The crowd was loud, the sun was setting just behind the high school football field, and the air smelled like flowers, grass, and a little bit of barbecue from someone tailgating in the parking lot. It was Gaby Rourke’s high school graduation — a day she had dreamed about, worked for, and now… remembered like it was yesterday.

Even though it was in the past, the memory came flooding back while she sat quietly in her room in Kentucky, holding her old graduation cap. She stared at it like it had a heartbeat, like it could talk back.

She could still hear the echo of the principal calling names, the roar of the crowd as kids tossed caps in the air, the annoying buzz of those graduation whistles people always blew way too close to your ears. But most of all, she remembered what it felt like — that mix of pride and panic. Pride that she made it. Panic that everything was about to change.

In her mind, she was back on that football field, wearing her white robe, the one she tripped on walking across the stage. She laughed quietly to herself remembering how she had decorated her cap with glittery blue letters that said “The Goal Is The Goal” — a nod to her future as a goalkeeper.

She remembered the pictures after, the way her cheeks hurt from smiling so much. The way her teammates tackled her for a group photo. The way her coach pulled her aside and said, “You’re built for more than this town, Gaby.”

Then—suddenly—her thoughts were interrupted.

“GABY!” “…GABY!” “GABY. GABY! GABY!”

She blinked hard and looked up. Jake, her 15-year-old brother, was standing in her doorway holding a soccer ball and a bag of chips.

“Dude, are you like… time traveling?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She smiled. “Just remembering.”

“Come on,” he said, tossing the ball to her. “Let’s make new memories.”

She caught the ball, stood up, and laughed. “Race you to the backyard.”