The Court
Cracking my neck, the sunlight seared through the window slits burning my fore arms. My papers splashed out onto the table, I worked through bunches of paper cuts. Every media script, science model, and math packet was lying waiting for the first and last drag lifeless, and clay touches. When I finally pulled the icepack out of the freezer I know I was breaking down. All of the endless girl drama at school mixed with fuming parents, and the bipolar sister, all while trying to stay same even I think I deserver a break.
Luckily, all of the cramming and suffering would be gone in about a half an hour. Lifting my overfilled head off the table and grabbing the cool ice pack, I blinked to make sure I was awake. Inhaling fresh air, I grab my lucky well-worn purple and black socks, ripped and still degrading kneepads, burnt black tight and my “rox” teal, black and white jersey. Rushing to the bathroom I throw my socks, knee pads, and ankle braces onto the floor slamming the door closed I strip off my stressed out clothes, and slip on my team pride. Coming out of the bathroom, I already feel more relaxed and in my comfort zone. Sitting down on my carpet I yank my gear on and slide on my socks to the kitchen to fill up my water bottle. In the car I wait shakily but patiently for my dad to drive me to McKinley High Gym already feel better slipping my earphones on and …..
My bag on my shoulder, water bottle in hand, socks with slippers I walk into the gym. Green, pink, black and yellow jerseys pass me, eyes staring… recognizing “Jammers” jersey, I put my water bottle down. I smell spam, rice and the very familiar scent of the grill of the concession. Trying to keep myself calm I turn up the volume and walk to my team. “I’m almost home; we walk to the back of the gym where unlike the inside of the gym, it’s almost serene. Coach Barney gives us a speech, putting our minds into game mode on the start of the final day of Hawaii Regional’s.
I can almost see the door to my happy place. Tying my shoelaces, an inch away from my beloved court, I can feel the power radiating from it. Finally, I run on, reach out and dive for the floor sliding 20ft. to reach my friends warming up. My stress melts, my skin tingles and I feel comfortable.
Game after game we fight to our final spot in the championship game. Our court, the one right smack in the middle of the whole gym. That is always the championship court. Ever since 12’s Black, then 12’s Black again to 13’s and finally 14’s this year. That court has always been ours. Checking the stats we see that our rival Team Piko will be challenging us for the title. Having lost our biggest hitter to them, plus Shaylah (our main setter) and having Bailey (our other setter) struggling with a wrist problem in the game, its up to us to do our best with what we can. We take our place on the court and I can feel the stress of the day’s games being shaken off of me. All that matters is this game, and I intend to win it.
The rectangular lights stare into my eyes. The court smoothes out and I memorize every inch of this court. We high five Team Piko, and then the fight begins. Points go by, back and forth, kill after kill we lead, fall back and then rise with a run of service aces. I can feel the hair on my arms rising beads of sweat all over my body. My jersey is soaked, shoes are slippery from the lack of grip and I can feel the crowd’s confidence made up of Piko parents. Taking a deep breath, sweat drips into my mouth and mixes with the leftover of Gatorade. The taste was probably terrible, but I couldn’t care less.
The last point finally comes and the score is 23-24. One more and we win, which is all I could care about. I see Bailey in front of me, Lia to her right Jojo to her left, Madi on my left side and Arie at the service line. She serves it over and there’s a perfect pass to the setter. She sets their biggest hitter and one of toughest hits comes through our small block. My senses going on overload I read my friends hesitation and run by her side just in time to get the ball up. Bailey sets it up to Lia. I yell at her, “Swing!” at the top of my lungs. I see this in slow motion, arms rising and a face that screams “Raaaaah!” She makes a smart shot and pounds it down the line. The defensive specialist shanks the ball to the stands, and I let out a breath of relief.
I don’t know why being on the volleyball court makes me unfold. Yelling as loud as I can or rolling on the ground making “pew pew pew” sounds during breaks, I can just feel like myself. You could say that my true colors come out, but I guess that’s why this is my querencia.
