Colder than Ice//Neymar Jr

Chapter One (Isabel's pov)

I slowly opened the door of my mothers house, where she lived in Brazil. Antonio and Mateo follow behind. Mother sat in the kitchen looking at the Tv that sat on the counter across from her, "seriously, Ma. Why couldn't we've just live in Brazil with you?!" I groaned, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table.

"Stop asking dumb questions, Isa," Antonio groaned, which only earned him a death glare from me.

Our mother frowned, "I'm never home, my dear. It's best that you're with your father." she answered while getting up to turn the Tv off. "Don't you have you're own apartment back in America as well?!" mother questioned.

"Yes, but I mean when we were younger. Everyone here hates us, Ma! We are Brazilians, we should be living here—"

"Brazil is not our home, Isabel." Mateo snapped, slapping me in the arm. Mateo has always hated when I complained about America. It wasn't my fault that the states didn't feel like home. "We are American!" he raises his voice even more.

"Bullshit," I snapped back. My accent was always thicker then my brothers. We technically only lived in Brazil until I was 4, then mother and father got a divorce and we moved to America. But I was the only one who would go to Brazil and spend the whole summer here...so I began to pick up more of an accent then them.

Even if I wanted to move to Brazil..it meant leaving my USA team for figure skating. I couldn't do that...not now, I'm just starting my career, and no one in Brazil would accept me anyways.

"Stop the bickering," our father demanded as he walked into the kitchen where we a sat.

My parents never let off on bad terms. They married one another because they were best friends...they thought it was meant to be, but some best friends aren't always meant to marry one another. So the two remained close friends, but split up.

"All I'm saying is we wouldn't have to deal with so much commotion during the World Cup...if the whole country didn't hate us!" I explained, putting my hands up.

Mateo just scoffs, "that would mean we would be playing for the Brazilian team...the team that's full of assholes."

"Language!" Our mother says.

"Let's just stop this conversation overall, alright?" Father cuts in, "we're are here for Isabel to qualify, and to win the World Cup. That's all. No funny business. We keep our heads down, which means no talking to anyone but your teammates and coaches,"

"That should be pretty easy for Isabel." Antonio says laughing.

I rolled my eyes, "at least I can get myself a boyfriend, Mr. I've never had a girlfriend before."

"Bitch"

"Ass" I smirk.

"My god! Enough. This is serious. We cannot make any bad moves here...they all hate us already, we must be one our best behavior." Mateo groans.

Our mother pulls out her phone, typing a few letters and then put it back away into her pocket, "well, from what I've seen. Brazil is your best competition. Who's their best player?" she asks.

Father smiles, he always loved talking futball with mother, "I don't have a great idea yet, but we're sharing a practice field, and in the same group stage...so I will definitely spend time on that."

"It's Neymar Jr." Mateo cuts in.

My eyes widen, "hold up, you're sharing a practice field?! Doesn't that mean...they're sharing living quarters too? And who the hell is Neymar Jr?!"

My whole family looked at me like I was crazy. I was always the one that asked a million questions and overwhelmed them...it was my specialty.

"It does mean we share living quarters. We get one hallway of rooms, they get the other. And Neymar Jr is the newest player, but he is very good. Fast, skillful, great shooting skills. The kid is only 20 years old, and has double the goals of what Antonio has," Mateo explained to me.

I watched as Antonio snapped his head towards our eldest brother, "I'm only 19! What the hell are you saying, man?"

"I'm saying...you both are equal age...he just has double the number of goals, brother."

"I already hate him," Antonio mumbled, making me slightly laugh.

"oh, silêncio, irmão," (oh hush, Brother) I say, putting my arm around his shoulders, "people are allowed to be better then you,"

Family was family. We were always by one another's sides, no matter what the cost. But that doesn't mean I can't make fun of my brothers. "Alright, I think it's time to head out, kids. Training in the morning, Isabel..you will be there correct?" Father asks.

"Yup, but I have to leave early to train at the ice rink," I answered. "But I'll be there for a bit to make sure everyone is okay,"

We all got up from our seats, hugging mother goodbye, and disappearing to our cars. Father took a different car then the three of us.

The car ride was pretty much complete silence until Antonio spoke up, "we'll see Marcus there..." he muttered.

Marcus de Luca. A former USA futball player, who moved and got citizenship in Brazil...and began to play there. We didn't hate him because he moved...we actually were very happy when he did. The problem with Marcus was his personality...and the things he did in American. Marcus de Luca is no good man, trust me.

Mateo stopped the car at the apartment I was staying at since my father and brothers were staying close to the practice field they had.

"See you guys tomorrow," I waved goodbye, and walked to my apartment door.