We want to congratulate you on being selected for the U14 National Squad.
The words seemed to float off the page. Ethan's breath, which he hadn't realized he was holding, escaped in a long, shaky exhale. He read the sentence again. And again. The ink didn't change. The crest at the top of the page was still there. It was real.
A wave of relief washed over him, making him dizzy. Then came a surge of pure, uncontainable joy. A wide grin split his face, and he let out a laugh that was half-shout, half-sob. "I did it," he whispered, looking up at his mum, his eyes shining. "I actually did it."
She wrapped him in a hug, holding him tight. "Of course you did," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I never had a single doubt."
After reading the letter a dozen more times and absorbing details about the upcoming training schedule and the first international friendly, his first instinct was to tell Callum and Mason. He met them at the park, the letter folded carefully in his pocket. He didn't need to say anything; the look on his face told them everything.
"No way," Callum said, his eyes wide before breaking into a huge grin. "You actually made it! I knew it! They had to pick you. Who else would pass them the ball?"
Mason's reaction was more subdued, but no less meaningful. A slow, proud smile spread across his face. He punched Ethan lightly on the shoulder. "Good," he said, his voice firm. "You earned it. But don't think for a second this is the finish line. This is just the start. You're not just representing Crestwood now; you're representing all of us."
The news spread through Eastfield quickly. At school the next day, whispers turned into outright congratulations. Teachers praised his dedication, and his classmates treated him like a local celebrity. The headline of the Eastfield Gazette read: "Eastfield's Own Ethan Matthews Gets England Call-Up." The pressure he had felt before now felt ten times greater, but for the first time, it felt less like a burden and more like a badge of honor.
That night, Ethan sat in his room, the Crestwood championship medal hanging on his wall and the official letter from the national team lying on his desk. He looked from one to the other, two symbols of a journey that had started on a muddy field with rusty goalposts. He had dreamed of being a professional footballer, but the idea of playing for his country had always seemed distant, like a story that happened to other people.
He thought of the sacrifices: the missed parties, the late nights of homework after tiring training sessions, the constant pressure to perform. He knew, with a clarity that was both thrilling and terrifying, that the sacrifices would only grow bigger. The journey from Eastfield to Crestwood had been one step. This was a giant leap into a whole new world.
A world where he would wear the Three Lions on his chest.
The boy from Eastfield was going to play for England.