Not just a game

I didn't sleep the night before.

Not because I didn't want to—believe me, I wanted to. I just couldn't shut my brain off. Every time I closed my eyes, I'd picture myself doing something catastrophic, like tripping over a cone in the warm-up or accidentally two-footing one of my childhood idols.

Someone like Leah Williamson.

That was the thing. This wasn't just any training session. This was my first official day with the Arsenal Women senior team.

I'd been in the youth academy since I was ten. I still remembered my first session, pulling up my socks like they were armour, nervously watching the older girls dribble with casual magic. Back then, I used to sneak peeks through the chain-link fence at the senior team's sessions. I'd watch them move like they were part of one brilliant, impossible machine—Kim Little's calm control, Leah shouting orders from the backline, Beth Mead's laugh echoing like it didn't even know what nerves were.

And now? I was supposed to train with them. The people I idolise.

No pressure or anything.

I got to the training ground stupidly early, like, sun-still-yawning early. The receptionist barely looked surprised. She smiled and handed me a temporary pass.

"New call-up?" she asked.

I nodded. My mouth was too dry to answer, so I just gave a small smile.

The changing room was empty when I stepped inside (thank god). Rows of boots lined the shelves, smelling like turf and hard work. My kit was already laid out on the bench—red and white, Alvarez stitched in bold block letters across the back.

I stared at it for a full minute. It didn't feel real. I'd worn the crest before. At youth games that is, in academy training, but this... this was different. This was the big leagues. In front of all the cameras and people wanting to know everything about you. It makes the kit felt heavier somehow. Like it had a heartbeat of its own.

I sat down, trying not to panic. Deep breaths. Just put on the shirt. One arm, then the other. You've got this. Right?

"First day?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin. My head quickly snapping up.

Leah Williamson stood in the doorway, casual in her warm-up gear, a water bottle in hand. Her hair was pulled back in a messy bun, and she looked exactly like she did on TV, just real. And taller. A lot less serious though.

"Y-Yeah. Sorry - I didn't think anyone was in yet."

"You're alright." She smiled. "You ready?"

I wanted to say yes. What came out instead was: "I think I'm going to throw up."

To her credit, she laughed. Not the mean kind I expected. It was warm, a little surprised.

"Good," she said, grinning. "That means it matters."

Warm-up was a blur. High knees, side shuffles, touches on the ball. I kept my head down and tried not to look like a terrified Bambi. Every shout from the coaches made me twitch. Every time I looked up, someone new was watching me.

Katie McCabe gave me a once-over and nodded, like I was a puzzle she was figuring out. Beth Mead smiled like we were already best friends.

I made one clean interception during a small-sided game. My body moved before I could think—cutting off a pass, turning quick, and laying it off perfectly. I barely registered what I'd done until someone clapped.

"Nice read," Kim Little said as she jogged past.

I blinked. Kim Little. Spoke. To me.

Later in the scrimmage, I fluffed a shot so wide it probably ended up in North London traffic. No one said anything, but my cheeks burned.

Then Leah ran past and whispered, "Next time, breathe before you shoot. You're overthinking it."

It didn't feel like criticism. It felt like advice. Real advice. The kind that means: I see you.

After training, I sat on the bench in the locker room, legs stretched out in front of me, heart still pounding.

Leah walked past again, towel over her shoulder. She tossed me a bottle of water and grinned.

"Not bad for a first day," she said. "You belong here."

I wanted to laugh. Or cry. Or both. Instead, I took a long sip of water and whispered, "Thanks."

She paused, then leaned in a little, like we were sharing a secret.

"We've all been the new kid once. Just don't forget to enjoy it, yeah?"

And just like that, she was gone—off to the showers, probably, or another media shoot or team meeting. But I sat there with that moment tucked tight into my chest. Like a first goal. Like a win.

The bus ride home was quiet. I sat by the window, earbuds in, staring at the blur of London streets. I didn't text my mum. I didn't post anything. I just let it all replay in my head like highlights on loop.

Every pass. Every mistake. Every voice.

And Leah. Smiling like I wasn't invisible. Like maybe I was actually part of this.

I opened my group chat with my best mates and typed:

I met them.
All of them.
And I didn't screw it up. Not completely.

A/N
Hellooooo, how was the first chapter? Also who do you want our MC to get closest to on the team? 👀