“Yeah, um, go team,” I said.
“It figures,” I heard Harper say over my shoulder, and I turned to see her rolling her eyes and making a kissy face, which was annoying, but nothing I would have really cared about if Sheila hadn’t laughed right along with her, as if they were in on the joke together.
When the teams were picked, I stood next to the net in front of Dalton, who was serving. Across from me, on the other side of the net, was Harper. She was nearly as short as I was, so we were fairly evenly matched in that regard. She flipped her curly blond hair over her shoulder and dubiously toed the dark sand court.
Dalton delivered a razor-sharp serve that sliced over the net and landed on the other side of the court, untouched in a cloud of dust. My team applauded.
“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Sheila said, trying to rally her team. “We’ll get the next one.”
“Anyone awake over there?” Zachery chided as Harper tossed the ball back to Dalton under the net.
“Send the next one my way, Dalton, if you think you’re so fierce,” Harper said.
“Whatever you say, Miss Cartwright,” Dalton said with a smile.
His next serve whizzed through the air, just over the net, and Harper jumped up and spiked it back over.
I realized too late that the ball was coming directly toward my face, and that I was not positioned correctly to be able to take a step back in order to hit the ball. So I ducked out of the way. The ball hit the court behind me with a dull thud.
“That’s what I’m talking about,” Harper yelped, and Sheila gave her a loud, smacking high-five.
“You know you’re supposed to hit the ball, right?” Zachery asked me.
I suddenly found myself wishing that volleyball was a contact sport. “Can I pretend your face is the ball and practice?”
“Easy, tiger.”
Sheila served next. She scored a point before turning the ball over. I realized with a sinking feeling as my team rotated that I was up next to serve. I had the upper-body strength of an eight-year-old boy.
I tried the underhand serve. The ball didn’t make it over the net, but it did nail Zachery in the back of the head, which was a small, if humiliating, victory. Across the court, Harper let out a loud snicker. My only consolation was that it was an ugly through-the-nose snicker that kind of sounded like she’d snorted.
“It’s okay, good effort!” Kirk yelled, and clapped his hands loudly, which, of course, only made things a million times worse than I already thought they were.
I was determined to redeem myself. I bent my knees and leaned forward. I watched Dalton on the next play, the way he didn’t clasp his hands together until he reached the ball, the way he leveled his forearms before he bumped it. I could do that. When the next ball came over, I was ready. It was coming toward my section of the court and I prepared myself to hit it.
“Got it!” Dalton said, and I barely had time to step out of the way before he barreled into the very spot I had just been in and popped the ball into the air. Zachery spiked it over.
“Hey,” I said.
But Dalton only gave me a little wink, like he had done me a favor. “Don’t worry; I’ve got you.”
I scoffed but he was too busy bumping chests with Zachery and making some sort of caveman hoot to see it.
I knew my performance thus far hadn’t done much to give him any confidence in my abilities, but still.
When the next ball came my way, I catapulted myself to it.
“Got it!” Dalton and I yelled at the same time, right before we collided. Dalton fell and I fell right down on top of him.
“You okay?” Dalton asked when the dust had settled around us.
I swatted his chest.
“Ouch,” Dalton said.
“That was my ball,” I said.
“I was just trying to help,” he said.
