My Crush Plays Volleyball

The Fifth P.E. Day

"Tinininit! Tinininit! Tinininit!" said my alarm.

"I hate Wednesdays."

I rise up from bed and do my daily morning algorithm: You know it. I live near our school so rush hours were never really a thing to me. I could leave home as late as I like and still reach school on-time.

"Do stationary walking six minutes! Go!" our instructor shouted.

I do feel happy to be back with my daily routine. I now feel free because missions are just for losers, and I shouldn't be doing those kinds of kid stuff. It's energy-wasting and most of all, will not make you feel any better but would rather make you feel far more worse. 

I would like to make an analogy for this. Hmm, let's see. I could compare it to this stationary walking that we have been doing for warm-ups. Having to follow and give efforts for a girl who doesn't even know or care about you is like walking, and getting tired of this walking, and getting tired of this walking, and getting... Okay, you get my point. You suddenly realized that you weren't moving after all, not even a step! But you do got tired. That's what you'll have for giving too much effort for something you don't even know would be worth the effort for it.

"Okay, stop! Inhale-exhale, three times, go!"

"Finally!" said my brain.

"We'll be continuing our volleyball lessons. Today, we'll do ball receiving. You'll be having your partners based on alphabetical order and will perform it 15 times in a row, due next week. "

Everybody does 'shocked' voice in unison.

"For now, I'll divide you into three groups and each group can have a ball to practice ball passing."

So we were divided into three groups. Luckily Anne was in the other group, "Good luck playing with that master, classmates." I said in my mind while making that evil smile at the third group.

Now the practice begins. The group was divided into two and was set in lines in a way that we'd face each other two meters apart. Every each of us should get a chance to serve or receive the ball. It was actually quite fun, watching them play. The non-players would always be accused of not receiving the ball and rather stare at it or run from it. I haven't tried to serve or receive even once because this tall girl at my right keeps receiving the ball that was supposed to be at my range.

"Siya naman. Pa-tryin niyo naman si klasmeyt." ("His turn. Give our classmate a try.") said one of the males from our group.

The ball was passed to me so I could serve it.

"Sh*t."

I could just like throw it, but  they said ball-serving in volleyball usually has two basic ways: to throw it high and smash, or to hold it low and hit it thumb-first with a closed fist. I go with the latter. I was worrying to serve to too strong or too weak. I hit it with slight power while suppressing as much as I could.

"Pank!" said the ball as I hit it.

Don't ask what happened next. I didn't had the right accuracy so the impact of my hand to the ball wasn't full. Okay, I'll tell you. It didn't even reach the other line. So they let me try it again. I did the same type of hit with a much prepared attack. 

"Pank!" again.

"Nice!" someone said.

When I heard that comment, I do feel empowered. I felt like I was ready to receive. Ever since I was a child, I was scared of playing ball, scared that it may hit me in the face and that it would hurt so much. Having served that ball was a one small step for volleyball, and a big leap for me.