PetiteQQ

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Rafaella called it an obsession, but what does she know, she’s just a nosy ten-year-old girl. Right?

Then his schoolmates started teasing him for being in love with Messi, but that was just normal schoolyard insults. Right?

Then his coach told him to stop trying to play like the Argentinian, but he was just pushing him. Right?

And now Neymar sat on the dining table as his parents looked at him sternly, telling him he has to stop with this Messi nonsense.

It wasn’t an obsession. He wasn’t trying to be him. And he most definitely wasn’t in love with Messi. He was just…ahead of his time, okay?

It felt like he was the only one in the world—well at least in the city to realize Lionel Messi was special. He was definitely going to win a Ballon d’or or two or three or even four! His dad snorted when he said that at the dinner table while Rafaella told him to not talk about his boyfriend during dinner.

And maybe he got into a few heated debates with his uncle when he announced Messi was better than Ronaldinho. Which caused Neymar to be sent to bed at seven.

Okay, and maybe telling a bunch of proud Brazilian teenagers at the park Messi was better than the entire Brazilian national team was an even worse idea, but what was he supposed to do? He was like a prophet that no one believed, mocked by everyone despite telling the truth.

“That is not the problem Juninho,” his mother interrupted his dramatic monologue with a tired sigh, “This obsession is unhealthy even for a celebrity crush,”

“You need to stop,” his father concluded

“You and Uncle Miguel are obsessed with Ronaldinho, why don’t you stop?” Neymar asked with a pout.

“We don’t have 100 posters of Ronaldinho in our bedrooms,” his father stated.

“Your father doesn’t stay up at 2 am on a school night to watch a Barcelona game,” his mother added

“Papa and Uncle Miguel don’t try to steal some kid's boots just because Ronaldinho wore the same ones either!” Rafaella yelled from the living room.

It wasn’t an obsession; his whole family was just being dramatic.

Sure, he had like 50 centerfolds of the Argentinian in Rafaella and his shared bedroom, and he may or may not kiss them goodnight.

Every night.

But everyone does that.

And maybe the panini stickers that adorned his locker in the Santos changing room didn't help his case.

Or that time where he tried to dribble like Messi with his left foot and fell face flat in the mud.

Or the boots that Rafaella allegedly watched him “steal”. Which didn’t even fit him, so he had to give it back.

But it wasn’t weird. Every teenage boy goes through this phase. He was just an early bloomer.

“Just admit you want to be Messi’s girlfriend,” one of his teammates yelled during training, causing a ripple of laughter from the other boys nearby.

But he wasn’t in love with Messi. He just admired his football skills. Yeah. That’s all.

And admired, he did.

Whether it was the Champions league or a simple preseason friendly against some random low-tier Korean team, Neymar made sure to watch every single game. Even when Messi wasn’t playing. Just to catch a glimpse of him on the bench.

If the game was during school or practice or late at night. Neymar would beg his poor mother to record it. Once Mama Santos forgot and as a result Neymar threw the biggest tantrum he had ever thrown. To the point where the whole Neighborhood heard it and the sweet old man living next door genuinely thought their house got robbed and rushed into their house armed with a Machete.

Neymar was banned from watching any Barcelona game for the next month after that incident. One of the worst months of his thirteen years of living. What’s worse was Rafaella got TV privilege for the month, and she made sure to rub it in his face as much as she could.

Around the same time Neymar started taking his football seriously. Don’t get him wrong. He has always been talented and one of the best prospects of the Santos youth team.

But now?

Neymar was unbelievable.

With his sole purpose in life being able to play alongside Lionel Messi, he treated every game like it was the Champions league final and every training session like Messi himself was watching him play. Goals after goals. He was scoring hattricks left and right, performing flashy tricks that hypnotized his opponents, and working on his left foot more and more.

In short, ever since that day in front of the TV, Neymar had become a completely different player. Scouts from all over the world would fly to watch him play a game. His father and Santos F.C. were getting calls left and right from top league teams, teams like Manchester United and Liverpool. Teams that any kid would dream of playing for.

“No.”

“What?” his father and his coach said in unison, looking at the teen in shock.

“No, I don’t want to go,” Neymar repeated this time a bit firmer.

“…This is Manchester United we’re talking about Menino,” his coach said.

“Okay? Messi doesn’t play there, why would I?”

“He’s joking right?” His coach looked at the boy in disbelief before turning to Neymar Senior who gave him a look back that said I wish he was joking.

“Juninho, are you sure you don’t want to consider this?” Senior asked.

“If it’s not Barcelona then I’m not going!” Neymar declared.

“Okay, then we’ll let them know,” his father replied with a fond little smile, “IF you want Barcelona to notice you better go train harder then,” Neymar nodded excitedly before jogging back to the training ground.

“Are you sure he’s making the right decision?” his coach asked watching the scrawny teen passing the ball cheerily with his teammates, “he’s just a kid he doesn’t know what’s good for him yet,”

“He doesn’t,” Senior agreed, “but as his father I’d rather he’s happy now,”

“Well, let’s just hope he continues training as hard, if he wants to make it to Barcelona,” coach sighed

And trained hard he did. Everyday Neymar was the first to practice and the last to leave. He would climb up at 5 every morning and practice in the small backyard of theirs. He stopped hanging out with the neighborhood boys or chasing after girls at school in order to spend more time training.

And as a result, he was playing better and better.

To the point even some big tabloids and brands started noticing this little genius from Santos.

Nike was calling him up, offering to sponsor him.

The Brazilian press was trying to get exclusive interviews with him.

Influencers were trying to get a picture with him.

