Little Mewis

If You're Going To Do Something, Be the Best

"How does it feel to win the Golden Boot in your first ever World Cup?" A reporter asked.

You smiled. "It's surreal. I mean, a couple of months ago I was just playing Soccer for my high school team in Boston. Now I have a contract from one of the best club teams in the world, I'm a player for the USWNT, and I officially have a Golden Boot to my name."

"We saw you chatting with your sisters right after the match ended," another reported stated. "Can we ask what that was about?"

You shrugged nonchalantly. "They were just telling me how proud they were. It was really special to experience this World Cup with them, and I'm so glad that we all got the call up."

"Why were they chasing you?" The same reporter questioned.

You smiled cheekily. "I told Kristie and Sam that we should go talk to our parents."

"And? They looked a bit angry."

"So I could tell our parents that they swore in front of me."

The people in the room laughed, many used to sibling banter of their own.

"That's all we have time for today, folks." The USWNT PR manager announced.

As you headed back to the locker room, you happened to pass the entirety of the Oranjeleeuwinnen, all of which whom looked downcast.

"Mewis." A heavily accented Dutch voice called as you cringed.

"Yeeeeaaaah?" You hesitated, turning around slowly, raising your hand in a pacifying motion. "If you guys are gonna murder me, can you give me a second to fix my hair? I don't want to look all sweaty and shit when they find my body."

That drew some light chuckles from the Dutch girls.

"No, we're not going to murder you," Viv said with a small, but proud smile. "I may be on the opposing team this time, but you're still the Gunners' Teickshot Terror and I'm happy for you."

You smiled awkwardly back. "Thanks."

"I'd like to know," Jill Roord cut in. "How are you such a good Striker, but you also know how to play as a Keeper?"

You shrugged, fingers visibly twitching since you had no pockets to shove them in. "I just practiced Goalkeeping when I had extra time or got bored of practicing being a Striker."

"Someone's competing for the Ballon d'Or this year." Sari van Veenendaal whistled appreciatively.

You shrugged again. "If you're going to do something, be the best."

"How old are you again?"

"16."

"WHAT?" Jill and Sari exclaimed.

"It's not a big deal. Jessie Fleming debuted when she was fifte-"

"No no no," Danielle Van de Donk interrupted, wagging her finger in protest. "Jessie Fleming did not score a goal from the opposite side of the field or win the Golden Boot in her first World Cup."

You blushed, suddenly finding the ground very interesting. Getting praised by some of the best in the world of Women's Soccer had not been on your to-do list.

"I... th‐thanks," you stammered. "I should probably go before my sisters think I died..."

"Yeah, congrats on your win," Jackie Groenen smiled lightly at you, turning to face her teammates. "Who wants to bet Little Mewis is going to win the Ballon d'Or?"

A chorus of "me's" sounded out as you thanked the Orange Lionesses, walking towards the direction of the USWNT locker room.

Welp, that was awkward.

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"Y/N!" Sonnett cheered as you slipped through the door. "Have a beer!"

Kristie and Sam's heads whipped around at lightning speed.

"NO!"

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"Y/NNNN," A cheery Irish voice sounded. "Ya' miss me?"

"Katie!" You beamed, tackling the Defender in a hug as the rest of the USWNT watched with their phones out, recording the reunion. "You came!"

"Of course I did," she scoffed. "You think I'd miss being here?"

"What 'bout me?" Your captain strutted into the room.

"Kimmy!" You launched yourself at the Scottish woman, grinning like mad.

"So proud of you, Little Mewis," Kim said, hugging you tightly. "Can't believe you're 'bout to win a Ballon d'Or too!"

"Why's everyone think I'm gonna win the Ballon d'Or? I can't compete with people like Alexia fuckin' Putellas!" You exclaimed, throwing your hands up into the air in exasperation.

"Language!" Kristie barked, still recording.

"Kristie, don't say 'language' when my nickname is Triton," you grumbled, running a hand down your face. "Have you really not figured out why that is?"

"No." she mumbled.

Sam had figured out your unusual nickname a few years back, but apparently hadn't told Kristie.

"Who's Triton's father?" You asked, rubbing your temples at your oldest sister's ignorance.

"Umm... I don't know."

You face palmed. "It's Poseidon, you dumbfu- dummy."

She scratched her head. "Who?"

"The Greek God of the sea!" You hissed.

"Oooooh," Kristie nodded. "So why's your nickname Triton?"

"Because Triton is the son of the sea God and Mom thinks I have a sailor's mouth!"

"Ooooohhhh." Kristie repeated, the players and staff in the room chuckling.

"Kristie..." Sam sighed, pushing a loose strand of hair out of her face. "Are you serious? Even I knew that one."

"What?" She defended. "I don't know mythology!"

"Clearly," You groaned, falling to the ground dramatically when Kristie chucked a water bottle at you that hit you in the side of the head. "This is abuse!"

"You're so annoying!"

You beamed, grinning cheekily at the indignant Gotham FC player standing above you.

"Thanks, I try!"

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Lots of shadow of the foring in this shitty filler chapter

Hope you enjoyed, thanks for reading!