. As one man, he stopped all the killing. He was that good.”
“So you like playing forward, like he did?”
“Well, as far as I know,” she said. “I haven’t had much real experience.”
“I wish we had a ball to kick around,” he said.
“You know, I think I saw a tungwa floating around over there,” she said. They both laughed so hard they had to slow down.
More boys joined them as they ran. Nobody spoke, but those in white uniforms congregated at one side of the field, those wearing green at the other. An audience slowly gathered, too. Most of them were teenagers.
“Green team over here!” a tall guy said. He looked about seventeen, and wore a green uniform and nice soccer shoes, one of which he rested on a beat-up ball.
“Hey,” Sunny said to Sasha as they walked over. “He was on our funky train.”
Sasha raised his eyebrows.
“I hit him in the head by accident with my bag when we were getting on. He’s Igbo.” And gorgeous, she added to herself.
He had a clipboard. The boy who had taken their names stood behind him. He made eye contact with Sunny and quickly looked away.
“My name is Godwin,” the older boy said in English. “I’m team captain this year.” He paused. “Do you all understand me? Who understands English?”
Everyone raised a hand except for three boys.
“No English?” Godwin asked them.
“Français,” one of the boys said.
The boy next to him nodded and said, “Oui, je parle Français, aussi.”
“Moi aussi,” the third boy said.
She wondered where they were from. They didn’t seem to know each other, so most likely they were from three different French-speaking African countries.
“I speak French,” a stocky boy of about fifteen spoke up.
“Good,” Godwin said. “What’s your name?”
“Tony.”
Godwin nodded. “Translate. I’m going to call off names- tell me where you’re from and your age.” As Tony translated, Godwin looked at his clipboard. “Mossa?”
One of the French speakers stepped forward.
“My name is Mossa and I’m from Mali,” Tony translated. “I’m twelve years old.”
Godwin looked the boy over. He kicked the ball to Mossa.
“Dribble it and then kick it into the goal as hard as you can. Aim it into the left side,” Godwin said.
Tony translated. Mossa jumped into action. When he dribbled the ball, he almost tripped over it. He kicked it with all his might and it flew over the right side of the goal, along with his shoe.
Sunny pinched Sasha’s arm as they both tried not to laugh. A few of the taller boys held nothing back and bellowed with laughter. Mossa looked embarrassed and quickly ran to get the ball and his shoe.
“Kouty?” Godwin said.
“I’m from Nigeria,” he said. “I’m fourteen years old.”
“Good to see you again.” Godwin looked him over. “I know how you play. What do you want to play this year?”
“Goalkeeper.”
Godwin laughed and shook his head. “Position’s filled. What else?”
“Center-back.”
Godwin nodded. “That’s what I had in mind.” He looked at his clipboard. “Sasha?”
Sasha pushed through his teammates and stood before Godwin with a smirk on his face. “I’m from the United States of America. I’m fourteen.”
Godwin looked him over. “What are you doing in Nigeria?”
“Parents sent me to live with family friends-to keep me out of trouble.”
“This one is going to get us slapped with penalties,” Godwin said to the rest of the team.
Everyone laughed, including Sasha. “Do what I asked Mossa to do.”
Sasha took the ball, dribbled, and then kicked it as hard as he could into the goal. It went in, but through the center instead of the left side.
“Not bad,” Godwin said, writing something down. “Agaja.”
The tallest, brawniest boy stepped forward. Sunny imagined the ground shaking with his every move. He had a shiny bald head and the most muscular legs she had ever seen. “I’m from Benin,” Agaja said in a deep voice. One of his front teeth was chipped. “I’m eighteen.”
“Dribble and kick it into the goal, right side,” Godwin said.
Agaja’s feet were lightning fast, whirling and juggling the ball, making it obey his every whim, and then POW!-he blasted it dead into the right side of the goal. They all clapped.
“That’s encouraging,” Godwin said with a grin. He looked at his clipboard and paused. “Sunny?”
She moved past the staring boys. She felt like she was in slow motion.
“Uh-uh,” Godwin said, shaking his head. “No girls.”
“Do you want to win?” Sasha cut in. “Because I’ve been watching that other team. Most of them are over sixteen. Look at them.”
They all did. Those in white were all not only older, but a lot bigger. Whoever had gone around searching for players had taken it more seriously than the boy from the green team.
“Dammit,” Godwin said. “Shouldn’t have left it to my little brother.” He gave the boy a dirty look. Godwin sucked his teeth and said, “Even less reason for a girl.”
“Why not?” she demanded.
“Because you’re a girl,” Agaja said in his monster voice. “It’s simple.” Several of the others agreed.
“So?”
“Give her the test,” Sasha said. “It’s stupid to judge without knowing what you’re judging.”
Godwin threw the soccer ball hard at Sunny. She caught it and glared at him. Then she turned and glared at all of them. Idiots, she thought. “What do you want me to do?” she asked Godwin.
“Agaja,” Godwin said, “go stand in front of the goal. No, better yet, I will.” He handed his clipboard to his brother. “Agaja, you play defender.”
She watched Godwin walk to the goal and Agaja position himself in front of him. Her palms were sweaty. Godwin bent into a ready position. “Okay, Sunny,” he said. “Get the ball past us.”
She dropped the ball, placed her foot on it, and glanced at Sasha. He looked nervous, but nodded his head in encouragement. She began dribbling. The motion warmed and soothed her body. It felt so good to kick a soccer ball out in the open, under the sun. She dribbled, weaving left and right as she worked to avoid Agaja and move the ball toward Godwin-her feet flew faster, forward, back a half step, forward, diagonally, in a circle around the ball, faking to the right. She got the ball past Agaja and he grunted in frustration. She danced with the ball the way she danced over the tree bridge to Leopard Knocks. She felt her spirit face stir just behind her physical face. But she had her in control and kept her there.