[Emily’s POV]

The car ride to Regionals has all the warm, cozy vibes of a funeral procession. Minus the flowers and the mourners who at least pretend they care.

Maddie drives because apparently I’m not trusted with navigation today. The silence is so thick I could sculpt it into uncomfortable shapes and sell them at pretentious art galleries.

I stare out the window at passing trees, wondering when my relationship became the kind where we communicate exclusively through pointed silence.

Maybe around the time her father started playing life coach. “Do you want music?” I ask, because apparently I’m a masochist who enjoys rejection.

“Sure.” Maddie doesn’t look at me, just reaches for the radio and turns on something that sounds like elevator music had a baby with depression. Cool. Great. This is fine.

The hotel appears like salvation or possibly damnation—hard to tell the difference anymore. The parking lot is already filling with familiar cars, skaters unloading bags with the casual confidence I used to have.

We grab our bags and head inside, and that’s when I see them. David and Hanna, Maddie’s parents, standing in the lobby like they’re posing for a family portrait titled “Awkward Reunion: The Sequel.”

David spots us immediately and his face does this thing where he smiles but his eyes stay calculating, like he’s already three moves ahead in some chess game I didn’t know we were playing.

Hanna waves, looking genuinely happy to see us, which somehow makes everything worse.

“Madison!” David crosses the lobby in long strides, pulling Maddie into a hug that she returns stiffly. “You look wonderful. Ready for tomorrow?”

“Yeah, Dad, ready as I’ll ever be,” Maddie’s voice is carefully neutral, the same tone she uses when talking to reporters who ask stupid questions.

Hanna hugs her next, then turns to me with a warm smile. “Emily, it’s good to see you. How have you been?”

“Good. Busy with training.” I smile back because I’m not a monster, even if her husband is currently ruining my life through strategic manipulation disguised as parental concern.

David’s attention shifts to me, and his expression does this micro-shift that probably looks friendly to everyone else but reads as “I’m about to exclude you from something” to me. I’ve developed a sixth sense for this stuff lately.

“Madison, I was thinking we could grab dinner. Just family.” He says ‘just family’ like it’s casual, but his eyes flick to me pointedly, making it abundantly clear that I am not included in this category. “Catch up before the competition. What do you say?”

The air in the lobby suddenly feels too thin, like someone sucked out all the oxygen and replaced it with passive-aggressive tension. Maddie looks at me, her expression unreadable, waiting for me to react.

I should say something. I should point out that we’re supposed to eat together the night before competitions because we have routines and superstitions and all the things that make us a team. I should remind David that his daughter and I are partners in every sense of the word.

Instead, I smile like I’m auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. “Oh, that’s okay. I actually have plans with Coach and the team tonight. Team dinner thing.”

The lie tastes like battery acid and poor life choices, but it comes out smooth as silk because I’ve apparently become an expert in self-sabotage. Maddie’s eyes widen slightly before she schools it back to neutral. “You do?”

“Yeah, Coach mentioned it earlier. You should totally go with your parents.” I keep smiling even though my face is starting to hurt. “Have fun.”

David looks pleased, which makes me want to punch something. Hanna looks between us like she’s trying to decode something.

Everything feels like background noise to the constant loop in my head: ‘David is convincing her to leave you right now. He’s listing all the reasons you’re bad for her.’

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