𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞 ★ leah williamson

15 - two out of two

When the starting eleven was revealed to us before the warm up, I wasn't surprised. We were playing with our usual line up again, after the recent loss. Of course, the friendlies were meant to test new players and formations, but we were hungry for the win. There was no way we would lose two games in a row, not even against the first ranked team in the world.

I savored every moment of the warm up, sprinting with a hundred percent of my energy, perfecting every pass, putting all my force into every shot. The music only amplified my heart rate, and as I partnered up with Sydney, I felt her pulse just as fast as my own. We were excited. Hungry. Hungriger - as the German team called it. Laura's playlist made my head tingle with nerves as I pulled the number eighteen on, tying Syd's laces shortly after.

"You good?", she asked as I pat her feet, signalizing I was done. I nodded.

"Good as I'll ever be."

"You'll be even better when we win the World Cup."

I groaned. "One step after the other, aye?"

We walked out into the stadium, which was filled with American fans. After the difficult night we'd had, with the fire alarm waking us up twice and leaving us stranded in a Dunkin' Donuts at six in the morning, I had expected the lack of sleep to catch up with me. But as I jumped up and down precisely eight times, stood on the side of Alex Popp, I felt pure energy curse through my veins. This game would be good. I felt it in my bones.

We started into the game easily, keeping the ball at our feet, marching our way through the American defense. It seemed easier than it should - we had expected the Americans to come out flying at us, but they let us build up our game quickly. We made little to no mistakes, and the thought that this game would be good rose up within me even stronger.

The first opportunity came just short of ten minutes after kickoff, when I received the ball in the middle of the pitch. My feet burning with fierce, I made my way across the grass, cutting midfielders off left and right. Poppi, next to me, didn't call for a pass because she knew that once I got into my zone, there was no stopping me. I was good at dribbling, at keeping the ball at fooling defenders, and I did so easily. That was until a defender launched her feet at mine, and I sincerely hoped that she had aimed to get the ball when her ankle clashed with mine and the ball flew to the right.

My pain was forgotten as I looked to see Poppi's feet accept the ball as she stood in front of the goal entirely open. Sydney was mingling along behind me, providing another opportunity, but I slotted the ball into the middle.

I made my way towards her through gritted teeth and a soaring pain in my ankle as I anticipated the ball coming flying back to us, but it didn't. It slid just past the post, meaning that for the first time since kickoff, the Americans would have the ball. I hung my head, sighing. This could've been the perfect start for us.

The pain in my ankle soon diminished, lightly at the adrenaline cursing through my veins.

I found an American defender to mark her, following her every step to make her unavailable to pass to. The ball flew into the midfield somewhere and I watched Lena attempt to take it off her opponent, unsuccessfully. At last, the game slipped away from us as our defense crumbled once more. Despite the more experienced players on the pitch today, we were struggling against people such as Alex Morgan or Megan Rapinoe, which didn't come as a surprise.

Morgan slotted the ball past Merle, and I hung my head even lower this time. We were a goal behind, after such an incredible start.

Alex kicked the ball into our own possession once more, and we found ourselves struggling to build our own game. Between almost every pass, there was an American, intervening gladly. It became more and more frustrating to watch as none of my teammates were able to pass the ball to me.