Chapter 5

I can't believe the nerve of that girl Raven. She goes to home, runs to mummy and accuses me of bullying her. I haven't told my dad about the incidence, so when Raven's mum waltzes into our apartment, looking furious, dad it a little startled.

"Your daughter has been bullying my daughter," Raven's mom says angrily, "Did you know that?"

Dad gives her a confused look and turns to me with a frown, "What?"

"Your daughter has been bullying my daughter Raven."

"Okay. Weird," dad mumbles under his breath, "I do not understand you very well Mrs..."

"Furlough. Call me Cassy. We have met several times now."

It is clear from the way she is saying it that she thinks my dad is an irresponsible parent.

"Right. Sorry, I am not good with names or faces."

"That's okay. What do you have to say for your daughter?"

Dad gives me a quick look before he turns back to Raven's mom, "Did you say she is bullying Raven?"

"Yes. She forced Raven to drive her back here tonight, then she spit in her face. Raven says this has been going on for sometime now, and it needs to stop."

Dad asks me in rapid Spanish what is going on and I reply to him, in the same language that the old lady is either crazy or drank. He nods in agreement and tells me, it's probably the former although the later has more appeal.

"What? What's going on? What language is that? Did you just reprimand her?"

We exchange a look with dad and I tell him to just tell her what she wants to hear so she can go.

"Sorry Mrs Furlough. I will talk to my daughter about it."

"Please do. And while you are at it, I know soccer coaches in high school don't earn much, but please try to get her a second hand car. My husband sells them, he could come up with an affordable pay plan for you."

Dad nods appreciatively, "That will be great. I will swing by when I have the time."

As soon as Raven's mom is gone, dad and I turn to each other and laugh until tears stream down our faces.

"I will bet you fifty dollars she will be hospitalized when she finally knows who you are," I say.

"Don't be cheap. Let's up the odds shall we? And real betting is done in euros. I will bet you half a million euros she doesn't find out in the next five years."

I hold out my pinky to seal the deal, "I think it's going to take three at most, your luck is bound to run out sometime."

"But her stupidity isn't."

We start laughing again and we only stop when my phone starts ringing.

I look at the caller ID, remembering that I had a Skype call scheduled with Gunther when I see it's him calling.

"It's Gunther. Goodnight dad," I say as I stand on tiptoe and kiss him on the cheek. I head to my room and quickly open up the laptop.

"Bonjour!" I say.

"When you say it like that, you really sound like these people," Gunther says smiling, a cute infectious smile.

"Well, I lived with them for three years, I should sound like them."

We were born in Brazil, my mum's native country. A year later, we moved to Spain with my dad. Our first languages were Spanish, English and mum's native Portuguese. When we turned age five, my dad took up the coaching of an under 21 club team in Belgium and we relocated again. In Belgium we picked up some  Flemish and perfected our Portuguese. Two years later, went to Italy for a year, Hungary for a few months, North Macedonia and Switzerland. At ten, we relocated to France, and for sometime, it looked like we will have a permanent home there, however, three years later, my dad finally got his wish and we went back to his home country, England.

At thirteen, Sky and I could speak most of the languages spoken in Europe. Our knowledge not only came from the places we had lived in, but also from the players that we had interacted with. Until England, we were mostly homeschooled so we got a lot of free time to hang out with the famous players. This knowledge became a vital tool in my Dad's career as a coach. He will often call us on the pitch to translate the tactics to the members of the team who did not understand English.

It was how Sky and I got interested in coaching football. My dad often let us try with a team of youngsters and it started to prove very effective. I remember very well that it was one of this sessions that I met Gunther.

I was fifteen at the time, and my dad had assigned me to teach some language classes to the under 17 team. Gunther came into the class late, looking pissed. He brushed his way past me, almost shoving me into a desk, and did not even bother to say sorry.

I had heard of Gunther of course. Everyone at the club had heard of Gunther. He was the next big thing. I had never seen him in person before because I mostly dealt with the first team, but I had watched him on screen and his goal scoring skill was a thing of beauty.

He was just sixteen, but he was already being considered for a contract with the club's first team. He had just come back from competing for England's under 21 team and had scored three goals in his last match.

Gunther himself was s thing of beauty. Dark smooth skin, hair in long locks, and the signature red upper lip made even redder by the contrast with his skin. He was quite slim, nimble on his feet and just a work of art physically and talent wise.

I gave him a disdainful look and continued with my lesson. I taught the players a few game phrases in Portuguese such as 'pass' 'behind' 'I am here' and 'Change play.'

The class wasn't very long, I only had thirty minutes with them so it ended pretty quickly. When I asked if anyone had a question, Gunther's arm went up.

"What's the point of all this?" He asked angrily, "It has already cut into half an hour of practice time. I don't need a fourteen year old teaching me some archaic language."

"Language is important. You are not always going to play for the club, so you must be ready in case you are loaned or sold in another country. Also, when you go up against a foreign team, it will be better if you understand a little of what they are saying to each other, it helps with understanding their tactics."

"Well, I have scored thirty goals going up against foreigners without knowing a word of their language."

"Maybe it was because you were playing at amateur level?" I countered back smiling sweetly.

Some youngsters laughed and I felt a sense of satisfaction.

"Or maybe it's just because I am good enough to win the game on my own?"

"Are you now?" I asked.

"Yes. I can go up against anyone and win, and contrary to what your daddy may think, I don't need you madam languages."

"Challenge accepted," I said, "Today, nine o'clock, you will go up against my sister and I, and of you manage to get past us and score a goal, you will be excused from the language classes and I will dutifully mark you as present."

He gave me a look of disbelief, "You? You want me to play against girls?"

I smirked, "Not just any girls, the Turner girls."

"Fine, whatever. I am gonna win anyway."

"And if you lose?"

"Huh?"

"If you lose, what do I get?"

"I won't lose, but if I do, you get whatever you want."

"The trophy."

"Which one?"

"UEFA's under 21 striker of the year."

He laughed, "That's my most valuable one, but okay babe, go for it."

When he made that deal, he had no idea what he was signing up for. Sky and I were good separately, but as a team, whether we were defending or attacking, we were unstoppable. Even some players on the first club team were scared of us. Gunther was used to going up against bigger defenders so he knew how to get past them without them touching him. What he didn't know was how to get past two defenders who were just as quick as him and who spoke in over sixteen different languages.

At the end of the allocated thirty minutes, Gunther had lost, horribly. The next day, he went to the head coach and requested that I become his personal coach and oversee all his training. That is how I got my first official job at the club, and I still have his trophy on my nightstand.

Gunther was the first player to sign up with my agency when it started. This summer, I had worked tirelessly on his transfer to a French club which was worth a whooping £50 million, and a nice fraction of that amount was now in my bank account.

He was making his debut with on Saturday, and even though it was five days away, I felt nervous for him.

"You okay?" Gunther asks when he sees I have zoned out.

"Yeah, yeah. So how's France?"

"Good. Good."

There is an awkward tension between us now. Ever since Sky passed away, it has been hard to regain the easy friendship we once shared.

Of course Gunther had ended up dating Sky, like I knew he would. I had always thought of him as Sky's rightful property even though we were closer and I had liked him forever. Sky always got the best things, it was always about Sky, until it wasn't.