Double Trouble // Neymar Jr //

..Seven..

I was watching all the highlights of Andrew's seasons at New York City FC. Forcably, not on my own. I had to learn all of his tricks, and how he celebrated goals and whatnot. It was all the same, in my perspective: he was really nothing special.

Sure a few hat tricks here and there, but nothing too amazing.

I had been at this for two hours, ever since I woke up around 1:30 ish. I was planning to call Molly and tell her everything that happened at Camp Nou.

Especially seeing Neymar.

I got butterflies just thinking about him, and I hated that. It was a lot of fun, and it made me feel as if I involuntarily became hos friend. After all, he did have a girlfriend, and after all, I so didn't care. I just needed to focus on my skills for today. Today, I was going to go and practice in a field without Andrew. I needed to get this on my own because the presentation was tomorrow. I really wish that my ball didn't drop at all, I felt really good with it. I got over myself quickly and went to do my morning routine.

I tried to push the nervous thoughts far away. My mind kept bothering me with questions that made me freak out on the inside. Personally, I'd rather have Andrew do the presentation, but I had to do this regardless.

After all, I am the one who came up with this whole idea.

It was as if I was getting cold feet or something. I had to find motivation to go through with this, because there was still time to back out of this whole thing. Maybe yesterday was a sign that I should stick to what I was used to for these two years.

My eyes darted to my phone, and I started dialling the number. It rang once before Andrew answered with a chuckle before humming into the phone. I bit my lip as he took a deep breaths that sounded almost satisfied.

"I knew you'd chicken out early." he said. I held my breath in, trying not to yell at him. I tried to find my words, and gather up the courage to tell him that it was all too much. I stared out of one of the windows and looked outside. "Well?"

"What are you talking about? I only called to tell you that I will not be a total screw up on the field, only cause I'm doing me. You know that I'm not a generic player. Even if I don't play well, I still have the passion to at least show something." I smirked into the phone. I moved from the couch to the balcony with white french doors. My favorite part of the penthouse.

"Oh." he cleared his throat, probably trying to find an insult. "Well you know-"

"Let me guess, you're going to discourage me and try to keep me away from fùtbol, aren't you?" it was silent, the only sound I heard were the cars twenty stories down. "Guess what? I take those comments as motivation to do better. From you, and dad." I hung up the phone. I put my phone in my pocket as I observed my view from the hotel.

It didn't push away the thoughts of discouragement that were flowing in and out. What I said to Andrew was a lie, well-almost. The truth behind it was that I actually felt bad for me replacing him, for a nanosecond. Then I remembered him taunting me when he was leaving on the plane. Not recently, but when we were eight. I constantly told myself that he'd be back to come and rescue us from the dirt roads in São Paulo. The government could spend so much money on anything but the poor.

I constantly told my mama that my dad would come back. Over and over again I would say to my sister that the maid didn't steal pai, she just went to go assist him on the plane there.

I lied to myself though. I found my passion in fùtbol even before they left. It was the one thing the rich and poor had all to themselves. You could play it on the end of the street, and with the friends you had.