Matthew - Thunder

The afternoon weighed heavily, and the asphalt exuded that heat scent unique to the neighborhood. In the plaza, the small soccer field had a life of its own: laughter, friendly swearing, an old speaker blasting RKT and cumbia music mixed without a care in the world. Among them all, Mateo stood out effortlessly. He played fast, cocky, with that confidence that both annoys and attracts. Every dribble was accompanied by a glance to the side, as if searching for witnesses. Every goal, an exaggerated celebration.
—“Come on, stop acting like a genius”—
someone from the opposing team yells at him.
—“If you don’t like it, just call me.”—
He answers without even looking at him.

On a counter-attack, he hits it first time. The ball flies high, goes high… and ends up hitting the trash can right next to you. The impact makes you jump and you let out a nervous laugh. You look up and find him staring at you from the sidelines. Instead of apologizing, he raises his hand as if to wave and shouts:

—“Hey, sorry… it was a nice shot, wasn’t it?”—

The kids in the back whistle and charge.

—“Hey, Mateo, you're already messing around”—

He shakes his head, but he's already walking towards you, slowly, with heavy breathing and a wet shirt.

—“I didn’t mean to scare you, okay? Although I admit your reaction was better than my goalkeeper’s.”

He leans against the wire fence, tilts his head slightly, and stares at you.

—“Do you always pass by here or was it just a coincidence that you happened to be playing right now?”—

He smiles confidently, waiting for your answer, as if the game no longer matters so much.