“Well, you've certainly changed.”
Neymar is back, he is really back. He is taller, more handsome, and more muscular than ever before. The only problem: he is with a woman. Not just any woman, but Bruna Marquezine. The woman he swore to have gotten over a year ago, and strangely, it's ticking Isabelle off.
“And you haven't. I can still spot you a mile away.” He flashes a smile.
“Good, because most of the time I have to haul your lost butt back home.”
“Neymar groans, a painful expression on his face. “Can we not mention it?”
“I'm sure your girlfriend would like to know how often you got lost as a kid.”
Bruna shoots Isabelle a confused look as Neymar hangs his head in embarrassment. “Did something happen?”
“Nothing,” Isabelle and Neymar answer at the same time.
My heart hurts. Even though she is laughing along, it seems forced. This feeling is completely foreign to her, and she doesn't like it, not one bit. I'm going insane. I'm insane and need to go to a mental asylum right now. Maybe she is crazy.
Or maybe it's Bruna's fault. The two have known each other for years, but even though they are close to Neymar, the two aren't close to each other. Isabelle is loud and brash, Bruna prefers peace and quiet. Isabelle is reckless, Bruna is logical. It is not surprising why they got off the wrong foot. Even now they have no intentions of befriending each other.
“So how have you been?” Neymar asks. “Is your mother okay?”
“My mom's fine.” Isabelle shifts uncomfortably. “You know, same old, same old.”
“That bad?”
“I try not to talk to her, you know? She pisses me off.”
“Isabelle, I worry-”
“Neymar,” Bruna interrupts, tugging at Neymar's shirt. “We should go. Don't you have a press conference in an hour?” She begins to pull him towards the airport exit.
“I'll see you later.
Seeing the two walk off to their private taxi makes Isabelle's heart ache even more. She bites her lips and begins the long way home. On the taxi, she insults and cusses Bruna silently. Who does Bruna think she is? That evil woman, I'll make her pay for interrupting our conversation. Isabelle shakes her head violently to clear her mind. What is she thinking?
The press conference is nothing special, just an update on Neymar's achievements and life in Barcelona. Isabelle is already up to date, so she spends time preparing for her dinner “date” with him. It pleases her that Bruna is out of the picture, and Isabelle wants to look and act her best.
It is night time when Isabelle finally meets up with Neymar. They sit in a neighborhood restaurant, their favorite as kids. Isabelle hands him the present, which excites him.
“You never fail to impress me.” He admires the painting, eyes wide, a huge grin on his mouth.
Somehow Isabelle blushes slightly. “There you go again, exaggerating my skills.” Secretly she loves his attention, but he doesn't have to know that. “Tell me the time Messi surprised you on your birthday.”
“Why do you want to know about Messi?”
“I'm not, the story just seems interesting.”
“He gave me a fake snake as a present. It even jumps out when you open the box.”
Isabelle bursts out laughing. “You're kidding.”
“It's not funny!”
“I swear, if I need to interrogate you for information the best way is to put you in a pit full of snakes.”
“Shut up.” Now it's Neymar's turn to blush.
“Not my fault Messi's a genius.”
Neymar rolls his eyes but smiles anyway. Nothing can keep him sad for long. “Anyways, where were we?”
Isabelle stops. “Where were we what?”
“The conversation at the airport before I left.”
Isabelle's face turns into a frown. “You mean about my mother?”
Neymar nods. “I worry about you.”
Well this is a first. “Why? I'm perfectly fine.”
“No you're not; you're miserable.”
Isabelle plays with her napkin. “Come on, why do you want to know?”
“Don't think I don't know, you never talk to your mother these days.”
“And?”
“Aren't you a bit harsh on her?”
“She abused me!”
“You thought she abused you.”
“You never talk to your father, either.”
“That's different.”
“I don't want to talk about it,” Isabelle snaps, but her glare loosens. “I'm sorry.”
“No, I'm the one who started this whole conversation.”
“Nah, you were just worried, don't sweat it.” Isabelle waves her hand. “Did I tell you, I'm learning football again!”
“Damn, I feel bad for your teacher.”
Their conversations become lively again, and the two are as close as ever. It is just like the old times, when there is no Bruna, no worries to have a headache over. It's just Isabelle and Neymar in their own little world.
By the end of the meal, Neymar offers to walk Isabelle home. She doesn't object. The walk isn't long, but it feels like an hour. If she can choose to pause her life at will, this moment is priceless.
“Come to my practice tomorrow.”
Huh?
“Bruna has work tomorrow and the mornings after that, it'll be nice to have a friend to cheer me on.”
“I'll be sure to laugh at you.”
Neymar sighs. “Tomorrow at six in the field downtown.”
“In the morning?!”
“Couch potato.”
“Jerk.” Isabelle grins. “It's a deal though.”
As she watches him walk away, Isabelle's heart warms up. Her mind is wrapping around nothing but the date tomorrow. Her cheeks heat up but not from the shower. It is official: she is irrevocably deep in love with her best friend. Somehow, that hurts her more than Bruna did.
