“Damn, Sierra,” someone behind me muttered. “Leave some power for the rest of us.”
I didn’t answer. Lining up for hitting drills, some of the other girls were exchanging banter, but I didn’t engage. I didn’t want my focus to shift.
After wrapping up warm-ups, we’re divided into teams and lined up for the first rotation.
The coaches placed me in the front row, the natural spot for an outside hitter. They signaled for the first serve, and taking adeep breath, I got into position. It was time to prove myself, to show them what I was made of.
The opposing team’s setter was setting up a play on her side, and my muscles tensed as I readied myself for the ball coming at me, fast, high, and with a lot of pace. Squatting slightly, I leapt into the air, timed it perfectly, and smacked the ball over the block for a clean point.
“Let’s go!” a teammate yelled beside me, holding up her hand.
Cheers sounded around me, and I high-fived the girl next to me as we pumped ourselves up on an early lead. All of us knew that every point counted, and I was just getting started.
The first half was over in a flash, and as we started into the second half of the scrimmage, the other team started targeting me. The ball was coming at me fast, putting me under pressure, and the setter kept purposely sending difficult balls my way, trying to test my skills.
“Looks like they’ve got your number now,” someone said quietly at the rotation.
Receiving my first tough serve, I was forced to pass low and smoothly into the setter’s hands. The ball went high, but I hadn’t been able to place it how I would’ve wanted, and the setter had to adjust the play quickly. I managed a quick set, just barely, but my timing was off.
Fuck!Forced to back up in quick steps, I had to take the ball on the outside and reach for it at an awkward angle. My focus wavered for the fraction of a second, and I fucking missed the hit.
Clenching my teeth, I refrained from cursing out loud. An unforced error with all eyes on me didn’t look good at all.
“Shake it off,” a voice came at my side. “Next one’s yours.”
With a slap against my thigh, I forced myself to shake it off.
I kept on grinding, taking chances as much as I could, until the chance to redeem myself finally came. Two points behind, everything hinged on what happened next.
With another slap on my thigh to focus, I locked in.
The setter delivered a fast, high ball, and this time I was fucking ready — taking off, my jump timed perfectly, I met the ball mid-air. With a powerful cross-court attack, I managed to fool the blockers completely, resulting in the ball slamming into the open court with a satisfying smack.
My teammates’ reaction was instantaneous, as whooping and shouts of, “That’s what I’m talking about!” surrounded me.
“Finally!” one of the middles grinned, jogging backward into formation. “They didn’t see that coming.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught quite a few of the scouts making notes, and hope curled in my belly, sharpening my focus, giving me new energy. A couple of the players on the other side of the net, including Teagan Clarke, exchanged looks of surprise.
That’s right, counting me out was never a good idea.
As the scrimmage progressed, I felt more and more like myself, more and more comfortable under pressure — every hit was executed with control, every pass was precise.
The game had more of a smooth rhythm now, giving me the confidence I was used to feeling behind the net.
“Way to settle in,” one of the girls said as we rotated again. I nodded, still breathing hard, but steadily.
Shaking off any tension, I readied myself, knowing that the next few plays would determine if I’d be able to make a lasting impression.
The score was tied, and this next serve was all it would come down to. Positioned in the front row, my muscles tensed, and my eyes followed the ball. My team had just served to the opponent, and I was certain they’d set up for an outside attack.
“They’re gonna go wide,” a teammate warned quickly. Springing into action, I reacted, enabling my team to dig the ball and passing it high to the setter.
Hell yeah.This was my moment.
Taking the ball from the set, I approached with perfect form and launched a spike. It was placed just right, down the sideline, catching the blockers off guard. The ball slapped against the floor with a hard, satisfying smack and won the game for my team.
They lost their shit — arms were thrown around me, and hands slapped my back in a joyous celebration.
