"dad, chill out!" i laughed out as my dad screamed at the television. real madrid and barcelona had been playing, and real madrid had just won. my dad had always been a big barcelona fan so this had thrown him into a frenzy.
he and my brothers, max and charlie, had been rolling around the living room for the past five minutes. personally, i don't get why it was such a big deal. it's just a game.
"mads." charlie shook his head, "we could've won that. neymar almost had it in." he turned his attention onto my older brother and my dad, "i just don't get how that was offside."
"honestly boys, that ref had something against him that entire game." my dad sighed dramatically, "i feel bad for that poor boy, he's got a target on his back."
"is that who you're talking about?" i asked as a man with 'neymar jr.' printed on the back of his shirt walked into frame on the tv.
max nodded, "look at that fat cut on his face, i don't get why marcello didn't get a red for that." he pointed out the gash on the players forehead.
"i told you, max." dad spoke again, still shaking his head. "the game was rigged against us."
"right." i slapped my thighs and got up from the sofa. "too much football, time for me to leave."
"what's going on in here?" my mum stuck her head through the doorway, "i've already spoken to you about ganging up on maddie."
i shook my head as i passed my mum, "mum, they're not ganging up on me! i promise."
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"char!" i shouted out, becoming aware that two players from barcelona had just seen my story, "charlie! come here!"
charlie pushed my bedroom door open, his hands resting on his hips, "what the fuck do you want?" i raised my eyebrows at his reaction, contemplating whether or not it should tell him.
"i think you'll want to see this." i passed him the phone, open to the viewers on my story. his face was blank but i could tell that he was reading through the names, "mads, i don't care about your friends."
"char, i know you've got dyslexia, but actually look closely at the names, this isn't about my friends." i told him, moving to the end of my bed to watch him scroll through the viewers. "there!" i pointed out the two names with blue check marks next to their names.
"is this photoshopped?" he frowned, inspecting the names on my screen. "you're trying to mess with me, aren't you?"
"no." i shook my head, "i don't fucking care about footballers charlie." his eyes widened and he moved the phone closer to his face so that i couldn't see the screen.
"no fucking way." he breathed out pushing the phone back into my hands and making his way to the open doorframe. "max! come!"
"busy!" max shouted back, his head making an appearance on the other side of the hallway.
"nah, man. you really need to see this." charlie shook his head, picking up one of the bears from my bed and throwing it towards max, "this is about barça."
