The youth team trying to reach the tournament

Coach Park turned the key again.

Nothing.

Behind him, ten players stood beside bags, water bottles and a box of oranges someone’s father had brought.

Mina flexed her gloved hands.

“We've got time, right?”

The coach checked the clock.

“We need another plan.”

They had spent weeks getting this far.

Practices after school. A missed birthday party. Parents coordinating lifts. The team had qualified, then discovered how much traveling to the tournament would require.

They compared transport and rooms. Families offered what they could. A local business contributed to the team's travel fund through the club's recorded process.

Mina had kept a list of kit. Their captain, Hana, had checked that nobody was left without a ride.

Now the ride sat silently at the curb.

“I'll call the other drivers,” a parent said.

“I'll notify the organizers,” said Coach Park.

Hana began counting bags.

“Nobody wanders off.”

The first available vehicle was too small.

The second could come, but only later.

One father suggested dividing the group between cars. The coach checked seats, licensed drivers, consent and supervision before agreeing to anything.

The tournament organizer confirmed their arrival window. They could still register if they went directly there.

Three parents rearranged their mornings.

Hana moved the bags into groups. Mina finally took off her gloves to carry the oranges.

“My most important save,” she said.

Nobody laughed very loudly. They were still watching the clock.

At the ground, another team was warming up.

Hana's stomach tightened.

They registered, changed and listened while the coach gave them instructions.

“One thing at a time. First, settle yourselves.”

Their opening minutes were untidy. A pass went astray. Someone slipped. Mina shouted directions with the force she usually saved for the goalmouth.

Then Hana found a teammate in space.

The game became a game again.

They didn't win the tournament.

They won one match, lost another and played their final game until every leg was tired.

On the way home, Mina fell asleep against the window. Her gloves lay in her lap.

Hana looked around at the other girls: grass stains, scratched knees, half-eaten sandwiches.

At departure that morning, she had counted ten anxious faces.

Now she counted ten people who had been there.

She took the last orange and passed it forward to the driver.