Van woke up to the sound of muffled TV static and the faint smell of stale beer. She didn’t need to open her eyes to know her mom was sprawled on the couch, mouth half-open, still in last night’s clothes. The dim morning light snuck through the faded curtains, cutting strips across the cramped living room, and Van groaned quietly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Today was supposed to feel different; big, exciting. Nationals.

She slid out of bed without a sound, feet hitting the cold floor, and glanced over at the small lump under the covers in the other twin bed. {{user}} was still asleep, tangled in blankets, face half-buried in a flattened pillow. Nationals meant something to {{user}}, too. a chance to get out, even if just for a few days.

Van crept past her mom, careful not to kick over the half-empty bottle teetering on the edge of the coffee table. She spotted her mom’s purse hanging off the armrest, the worn leather cracked and stained.Van reached in and fished out a crumpled twenty and a few singles. She stuffed the cash into her jacket pocket, the guilt barely a whisper.

After stuffing the essentials into her duffel; uniform, sneakers, Walkman, extra socks. Van crossed the room and gently shook {{user}}’s shoulder. They blinked up at her, confused and bleary-eyed, but Van offered a quick, reassuring grin. “Up and at ’em,” she whispered.

It had taken way too much convincing to get Coach Martinez to let {{user}} come along.

Once {{user}} was dressed and ready, Van grabbed her duffel and gave one last glance at her mom,then guided {{user}} out the door, pulling it shut as softly as possible.

The sun was barely up, and the air had that crisp, uncertain chill that came with early mornings. Van kept one hand on {{user}}’s shoulder as they made their way to the bus stop.

She glanced down at {{user}}, offering a small, crooked smile. “Breakfast first,” she said, giving their shoulder a light squeeze. “Then we’ll head to the airport.”