Tonight it has to be us screaming in victory at the end.
Chapter Forty
WYATT
“They really have to turn it around this set,” the woman next to me says. She’s either a girlfriend or a sister of one of the Moons players.
“They need to do more than that. They need a reverse sweep.” Together we watch the team get ready for the third set. Already down two, the Moons need to win the next three sets in a row to win the game. This is more than a Hail Mary. That only works if you’re down by less than seven. This is the equivalent of being down by fourteen or more.
I’m not sure what they talked about in the huddle that shifted their momentum, but Nash and the Moons come out swinging. Someone lit a fire under their ass, and if I had to guess, I would say it was Nash. I know this means everything to her. She’s not someone who feels like she can ask for help, so for her to come to me with this “deal” all those months ago means she wants it bad. Of course, she sold it to me as a negotiation. She never could have asked otherwise.
The air is humming as the Moons come back and win the next two sets.
“Get up! Get up,” I encourage everyone around us. “Everyone put your hands up when I count to three.” I wait for the people closest to me to rise. “One, two, three.” I throw my hands up over my head and the people to my right follow. I watch as the world’s slowest wave circles through the arena. I can’t believe I’m at the championship game, and these stands are so packed my wave looks more like a tsunami. When it comes back the second time, I stand again, trying to get everyone around me to participate. This time it only makes it halfway around before it dies out. That’s fine, I guess. I didn’t expect it to go on forever.
The score of the fourth set is twenty-two to twenty-three and the Moons need to win this point and get the serve back.
The other team’s player goes back to the line to serve.
She tosses the ball up high, jumps, swings, and…
It hits the net.
They’re all tied up. Twenty-three all.
Lauren goes back to serve. She tosses the ball up, but you can tell she’s reeling her power in, worried about sending it to their libero who will handle it easily, or sailing it too far and over the back line.
The entire stadium holds their breath as the ball soars over the net. The left back player fields it, not a great pass, setter couldn’t get to it, so she calls for help instead. The libero gets to it and bump sets the outside hitter. She goes up against the block, looking for a seam. But between Lauren and Temi, there isn’t one. The blockers get a touch and the ball careens off their hands, over their heads, and toward the back row. The Moons are in control now.
Middle back—I think her name is Simin—calls for it, and the pass is perfect to the setter. Nash is already pulled back past the ten-foot line in position to swing. The set is up, and sois Nash. Flying through the air, hurtling toward the ball with momentum and power. Her hand makes contact, her entire body curling in, putting her core strength behind the hit. I feel myself screaming, the air burning from my lungs, but I can’t hear it. Not over the rush of blood in my ears as I watch my best friend fly.
The other team isn’t known for their blocking prowess, and Nash pushes her hit through their hands, which aren’t strong enough to withstand her assault. She catches so much air on her approach that she’s way on top of the ball, giving her the leverage she needs to pound it down and into the middle of the court. It’s a kill.
They’re ahead by one. One point away from match point and winning by the necessary two. I think every single person in this stadium is on their feet.
Chapter Forty-One
NASH
It’s simultaneously unbelievable that we put ourselves in such a poor position at the beginning of this game and now we are in a position to win it all. I can taste victory in the air. And it smells like the woodsy warmth of Wyatt. Funny. I’ve never thought that before now even though Wyatt was there when U.W. beat Texas for the Big Ten championship my junior year. Maybe it’s because all through college I knew I was going to leave him to go pro.
I’ll have to examine that later.
For now, we have a game to win.
Lauren goes back for her second serve. This is for all the marbles. This is for everyone who left a nice comment or a mean comment on our viral video. This is for all the young girls who are watching now because we made it big enough to be on cable tonight. This is for younger me, who—as a barely functioning young adult—had to go live in another country just to have a chance at following her dreams.
I watch as the ball soars over the net. The Moons settle in to play tough defense.
Pass is up. I check on the hitter, they’re moving inside to outside.
Setter gets to it. I look back to the hitter watching their nose for their attack choice.
I take one step, two. She jumps, and one second later I jump, adjusting myself according to the opening of the hitter’s shoulder and the angle of her hips. I watch as she tries to redirect her hit around the block, but it’s too late to change her momentum. The ball hits my hands, but I have to scramble when it starts falling on our side of the net.
I instinctively stick out one arm, fist closed, to pop the ball back up as it falls. It always felt illegal to me to be able to touch the ball a second time like that, but a block touch doesn’t count against you.
I turn and bolt back to my approach position right at the ten-foot line and watch as Simin pulls the coolest libero shit I’ve ever seen and bump sets me facing the opposite direction. Even though she can’t see me, she can hear me calling for it. She passes me the perfect ball. I can see Daly in the middle feigning a hit, the perfect decoy because she’s so tall that it’s hard to not look her way.