Stories were written about him, calling him the future of Brazil, the little crown Prince and even the Next Pele.

“You think Messi will see this?” Neymar asked, holding the glossy magazine cover with his face on it that his father brought home that night.

“No, why would he read some random tabloid from Brazil,” Rafaella rolled her eyes at her older brother.

“Well, I guess I’ll have to try harder then,”

“You’re stupid,”

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The first time Neymar saw Lionel Messi, he was thirteen.

It was like any other afternoon. The sun was blazing outside as he and Rafaella raced back home from school, sweat clinging to their skin from the hot Brazilian air. Not that it bothered the two as they sprinted through the small alleyways of the favela, dodging obstacles left and right while hurling insults at each other.

“Neymar Junior! It’s my turn to use the TV!” Rafaella scream echoed through the streets as she tried to catch up to her brother

“Not if I get there first!” He yelled back, laughing before colliding face first into the wall of one of the houses.

Rafaella took her chance immediately and ran past Neymar, ignoring the blood-curdling scream coming from her over-dramatic brother. After realizing he was going to receive absolutely zero sympathy from Rafaella, Neymar scrambled up and chased after her, calling her as many names his thirteen-year-old vocabulary could muster.

The two arrived back home, covered in sweat and dirt, panting as they tossed their backpack aside and kicked their shoe off carelessly, bickering over who got home first.

Their mother didn’t even need to look up from the kitchen to know her two little demons had returned. She sighed as Neymar’s screech and Rafaella’s whining filled the once peaceful house.

“Juninho! Rafaella! Stop fighting and come get your watermelons!”

The siblings instantly stopped bickering and raced to the kitchen, shoving each other on the way to grab the ice-cold melon slices. Neymar took an extra long second to inspect which slice was bigger. Rafaella rolled her eyes, grabbed the closest one and snuck into the living room before her brother noticed.

Finally settling on a particularly large slice, Neymar realized his sister's absence and rushed after her to the living room.

“Don’t make a mess! I just cleaned the floor,” their mother called after the siblings

The fan in the living room swirled desperately in an attempt to rid the humid heat as the two entered. Just to see their father, Neymar Senior, dozing off on the couch, hand wrapped tightly around the remote.

The two plopped down on the floor in front of the TV. As Rafaella tried to pry the remote out of her father’s iron grip, Neymar glanced up at the TV and paused.

Some random replay of an European match was playing, one of the teams—Barcelona, Neymar thought—was making a substitution. A floppy-haired boy with dark eyes filled the grainy screen. The boy looked barely older than Neymar, but with a look of determination and maturity of someone much older. As the tiny boy switched with the other player, Neymar caught sight of the back of his oversized jersey: MESSI.

Messi? What kind of name is that? Neymar thought half-heartedly, chewing his watermelon slice loudly.

“Help me, Ney!” Rafaella whispered, still tugging on their father’s stubborn fingers.

“Nope,” Neymar said mischievously, sticking his tongue out at his poor little sister before turning his attention back to the match.

Messi was now on the field jogging into position as the other team tried to penetrate Barcelona’s defense. One of the defenders intercepted a pass and launched a well-played long ball, starting the counterattack.

Ronaldinho—who Neymar actually knew, thank you very much—got the ball and dribbled past what felt like a small army before launching it towards the tiny Messi. Who in turn made a beautiful first touch before volleying it straight into the goal.

Neymar jumped up, cheering like Brazil just won the World Cup, flinging his arms and causing the melon juice to fly absolutely everywhere.

Too bad the goal was off side. Neymar groaned, slumping back onto the floor and continued observing the match while licking the stray melon juice running down his fingers.

For some reason, the tiny man intrigued Neymar. He doesn’t know why, he’s never heard of this Messi before, but he can tell just that he was different…somehow. Different in the way he dribbled, in the way he composed himself, and in the way he passed. Different in the way Neymar knew he couldn't take his eyes off of him.

Meanwhile, Rafaella finally wiggled the remote out of her father's hand. With a victorious grin, she reached to change the channel to the afternoon cartoons, just for Neymar to immediately smack it out of her hand.

“Ma! Ney just hit me!” she howled.

Neymar Senior groaned, stirring from his sleep just to witness the scene in front of him: Rafaella bawling her eyes out yelling that it was her turn to watch the TV, while Junior was yelling at the screen as if he was an unemployed middle-aged man in a pub watching his team’s relegation battle on a weekday. He blinked for a second before deciding he was not going to deal with this today and promptly closed his eyes again.

“Juninho, do not hit your sister!” Mother yelled back from the kitchen, "And Rafa stop screaming do you want the whole neighborhood to hear you?"

Neymar barely heard her. His eyes transfixed on the small figure on the screen. He watched as Messi dribbled past a defender three times his size before passing it back perfectly to Ronaldinho and making another run.

“Neymar da Silva Santos Junior! What did I just say about the floor?” his mother gasped, mortified as she saw the sticky red liquid staining the perfectly white tiles she just spent hours cleaning.

Neymar didn’t even blink.

Ronaldinho chipped the ball over the defense again to Messi, who timed his run perfectly.

Neymar leaned forward, the watermelon on his lap long forgotten, splattered on the ground with a soft thud.

Messi caught the ball and effortlessly flicked the ball over the keeper.

Neymar leapt to his feet, screaming as if he had scored.

Meanwhile, on screen Messi cheered, laughing as he jumped onto Ronaldinho’s back with the biggest, dopiest smile Neymar has ever seen.

He didn’t know who Messi was.

But he knew one thing:

He had to play next to him one day.