"𝕾𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖆𝖉𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖔𝖚𝖑"

XII

Morana point of view:

After another grueling day at school—where Mr. Esposito managed to make even the simplest math problem feel like a personal attack—I finally made it back to the orphanage. The moment I stepped through the doors, I felt like I could breathe again. Sure, the orphanage wasn't exactly a palace, but at least it wasn't crawling with posh kids who thought the world revolved around them.

Lola was waiting for me, as usual. She perched on the windowsill of our shared room like a fluffy gargoyle, watching my every move.

"I'm back," I said, tossing my backpack onto the bed.

She meowed softly, flicking her tail in that judgmental way that always made me laugh.

I had barely managed to kick off my boots when Lucia burst into the room, followed closely by Emma.

"Morana, did you hear?" Lucia exclaimed, flopping onto my bed dramatically.

"Hear what?" I asked, pulling my blazer off and tossing it onto the chair.

"There's going to be an event next week!" she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

I raised an eyebrow. "An event? Do I look like someone who cares about events?"

"This one's different," Emma chimed in, settling onto her bed with a book in hand. "It's the event. The Annual Italian Youth Club Tournament."

Lucia nodded enthusiastically. "Every year, all the rich families send their kids to compete in tennis, basketball, swimming—basically, all the sports you can think of. It's a huge deal. But this year, they're letting orphanage kids participate too!"

I blinked. "Wait, wait, wait. Let me get this straight. They're throwing all of us non-rich, non-yachting peasants into the mix with the country club kids and hoping we don't embarrass ourselves?"

"Pretty much," Emma said with a small smile.

"And the orphanage staff is making us go," Lucia added. "It's not optional."

"Of course it's not," I muttered, sitting cross-legged on the bed. "Because why wouldn't they want to parade us around as their 'charity project'?"

Lucia ignored my sarcasm and leaned closer, her eyes gleaming. "The point is, it's going to be amazing. Think about it! Fancy food, cute boys, and—"

"Humiliation on a national scale," I interrupted. "You forgot that part."

Emma chuckled softly. "It's not that bad, Morana. It's just a way to show that kids from all backgrounds can compete together."

"Right," I said, rolling my eyes. "Because nothing screams unity like watching me trip over a tennis racket while some billionaire's kid laughs from the sidelines."

Lucia swatted my arm. "You're such a buzzkill. Come on, it'll be fun. Plus, there's going to be a dance after the tournament!"

"A dance?" I asked, narrowing my eyes.

"Yes!" Lucia squealed. "Which means we need to figure out what to wear. Emma, you can't just show up in jeans and a sweater."

Emma sighed. "What's wrong with jeans and a sweater?"

"Everything," Lucia said dramatically. "This is our chance to make an impression."

I smirked. "What kind of impression are we going for? 'Hi, we're poor but trying our best'?"

Lucia threw a pillow at me, laughing. "You're impossible."

"I know," I said, catching the pillow and tossing it back.

~~~~~~

The excitement buzzed through the orphanage all evening. In the common room, kids were debating which sports they wanted to participate in. Some were hyped about the idea of swimming in a fancy Olympic-sized pool, while others were more interested in basketball or soccer.

I wasn't interested in any of it. Sports weren't my thing. But I couldn't deny that there was a certain energy in the air, a mix of nerves and excitement that was almost contagious.

Later that night, as I sat on the floor with Emma and Lucia, flipping through old magazines for "outfit inspiration," I couldn't help but wonder what the tournament would actually be like.

Lucia was already planning every detail. "I'm thinking something classy but cute," she said, holding up a page with a picture of a sparkly dress. "What do you think?"

"I think sparkles are overrated," I said, flipping to the next page.

"Of course you do," Lucia muttered. "You're allergic to fun."

Emma looked up from her book. "What are you planning to wear, Morana?"

"Whatever I find in my closet," I said with a shrug.

Lucia gasped, clutching her chest like I'd just insulted her ancestors. "Absolutely not! You're going to a dance with actual rich people. You need to look amazing."

"Why?" I asked, smirking. "So they can judge me in high definition?"

Lucia groaned. "You're hopeless."

"Hopeless, but honest," I said, grinning.

~~~~~~

As the night wore on, I found myself staring out the window, the dark sky stretching endlessly above the town. The tournament sounded ridiculous, but there was a part of me—a small, buried part—that was curious.

Curious about the event. Curious about the kids who would be there. Curious about what it would feel like to stand in a room full of people who lived in a world I'd only ever seen from the outside.

Lola jumped onto the windowsill beside me, her fur warm against my arm.

"Think we'll survive this thing?" I asked her.

She blinked slowly, her tail flicking as if to say, Barely.

"Yeah," I muttered, scratching her behind the ears. "That's what I thought."

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Sending love,
-M