She looks up at me, her eyes full of emotion that I can’t quite read until she slides her phone to me. “Look at this.”
It’s a clip of the Moons game last week. The last point of the game—Nash’s ace serve. All of the Hurricanes rushing the court after their victory, and right in the middle of it all, with a halo of space around us like we’re meant to be the focus of the video, is us. I watch as I pick her up, her legs wrapping around my waist, her face glowing with sweat and her smile so bright it could light up a city. It’s like a scene out of the rom-coms Nash would always make me watch when she was feeling down.
Then I stare as we kiss on screen. I knew it was coming. I remember it with every fiber of my being, but I can’t rip my eyes away. It’s soft and gentle, almost surprising. It’s like I’m trying to say how proud I am of her without words.
The stream of shitty comments floating across the screen breaks me out of my reverie:
I’m sure it was easy to fill that arena selling the tickets for only $20.
They’re really trying hard with this PVF stuff, huh?
I’ll watch volleyball that actually matters.
It won’t last.
This game is so slow compared to the men’s leagues we already have.
I’ve seen better performances at my local Sunday rec league.
I pause the video. “You shouldn’t be reading this kind of stuff.”
She pulls her phone back and continues her doom scroll through the comments. “I wasn’t looking for it.”
“I’m sure it will blow over.” I push the tray of meat toward her and give her one of the paper plates the guy in the window handed me.
“It has four-hundred-thousand likes. It’s going viral.”
“All of those dudes are washed-up high school heroes who never got picked for the baseball team. Or were stars in high school and didn’t make a college team. They don’t know anything about the PVF, or you.” She’s still looking at the phone, and I’m getting sick of the same fifteen seconds of the same song over and over again. I scoop up most of the pulled pork and put it on her plate. It’s her favorite, and I just need a taste.
“This is exactly what I’m afraid of though, Wyatt.” She lifts her green eyes to me and there’s genuine hurt in them. “That nobody will give a fuck. That they would rather have one-hundred men’s leagues to choose from rather than watch one singular women’s game. I dragged you into this against your will for my personal gain. We filled the stadium for that home game, and still, no one cares.” I wish I could take away the sting of the words from strangers, but Nash cares too much. Volleyball is her whole life. I can relate, but no one is saying the NFL is “slow” or “trying really hard.”
“People care. The loud assholes on the Internet weren’t at that game. I was. It was electric. You were amazing. And I’mnot here against my will.” I take her hand and place her fork in it. “Besides, any publicity is good publicity.”
“That only applies to, like, the Kardashians and Paris Hilton.”
I shake my head. “They just kicked the nest of a very passionate fan base. I bet your next home game will be standing-room only, and it won’t be just because of the Hurricanes.”
This is something I’m sure of. I believe in Nash and the Moons. They’re going to do great things—and I will make her believe it too.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
NASH
JUNE
Well, I’ll be damned. He was right.
Our next two home games were both more packed than the last. One after another, we bring in an opponent and knock them on their ass in front of a roaring home crowd.
The video stays viral for at least five days, which is a long life in internet time. Long enough that the Gridiron sports podcast gets a hold of it. They don’t know dick about volleyball, but they hype us up as athletes, which is nice. A female-focused sports Instagram page jumps on it, making a multi-slide post about the history of volleyball in the US and in other countries. It’s exactly what I would want to say if I had the platform.
At every game, various members of the Hurricanes cheer us on from what’s basically their unofficial section.
It was a bumpy start to the season with the scheduling issues and such, but we’ve more than made up for those beginning losses now. This is starting to move from ‘let’s justkeep this thing alive’ to ‘we might actually make it’. Bragging rights are great and all, but so is a Tiffany necklace and an individual share of one-million dollars, which is the prize for the team that wins the championship.
We gather around Coach at the end of another tough practice. She’s gotten harder on us as the season has gone on and she’s seen more of our potential. I’m glad for it, though. I know we all want to win this.
“I’m very excited to tell you that for the first time in this league, there will be a televised game.” Every game so far this year has been streaming live on YouTube. It’s great because the games stay up all the time, so we can watch any time we want, and they put tons of work into the production, including custom commercials, but obviously you’d get more attention if you were on cable.