"VISCA BARÇAAAAAAAA—"
Olivia winced.
The sound came from directly beside her — full volume, no warning, delivered with the complete conviction of a man who had clearly been waiting some time for the opportunity to do exactly this. She pulled her shoulder up instinctively, the way you do when something loud happens very close to your ear.
Aina reached over and hit her father's arm. "Dad — that's too loud—"
As if the stadium had been listening and had decided to make a point, the response came immediately from approximately ninety thousand directions at once.
"VISCA BARÇA!"
The sound rolled through Camp Nou in a wave — not the polite, scattered kind, but the full, physical kind that you feel in your chest before you process it as sound. Aina looked at her father. Her father looked at the pitch, beaming, entirely vindicated.
Olivia straightened up and looked around her properly for the first time since they had found their seats.
