Palms Before Practice

Maya's palms were sweating again. Great. Just what she needed before tryouts.

"You're overthinking it," said Javi, leaning against the gym doors with his signature backwards cap. "You've been running varsity tracks since freshman year. This is just regionals."

Easy for him to say. He wasn't the one whose mom had started packing **spinach** smoothies every morning because "college coaches look at the whole athlete, not just times." Whatever that meant.

"Yeah, well," Maya adjusted her **orange** headband, trying to look confident. "This time it's different. If I don't qualify, my dad's whole 'running scholarship legacy' speech happens again. And I'll have to hear about how he walked onto the team at State with zero training."

Javi laughed. "Bro, your dad literally has a shrine to his high school medals in the garage. We get it."

The worst part? Maya actually liked running. Loved the wind in her face, the rhythm of her breath, the way her feet hit the track like a heartbeat. But somewhere between her dad's expectations and the team captain drama, it had become less about the run and more about—

"YO, Maya!" Sarah, the captain, waved from the finish line. "Coach wants to talk roster spots. You coming?"

Her palms went from sweaty to full-on tropical storm. This was it. The moment that decided everything.

Javi nudged her. "You got this. And hey, if it doesn't work out, there's always chess club."

Maya flipped him off and started toward the track, heartbeat syncing with her steps. Whatever happened today, she'd keep running. Not because of her dad's legacy or college scouts or any of it.

Because running was the only time she felt like herself.

And honestly? That was enough.