I’m in the air already, but I see the block coming. Unlike the other player, I do have time to adjust to it, opening my shoulders to hit the far cross instead of down the line.
The player in back left was ready for the deep ball, but she took her spot a little too deep and has to dive forward onto her belly, her hand out pancake style. They drill that pancake hand so deep into every volleyball player, it’s probably ingrained in my DNA. That move is a last-ditch effort, but today must be that player’s lucky day because that son of a bitch pops right back up, and their setter is there for a daring set from herknees to their outside hitter. They’re going to come back at us with exactly what we dished to them.
This rally seems to go on as long as I’ve been alive, but I know it’s only filled a few short seconds. This is still for game point. I’m breathing hard, my heart racing. The pace of this game is the highest it’s been all night—maybe all season. The ball is already sent back to New Orleans’s side. I watch as they set up the other side for a hit and I get off the net to play defense again. What does Wyatt always say? Offense wins games, but defense wins championships? Now is the time to prove it.
Their setter is able to get to it with a perfect set. Their outside hitter winds up, and I find myself in a time warp, blocking the same hit from the same player. I justknowthat she’s going to try the hit she wanted last time but couldn’t quite make work, and I adjust my body accordingly. At the same time, Daly’s long legs bring her all the way to me in two steps, and we jump shoulder to shoulder. We push our hands over the net, not allowing the ball to fall between us and the net if we make contact.
And we do.
The ball touches my right hand and Daly’s left. With our hands already headed over, we stuff it back down her throat. Right to the ground.
I watch it hit the ground.
I look at the ref who is signaling it as our point.
I look at the scoreboard where it shows us ahead and yet…
I still don’t believe it.
It’s not until Temi blasts into my side, hugging me, that it truly hits.
We just made history.
“We did it,” Temi screams in my ear. The weight of her knocks me off balance and I’m suddenly on the ground.
She’s screaming at me. I’m screaming at her.
More teammates come and pile on. Simin and Lauren. They’re quickly joined by Daly.
We’re all a screaming pile of limbs on the floor.
Like a vague background buzz, I can hear the crowd roaring. Confetti falls like snow over us, coating the floor and our hair.
From the bottom of the pile, one arm pinned under Temi’s waist, I look over to the stands for Wyatt.
And he’s there.
His face is red from yelling. He’s clapping his hands. He…hugs the woman next to him?
Okay.
Even though she’s a stranger and that hug is obviously platonic, it still stirs something in me. Jealousy? Protectiveness? It doesn’t really matter. All that matters is the heat I’m filled with. I don’t care if it’s the adrenaline from winning influencing my brain, I have to find myself in his bed tonight. I’m ready to celebrate with him. I want him to know all of me. Not just my Chipotle order, not just my favorite BBQ and other things about Texas. I think I’ve earned one hell of an orgasm at his hands… or tongue. But we still have to make it all the way back to Houston tonight. It’s going to be a long five hours between getting out of here, getting to the airport, the two-hour flight, and getting back home. I make a promise to myself right here as the confetti continues to fall around me, and I watch my team celebrate the win of a lifetime, that if I still feel this burningneedwhen we get home tonight, I’ll do everything it tells me to do to him.
The emcee of the night comes out from somewhere with amic in one hand and the trophy in the other. It’s silver and huge and gorgeous. We all gather round as he sets it on a table and prepares to present it to Coach. “On behalf of this league, its sponsors, and owners, I present the first ever Pro Volleyball Federation women’s championship trophy and one-million dollars to the Houston Moons.” What’s left of the crowd is on their feet chanting ‘Houston Moons’. We group up, Coach holding the trophy first, and taking what feels like a hundred photos.
Someone comes around handing out golden scissors and setting up a ladder. I take one from him and watch as Coach steps up on the ladder and starts the first cut into the net. She saws through the bottom while music blasts in the background. When the net falls, cut right in half, we all go wild. Temi and I go to one side of the net to get ours. I hold it steady as Temi brings her gilded scissors down on the top strip, using both hands to force them shut. Her piece comes away and she holds it over her head to screaming teammates.
She remembers she’s supposed to help me cut mine and returns to my side to hold the net while I hack at it. It takes me a couple seconds and it would be embarrassing, but I’m flying too high from the thrill of winning to care about what I look like right now.
After Temi and I finish with our pieces, we help the other girls with theirs, and when we’re done, the net is in more than twenty pieces, proving to everyone else and ourselves that we did it. Despite all the obstacles in our way, despite coming from different cultures, countries, and backgrounds, we’re champions.
The music stops and we all swing our attention to the middle of the court.
“Before we say goodnight,” the announcer starts again, anda funny feeling forms in my stomach, “we would like to invite you to tune into ESPN January 14thnext year for the first game ofseason twoof the PVF.” Fireworks go off in the stadium, and the girls are all jumping and screaming, but for me it’s like time stands still. My breath stalls out in my lungs.
Did he just say what I think he just said?
I turn away from my team and to the crowd, looking for Wyatt. I find him hanging over the barricade, hands fitted around his mouth, hollering. When his eyes meet mine, he drops his hands to the bar and mouths:you did it.