From Water to Juice

The sound was that of a packed stadium. The smell was of freshly cut grass. But the court was the one from Santo Sertão School, painted blue and white. The final of the interclass tournament. Gentle Tigers versus the 9th-grade team, the "Concrete Executioners." The score was tied in a nerve-wracking 0 to 0. The clock was ticking down. The ball came high, a desperate balloon. Elismar jumped. The world moved in slow motion. He didn't think about his crooked feet, didn't think about the humiliation. He only saw the ball and the goal. With a move he had never managed while awake, he pulled off a perfect volley. The ball hit the net.

GOOOOOAL!

His teammates embraced him, Markin lifted him with a strength he didn't possess in real life. But Elismar wasn't looking at them. His eyes searched the improvised bleachers. And there she was. It wasn't Sophia. It was Clara. With her bright blue eyes, she stood clapping, the most beautiful smile he had ever seen — a smile just for him.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

Elismar woke up with a jolt, his heart pounding, not with panic, but with pure euphoria. The sound wasn't from a crowd but from the cheap alarm clock by the bed. He slapped it off and smiled at the ceiling. That dream… that dream was worth more than a thousand hours of practice.

For the first time in months, he didn't drag himself out of bed. He jumped.

"Good morning, my defenders!" he said to Fluffy Ball and Soft Paw, who looked at him with their usual feline indifference. "Today's the big day. Today the legend begins!"

Breakfast with Dona Valdi was electric. He talked about the science class, about the interclass tournament, about everything, with an enthusiasm that made his mother raise her eyebrows.

"Someone slept well last night, huh?"

"I did, Mom. And I dreamed of the winning goal."

The walk to school wasn't a march of shame — it was a runway. He walked with his chest out, head high. When he reached the gate, the usual group — the same boys who always teased him — was already there.

"Hey, Elismar! Brought your abacus to count the goals you'll concede today?" one of them shouted, drawing laughs from the others.

The Elismar from yesterday would have lowered his head and walked faster. The Elismar from today stopped. Turned to them, a calm smile on his face.

"No need," he replied, voice steady. "But you'd better practice how to greet a champion. Because today, on the court, we're going to humiliate you. Mark my words."

The group went silent, caught off guard. His confidence was so unexpected it left them speechless. And in the corner of the yard, Elismar saw Sophia. She had heard everything. And for the first time, there was no disgust or mockery on her face. There was a slight eyebrow raise and a tiny smirk, almost imperceptible, as if she'd seen a side of him she didn't know and, against her will, found it interesting.

His friends from the Gentle Tigers ran up to him, eyes wide.

"Dude, did you see that?!" said Piter, beyond excited. "Sophia was into you! She smiled at you! This is your chance! Go talk to her!"

Elismar looked toward Sophia, who was now whispering with her friends, and shrugged. "Whatever. We have a game to win."

Markin, Piter, Lester, and Ryan exchanged looks, confused. The Elismar they knew would have floated for a whole week because of that smile. This new Elismar was different. Focused. Dangerous? Maybe not, but definitely different.

Classes were a blur, but a productive blur. When the History teacher asked about the Hereditary Captaincies, Elismar's hand was the first to go up. He answered correctly, his mind sharp with new determination. He earned a bonus point. He felt like he could conquer the world. Or at least pass the school year and win the interclass tournament.

When the final bell rang, he said goodbye to the team. "Meet me at the court in an hour. No excuses." And he ran, not home, but to "The Furnace."

Clara was already there, trying to balance the ball on the back of her neck. She failed, and the ball rolled to his feet.

"Ready for the big day, apartment Pelé?" she asked, smiling.

"Born ready," he joked. "Let's see if we've improved."

And they had improved. Not much, but enough to notice. Clara's pass no longer came like an out-of-control cannon shot; it rolled, a bit crooked, but reached close to his feet. And when the ball came to Elismar, instead of hitting him in the head, he managed to control it with his chest. The ball didn't stick like in his dreams, but it landed gently at his feet. It was a win.

They laughed, ran, messed up absurd passes, and celebrated small successes as if they were championship goals.

"We're getting better, right?" Elismar panted after pulling off a simple but effective dribble on Clara, who was laughing as she tried to mark him.

"Yes!" she agreed, throwing herself on the concrete floor. "We went from 'água' to 'water.' Same thing, but sounds fancier!"

Elismar burst out laughing. That was exactly it. They were still bad, but now they were bad with a touch of style.

Time flew. When he said goodbye to Clara, his muscles ached, but his soul felt light. He went home, showered, ate dinner listening to last-minute advice from his mother ("Play with your heart, my son, but use your head too!"), and locked himself in his room.

Soft Paw and Fluffy Ball watched him from the bed as he paced back and forth, good anxiety bubbling inside him.

"Tomorrow's the day," he whispered to them. "And I'm not afraid. And you know why? Because of her. Clara." He sat on the bed, petting Fluffy Ball. "The goal isn't to win the Ballon d'Or so Sophia notices me anymore. Now… now I want to win so Clara sees it. You get it? It's different."

He looked out the window, at the night over Feira do Bairro. The dream had changed. The goal was still victory, glory. But the reason, the inspiration, now had a name, a contagious smile, and two blue eyes. And that, Elismar felt, made all the difference in the world.