Stanford had been treating you great. You had intentions to go to UCLA at first, but Stanford had offered you a bigger athletic scholarship. Getting the letter of acceptance was the happiest day of your life. It was another milestone in your life, and hopefully your soccer career as well. Your father was your biggest supporter. He was a single parent, working himself dead with 14 hour shifts, six days a week for the past 18 years. He made sure you would get to do the thing you loved.
His sacrifices had paid off to say the least. You were a freshman at Stanford, one of the best colleges in the country, had maintained at 3.8 grade point average so far, AND was currently a member of Stanford women's soccer team. Now, just because you had the grades didn't mean you were a nerd. You had quite the wild side; it was something everyone knew. Another thing you were noticed for was your incredible speed.
You weren't the strongest on the team, or the tallest for that matter. But oh man, you were definitely the fastest. From your childhood club teams, all the way up until now, you had been the fastest. Even when you played on the boy's team! No one could catch you, and if they tried, they failed. Your speed had granted you the nickname "Speedy," and it suited you perfectly. You loved scoring goals; the rush of adrenaline and excitement felt amazing, like nothing else in the world really mattered in that moment.
Stanford was not only recognized for its academics, but its athletics as well. Which brings you to the present day. The NCAA championship was coming up, and you had helped Stanford move to the finals, and now the upcoming final. You stretched out your back before sitting down and doing some leg stretches, watching as your fellow teammates began showing up on the field. It was early. Very, very early. 6 AM on a Monday morning to be exact. You would much rather be asleep, but hey, work needs to get done.
The director of Stanford women's soccer Paul Ratcliffe began walking towards you. You pulled your headphones out of your ears before standing up as he smiled and called your name.
"Y/N Y/L/N. Just the person I wanted to see." He said as he shook your hand. You raised an eyebrow, before chuckling lightly. "If this is about the microwave incident, I promise you, it wasn't me who put a whole bag of Oreos in the microwave." You said bluntly, but to your surprise, he just laughed and shook his head. "Thats not what I came here to talk about, but good to know." "What did you come here for then?" You asked, curious now. "I came here to talk about your future. I have an offer for you, and if you agree to it, it may be the start of something big." Paul stated as you processed what he had just said. "What is the offer?" You inquired, hoping it was something good.
"Jill Ellis gave me a call last night. She wants you to train with the national team."