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Amaya's fingertips tap to the beat of an overplayed pop song, her hair whipping from the warm breeze from her car's rolled-down windows.
"Can we get McDonald's?" asks a soft-spoken voice behind her.
She turns the radio's volume down to hear her niece better. "Not today, Willow. I don't want you running on a full stomach. And I thought you ate lunch before I picked you up!"
Willow groans at her logical answer, her head dramatically lulling against the headrest. Amaya reaches back and pinches her knee. "Ow!" she squeals with a pout. "I did eat lunch, but I want fries."
"We're pulling into the school right now," Amaya says, turning left into the parking lot. "You need to ask me ahead of time."
It's half past noon, and she's dropping her eight-year-old niece off at the local high school's athletic field for her first day of soccer camp. Amaya's sister works long hours at an office, so she happily agreed to take Willow to and from the sessions when needed.
The camp is held three times a week for the entire month of July, and she has no idea what to expect. She doesn't know who the coaches are or what they'll do activity-wise during the two hours each day. All she knows is that Willow looks adorable with her frizzy ponytail, pink shin guards, and matching cleats.
As Amaya pulls into an available parking space, she observes many cars and loitering families. Sticking her thumb's fingernail between her teeth, she nervously bites it. Most people here are probably snobby soccer moms who act above everyone else just because their child can kick a ball. Big whoop. Because of that, she always feels a little out of place in the town she's lived in her entire life, but she doesn't necessarily feel wrong about judging the locals. Her assumptions usually present themselves to be true.
Amaya steps out of the car, walks over to the side where Willow sits, and slides the door open. As she hops out, Amaya grabs what Willow needs from the trunk, including snacks and water bottles in a drawstring backpack, completed registration forms, a regular pair of shoes, and a headband if she needs something to hold her untamed hair back. She passes everything over to Willow, who's trying to break in her new cleats by jumping up and down.
"Ready?" Amaya asks while closing the trunk, knowing Willow has patiently waited for this for weeks.
"I'm ready," she answers excitedly with a crooked smile. "I see where we need to give them my papers."
Willow walks toward the people handing in their registration forms, putting her backpack on with a skip in her step. Amaya shields the sun from her eyes and follows her to the canopy tent. Two men are sitting behind a folding table and attending people, so she guides Willow to the line forming on the right where only a mother and her son stand. The son gets a stamp on his hand and then begins walking to the field with his mother. Amaya can't stay and watch since she has errands to run, but her sister said she trusts the people who run the camp, so she's not too worried about leaving Willow for a short time.
