WildFire

11

Back and forth, you narrowed your eyes at the ball, moving to bump it back towards Hinata with as much of a gentle curve as possible.

 Steady control–that's what you needed.

Hinata's eyes were focused and clear, like all the murky fog that had been there when he was in class had disappeared once his hands were on the volleyball. 

His eyes glinted with steely determination–once again dimly reminding you of your childhood friend.

A year had passed after moving, and you were starting your second year of junior high–once again, in the same class as the tangerine-like boy. 

You were close friends now–not as close as you'd been with Kunimi, but close enough.

Hinata's dream of making it to nationals was far away. 

The volleyball club had no members except the ginger himself, and the few friends he had persuaded to join him didn't make good volleyball players. 

You would have joined him if you could, but unfortunately, you were once again reminded of your female self.

You were still short, and even though you could jump relatively higher now, you were still unable to block, spike, or set decently. 

Really, the only thing you were decent at were your receives and your now-improved serves.

You admired Hinata for that. 

He wanted to be a spiker–the ace–despite his height. But you supposed he jumped high enough. You could even say he flew–as high as the manta ray from your nine-year old painting. 

He didn't stop, he thrived to improve. 

The only obstacle? 

He had no one to help him improve correctly.

You weren't exactly the best coach–perhaps Kunimi was right about your natural talent for volleyball–but not teaching. So all you could offer Hinata were drills that didn't even work out half the time.

 Today, you had asked one of his friends–the setter in their club–to set the volleyball for you to spike so you could let Hinata practice receiving. 

It hadn't gone well: you weren't a good spiker, and Hinata wasn't a good libero.

You had definitely used too much power on one, you could clearly see the bruise that was forming on the bright boy's forearms. Plus, you had touched the net. 

Even now, he was stumbling every now and then in your passing drill, though he didn't seem to notice it himself.

"Hinata?" you asked, catching the ball instead of receiving it. "We should stop now, your arm doesn't look too good. I don't think your forearm is supposed to be that color."

Hinata looked down, and glanced back at you with a grin, "I'm okay! Pass me some more!"

"No," you replied, getting more comfortable with blunt responses like the ones Kunimi used on you. 

Hinata turned, his face falling. 

You quickly added, "I don't want to be responsible for hurting future best spiker, do I?"

What could you say? 

You were still a little nicer than Kunimi.

 Nice enough to pay for the two ice cream bars that Hinata wanted from the nearby convenience store. It was good–the red bean flavor mixed well with the natural cream of the ice cream bar. You took another bite.