Chapter Three

                                    

                                          
Tyson's POV
I linger at the edge of the hangar, my phone pressed to my ear as Dad's voice blares through the speaker. 
“...and remember don't slack off, okay?”
"Yes sir."
"Work on your balance. You're still too easy to throw off, understand?"
Anxiety churns in my gut, his expectations weighing heavily on my shoulders. Before I can respond, Coach's booming voice cuts through the noise.
"Let's go, Dawn! Time to fly!"
"I have to go, dad."
I hang up, shoving my phone into my pocket as I join my teammates. Our footsteps echo across the tarmac as we board the private jet, settling into plush seats as the crew prepares for takeoff.
"Hey, superstar!" Ethan, our captain, calls out. "Ready to save the world...or at least England?"
I chuckle, playing along.
"Piece of cake, mate. Brazil's got nothing on me."
Ryan, our resident jokester chimes in. "Yeah, and I'm sure your hair will stay perfectly messy even under pressure."
I shoot him a mock-offended glance.
"Hey, my hair's a national treasure. Don't diss the mane."
The plane surges forward, the familiar skyline of Manchester fading from view. Coach stands, his eyes sweeping over us.
"Alright, listen up," he says. "Brazil is a football powerhouse, and we're going to be tested like never before. But we've got something they don't – heart." He pauses, his gaze intense. "Leave everything on the field, and we'll make history."
I swallow hard, nerves twisting in my gut. I glance at Captain Ethan, who offers a reassuring nod before standing to address the team.
"We're a family," Ethan declares. "We've trained, bled, and sweated together. This is our moment."
My nerves slowly ebb as Ryan, rises beside me with a mischievous grin. "If all else fails," he quips, "we can distract them with our killer dance moves."
Laughter ripples through the cabin, easing the tension as we settle in for the long journey. The hum of the engines soon becomes a comforting backdrop, punctuated by murmured conversations and occasional outbursts of laughter.
Comfortable on my seat with Ryan about to doze off beside me, I slip out my phone and check my messages. Twenty-two messages. I sent mom twenty-two messages and she hasn't replied to any.
My stomach churns, feet tapping uncontrollably. Relax. She'll call you, Tyson. Give it time.
As the hours pass, our anticipation grows, excitement reaching a fever pitch as the plane begins its descent. I peer through the window, my breath catching at the sight of Rio de Janeiro's iconic landscape. The sun-drenched city sprawls below, its vibrant colors mirroring our fiery passion.
The jet touches down with a gentle bump, and I exchange a charged look with my teammates. Turning my gaze to a snoring Ryan, I smack his forehead and he shoots up.
"We've landed, moron."
As I step off the plane, the Brazilian heat envelops me, mirroring the burning anxiety within.
“Woohoo! Olà Brazil!” Ryan yells and i chuckle.
This is it – our moment to shine.
The heat hits us like a wall as we disembark, our dreams, fears, and ambitions carried on the sultry Brazilian breeze. Sweat beads on my brow as I shoulder my bag, but a grin tugs at my lips. I'm ready – ready to take on the world.
Together, we stride across the tarmac, ready to make our mark on football history.
12 more days to go.
My heart is pounding.





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