Twenty Two
Sierra
If I wouldn’t have already known they meant business in this place, I’d be a little intimidated.
This wasn’t just any gym; it was a state-of-the-art volleyball training center equipped with digital scoreboards, motion-tracking cameras, and equipment that looked like it belonged in a futuristic lab.
Everything about it screamed money and precision. The lighting alone made everything look sharper, clearer, more intense. As if I hadn’t been on the edge already.
“Damn,” one of the girls muttered beside me. “I feel like I’m about to perform surgery, not volleyball.”
I huffed a laugh under my breath but didn’t respond. The polished floor looked immaculate, smooth as a fucking mirror. Who knew, maybe I could even check out my reflection in it.
“Do you think they wax this daily?” another voice asked. “Like — is this real life?”
Off to the side were a couple of scouting booths, and the coaches stood huddled together on the edge of the court, likelydiscussing the lineups. The gym was buzzing with energy, as was I.
My skin felt too tight, as though I was about to burst right out of it, and the prickling in my neck told me I was already being watched.
The other girls were spread out, warming up, and stretching. Light chatter filled the air, along with the sound of feet hitting the floor.
“You ready for this?” The voice behind me belonged to Alexis, one of the girls I’d been paired with often.
I didn’t look back. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
The stakes were even higher with this being the second phase of the camp. Everyone wanted to impress, everyone wanted to be unforgettable.
Our nervous energy and determination were tangible because we all knew this scrimmage would be watched closely by people who could make or break our chances of playing professionally.
“Game faces, ladies,” someone called out, a bit too cheerfully.
I schooled my features, making sure they were unreadable. The only expression I’d allow was focus or cool confidence. Scratch that, we were going for focus.
My twisting insides and the slightly queasy feeling would probably prevent me from pulling off anything close to confidence right now.
Taking a deep breath, I rolled my neck from side to side while my fingers were flexing at my sides. This was just another game. Big moments were my thing. My position on the court demanded nerves of steel.
I could do this.
The pressure was mounting, but I would not succumb, not under any fucking circumstances.
My gaze was wandering through the gym, catching the eye of one of the other players. Teagan Clarke, the rumored star player of this whole event, stared back at me, one eyebrow raised, a smirk playing around her lips.
I wasn’t sure how I felt about her yet. The vibe I was getting was that we’d either hate each other or make the best team — no in-between.
We went through the warm-ups, practiced movements we’ve all been doing for years, and stretches we’ve been hitting hundreds of times.
“Feels weird doing the basics in a place like this,” one girl said, exhaling as she touched her toes. “Like, do they want me to stretch or run a diagnostics check?”
A few quiet laughs circulated, but we kept moving.
A quick round of passing drills was followed by some targeted hitting practice, with one of the coaches tossing high balls for the other outside hitters and me to attack.
Every single one of us was pushing their limits, going faster, jumping higher, hitting the ball stronger.
I was locked in, hitting my stride. Gone were any jitters; my nerves were settling.
The coach tossed the ball high for me, and I timed my approach, never once taking my eyes off it. As I made contact, I took extra care in ensuring my wrist snap was sharp as a whip.
