Unthinkable

August *** Part 1

Volleyball found me.

It was eighth grade high school orientation, and I thought I was sitting at the field hockey table. I was not.

By the time I realized my mistake, I was too embarrassed to get up. So, come double sessions freshman year, I went out for the volleyball team.

I mean, I wanted to play a sport.

Funny thing, as it turns out, I really liked volleyball. I liked it so much I quit dance, something I'd been doing practically since I could walk, so I could really "focus on my game."

I went to summer volleyball camp. I played in a Junior Olympic winter league. I have a killer serve. They don't call me 'Ace' for nothing.

Volleyball is my game. I'm not going to be playing in the Atlanta Olympics or anything, but I'm ready for double sessions. I've even been doing the endurance exercises at home.

This is going to be my year. Junior year, here I come.

Letterman jacket... you are mine!

***

Dear Jesse —

My volleyball career is over. Caput. Flatlined. Finito.

I was ready. I walked into double sessions confident. This was supposed to be my year.

Things were going well, aside from suicide drills, but really, who do suicide drills go well for?

I got asked to practice with Varsity. It was a faster pace, but I was picking it up. And all that extra work at camp this summer seemed to be paying off.

Then, out of nowhere, Coach calls me over. She was already having one of her not-so-heart-to-hearts with Mandy and Annie.

Then she said... and I will never un-hear these words... the words that killed my dreams. The words that ruined my life.

"Do you girls know why I called you over?" The three of us exchanged glances. Mandy and I are both setters, Annie's a blocker. Nope.

"I know I can't officially do this until next week, but I figure it's better for everyone if I tell you now. I'm going to cut you three."

I can't speak for Mandy or Annie, but I'm pretty certain what I heard was, "You are going to play JV this year." Which was a tough blow but, as long as I get to play, not totally devastating.

Then she clarified...

"So, you girls can go home and think about it — if you want to enjoy the rest of your summer, skip the rest of double sessions, you can do that. Or you can come back tomorrow and stick it out but, in the end, the result will be the same. You will be cut from the team. You will not be playing this season. What you do with your time the rest of this summer is your decision. I don't want to have a guilty conscience."

She said it. And just like that. That fast. We're not playing JV. We're cut. CUT. Like CUT cut.

I heard her. I did. I mean the words entered my ears and managed to find my brain. But they were on a terrible tape delay. It wasn't 'til later that the predictable and, totally appropriate I might add, hysterical fit took place at the dinner table. Total delayed reaction. Rice may have been thrown.

I'm pretty sure I'd be grounded if mom and dad didn't feel so bad for me.

I'm... torn. Deep down I know that Coach is not kidding. I'm not playing this year. The 100% of me that would gladly give up double sessions during this August heat wave is at odds with the 100% of me that wants to watch her squirm every day that I waltz into practice and nail serve after serve. I want to make her eat her words. I want to slice them up and feed them to her til she chokes (must be the Italian in me). Fuck her guilty conscience.