Lupe and Selina Play Through the Storm

Lupe did not care to speak with anyone. The San Diego team had pounded the Long Beach Waves into the ground, 12–0. The team’s performance had become Lupe’s worst nightmare. The players were sloppy, argumentative, and blaming everyone else for their loss. Lupe faced reality: Her top players had graduated; her new recruits were not ready to fill their shoes. “Is it too much to ask for a little help instead of your running critique?”

“Well, that wouldn’t be fair. Would it?” Clemente said. “Lo siento.”

“Oh, this is not your fault. My failing is that I didn’t make the team stronger. I’ve been distracted by Mexico and everything going on in my life. I’ve let the team go on playing without thinking about competing. I dread Carmen Rosa’s review of this game. It’s going to be ugly if we lose at the tournament.” Lupe looked at the pile of airline tickets on the corner of her desk.

“Things have a way of working out.” Clemente was so blasé, it annoyed Lupe.

“Why are you here?” Lupe could not forget the Fuentes Coffee banner she’d spotted in the Mexico league footage. “Is Selina gifted? She didn’t demonstrate it today. She’d roamed so far from first base, a bus couldn’t get her back in time. What’s distracting her?”

“What distracted you when you were her age?” Clemente said.

“You are not going to drag me back to that old love story. I don’t even believe she’s had a date since arriving.”

“I happen to know she’s received a couple of messages from an ardent young ballplayer.”

“Messages from home—is that what you’re talking about? I noticed those banners displayed in the footage from the Mexican ballpark. What information do you have about Fuentes Coffee being involved with softball?”

“Selina’s father, Carlos, is very influential. I’d tell you more, but I didn’t think you wanted to hear about him.” Clemente tilted his head to one side. “Or do you?”