Nocona Henry folded the tournament flyer and tucked it into her back pocket. Three state championships meant prize money, and prize money meant getting closer to the islands. She pictured herself on a beach somewhere warm, boots traded for sandals, the arena dust finally washed from her skin. That dream kept her going through every early morning practice and every bone-rattling ride. But first, she had work to do—barrels to run, times to beat, and enough wins to buy her way out of this life for good. She pulled out her phone and searched for boat schedules. The Victorian sailing ships still made runs to the islands twice a month. She scrolled through prices, her jaw tightening. One-way passage cost more than she'd made all season. She'd need at least two more championship wins, maybe three. The math was clear, even if the timeline wasn't. Nocona clicked through island photos until she found one that made her chest ache. Calm aqua green waves rolled onto white sand. She could almost smell the salt air, feel the ocean breeze. No dust storms. No strange clouds moving backward. Just her and the water, maybe learning to fish like the locals did. That kind of simple life felt impossibly far away. She saved one last image—a whitewashed cottage with a wide porch facing the water. The kind of place where she could sit and watch the horizon without worrying about tomorrow's ride time or next week's entry fee. Nocona locked her phone and slipped it away. The dream was clear. The path was harder. But every barrel she turned brought her one step closer to that porch, that peace, that life she'd earned.