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Sloane

Saturday mornings are a sacred time for me. No early alarms, no classes, and no hockey practices looming over my head. For once, I can afford to stay in bed longer, cocooned in my blankets with no particular place to be. The sun is already peeking through the curtains, filling the room with a soft, golden light. I stretch out lazily, savoring the quiet and the fact that, for once, I don't have a packed schedule.

I turn over in bed, pulling the covers up to my chin and closing my eyes, intending to drift back into sleep for just a little longer. But as soon as I get comfortable, the nagging feeling that I've forgotten something important creeps into my mind. I mentally go through my to-do list, checking off the things I've already completed: readings for Monday, that stupid Psychology midterm outline, a few emails to my professor. Everything seems in order, so I try to relax.

But it doesn't work. The feeling won't go away, and it's enough to make me sigh and sit up in bed, reaching for my phone on the nightstand to double-check my calendar. I squint against the screen's brightness, scrolling through the app to make sure I haven't missed anything.

And that's when I see it. An email from yesterday evening, the subject line glaring at me in bold letters: **Saturday Night Home Game: PT Attendance Required.**

"Oh, come on!" I groan, smacking my forehead with my palm. How could I have missed this? It was supposed to be my free Saturday—a day for me to unwind, maybe hit the gym, and then relax with Hazel and Harper as we get ready for the hockey game together. But now... now I have to spend it at the rink, not as a spectator, but as the stand-in PT.

I close my eyes and fall back onto the bed, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. This was the last thing I wanted to deal with today. I've been doing my best to handle everything that's been thrown at me so far, but having to work during the game tonight just feels like the universe is playing some cruel joke on me. It's not that I don't want to help the team—I do—but I was really looking forward to spending the evening like a normal college student, not worrying about who's going to get injured next.

Resigned to my fate, I get out of bed and shuffle over to my dresser, grabbing some comfortable clothes to throw on. As I head to the bathroom, I can already hear the faint sounds of Hazel and Harper moving around the apartment. They're probably in the kitchen, cooking up something delicious for breakfast. A small pang of guilt hits me as I think about how disappointed they'll be when I tell them I can't get ready with them tonight.

I take a quick shower, letting the hot water wash away the lingering frustration. By the time I'm done, I feel a bit more relaxed, even though the thought of working tonight still looms over me like a dark cloud. I wrap myself in a towel and head back to my room to get dressed.

The smell of coffee and something sweet wafts through the air as I make my way to the kitchen, where Hazel and Harper are indeed in the midst of making breakfast. Hazel is at the stove, flipping pancakes with practiced ease, while Harper is at the counter, cutting up fruit and arranging it in a large bowl. They both look up as I walk in, their faces lighting up with smiles.