Between the Flags.

Nobody's POV

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Isra was perched on the edge of the bed in Jenni’s guest room, legs criss-crossed and laptop open, hair messily tied up as the late afternoon sun cast a golden hue across the floor. Jenni had set her up nicely — snacks, a bottle of water, and her charger already plugged in like the perfect host she was.

The FaceTime tone buzzed through the room as Isra leaned in with her typical dramatic sigh. “Laia better answer, I’ve got work to do and a personality to maintain.”

The screen lit up with Laia’s face, her brows raised but relaxed, backdropped by what looked like a lounge wall and a dim lamp. “Issy,” she smiled.

“Laia,” Isra mirrored with mock gravity, already grinning.

Laia chuckled, but before diving in, she glanced over her shoulder and said casually, “Before we start, Leah’s friend is here.”

Isra's ears perked up instantly. “Elle? Where is she? I wanna say hi!”

Laia laughed, standing as the camera jostled slightly. “Lo siento,” she called out as she moved into the kitchen. “It’s Issy. She wants to say hi.”

Elle turned from where she was pouring a glass of water and broke into a warm laugh. “Of course she does.”

When Laia turned the screen to face her, Isra practically dove forward in excitement. “Hola hermana!” she beamed, waving enthusiastically. “Still tolerating Leah’s grumpy mornings, I see?”

Elle rolled her eyes playfully. “Barely. You left me with her, you know.”

“I left you a gift,” Isra teased. “Handle her with care. She’s emotionally constipated but quite loyal.”

Elle smirked. “And you’re a menace.”

“Laia can confirm.”

Laia was still laughing as she walked back toward the living room. “Okay, okay, back to business.”

Everyone gathered into the call — Jenni sat beside Isra with her laptop, while Laia propped hers on a stand. Mapi, Irene, Aitana and Alexia, and a few others were present on the call too, sprawled together in someone’s living room back in Spain, with snacks and glasses of something fizzy set beside them. Their screens flickered to life with familiar sleepy grins and waves.

Isra adjusted her screen, opened her email, and shared, “Alright, so the production team sent me this overview. I’ll read bits out and we’ll roll from there.”

They got into it — breaking down the logistics, locations, voiceovers, clips from the Euros and the World Cup. It was laid out with thought and intention, and they all quietly appreciated how they were being asked for input instead of just being told what to do.

After twenty minutes of talking, laughing, and dragging Jenni for the unflattering angles she chose on her camera, Isra blinked as a notification popped up.

“Oh—they replied.” She leaned in, mouth slightly agape. “Already.”

Everyone went quiet as she clicked open the message and scanned the response.

“So they said…” she began, reading aloud. “‘Buena, muchas gracias por la respuesta rápida. We’re thrilled to have you on board…’ blah blah, ‘names confirmed are perfect…’ oh—wait.” She paused.

“What?” Jenni asked, frowning.

Isra’s brows pulled together as she read the line again, then slowly translated. “‘Unfortunately, María León will not be able to appear in this documentary due to legal restrictions and contractual clauses connected to her stance with the federation.’”