Volleyball With Benefits

*note: contains cussing and mature themes*

I was never all that athletically inclined, making my few but striking successes in volleyball an understudied exhibition. But, during the summer the pool around the corner of my house put up a volleyball net in the park, and I managed to wander over there on Thursdays, where it wasn’t so empty only the introverts came, but wasn’t so crowded I’d never get picked for a game. A good strategy has always been my card for compensation.

He had black hair, not usually my type, but he was doing pushups while younger kids sat on his back and his grin lifting up from the ground enamored me. He was blocking half the court while the teams were having some meeting and when someone kicked towards his face to shoo him away, he feigned a chomp at their foot.

It took a good 37 minutes before rotations allowed me on the team. I showed up early enough they were still picking who went first, but understably I didn’t land in the first draft. My soft belly and eyes that couldn’t see over the lower net had a good view of the game from the middle of the sideline.

He was already playing, and I watched him for nearly 37 minutes, because thankfully when he looked my way his eyes just seemed to glaze over me, giving me an unabashed opportunity to stare as if I wasn’t there. It was a good view.

Back in church youth center we had to play volleyball once a month like it was doctrine, and though I failed spectacularly, it was always in my team's favor to see me in the serving position. Nobody, least of all me, cared eventually if I could hit the ball or not after we rotated, because I really just couldn’t. A few girls tried to coach me at first in good faith, but I’d always see the ball two seconds after it flew by me and there’s no practice that can perfect that shortcoming. But when I served, I had this special move where I could rocket the ball up so high it came down too fast for anyone to hit, and they normally had to scatter. There was a deep smug pride I took in not only being able to pull off this move as the underdog, but also because no one else could do it. Which is really conceited, but I’m realistic about my shortcomings, and everyone can recognize when they’re good at something but we’re trained to pretend like we don’t notice because THAT’S conceited. I’m not an athlete or an actor it seems.

Tanner asked me out after one of the games. He was pressed against the carpeted wall with a small smile. I didn’t like his light brown short hair, or his whispery voice. I felt giddy.

“Sure, what did you have in mind?” He smiled at the way I tilted my head and recrossed my legs before answering.

I spent more time talking to the other couple on the double date. Every few minutes I remembered I needed to pay him some attention, but it was a task of pulling his teeth, with his damn mouth clamping shut every time. I’m not an athlete, actor, or dentist so I pretty much ignored him for half the date, but I had fun. When I got home, my dad excitedly asked when the second date was.

“Oh, I didn’t ask for one”

“Well you’re not supposed to ask silly, he is!”

“Oh,”

I had to lie and say Tanner told me he just wanted to be friends when my dad wouldn’t stop bringing him up.

The line finally got close enough I took my position as server. The girls on my team were burnt in the faces they made at my approach, I kept my face dumb while I reared back to strike. The lanky boys swaying on the other side of the net parted like fish when the ball came down too fast and rough. One of them shrieked.

“Oh Jesus Christ! That almost took me the hell out, where did you come from?!” He, the boy was looking at me. I felt giddy.

I lolled my head and stepped back back, “awww, if you’d just held still we could have found out! Hard hat time sweethearts, it’s my serve again!”

He laughed with wide eyes while another boy, wide-faced, chased after the ball to toss back to me.

“Oh my god this twelve year old came from the Olympics or something.” I caught the ball and leveled him a look.

“20. But thank you, I’m sure once my luck runs out and someone hits my serve you’ll spike the ball and break my face.” His own face has a funny way of contorting like claymation.

“Dude your short ass serves that ball too hard again and you’re gonna have to start wearing a paper sack over your face.”

I laughed and glanced at the black haired boy who’s attention I still had while I crouched into another serve, “wasn’t making me much money anyway,”

The next serve he skinned his knees trying to hit it.

The girls hadn’t gotten in a word, or a hit, and it didn’t seem to excite them at all that I served so hard that the next five rounds none of them had the chance to touch the ball, until clay-face finally countered my serve. No, they seemed downright pissed. But at least they didn’t care as much when I floundered every time the ball sailed my way. The girl in front of me jumped into my corner everytime after realizing I was never gonna hit the ball. I remained behind her, never hitting the ball again. I knew I wasn’t going to get along with the team but that was nothing new. I liked to get things done myself, but if I couldn’t I let others do the work. When just ten minutes ago these summered eyes under high ponytails looked at me with pity they now glared at me like I’d eat the damn ball if I managed to catch it. I taunted the other team like I wasn’t a burden to my own.

The black haired boys’ name was Gabriel, which I heard from another boy who asked him about his skinned knees after they fell out of rotation. A group of girls soon surrounded him, with one dark and loose haired girl gasping as she brushed her hand against it ever so slightly.

“Oh my god, are you okay, do you want me to grab the Medkit from the back of my car?”

I remained behind her, saying nothing. He blushed and tucked in the more injured leg, but puffed out his chest and reassured her he could just wash it clean. Before he could see me I flipped around and walked home.

I didn’t play any boys next week, but the week after he and a few other familiar faces were back, and neither Gabriel or I missed another Thursday of volleyball for the next 6 weeks. Now I was in a weird limbo with volleyball, one I wasn’t entirely unfamiliar with. It was the same limbo I danced when I worked that summer waitress job two years ago, when I played volleyball at church. I felt dread as I waited in line to rotate onto the team. I didn’t want to play. I’d think, okay one more game, just cause I’m already here, just cause he’s already here. I can’t leave now it’ll look stupid and mom’s not home so there’s no one to let me in the house. I’d leave with my lungs burning and the smoke of it filled my brain, ‘god I can’t wait to play again next week’. I’d fall onto my bed unable to stand anymore and think I was invincible.

“Did anyone hit you in the face with the ball yet? Just asking cause I remember we had plans…" This was the first time in our back and forth that he spoke first.

“Mmmmm…. “ I was tying back half my hair. “Fraid not, who do you think’s gonna eat more sand today, you seemed to like the taste last week.”

“Ha! You know you suck ass at volleyball, so I’ll be winning thank you. Eat sand fucker.” He popped the net into my face.

“Yeah but heeeeey, you’re winning the volleyball game but I’m winning the eating contest. I didn’t eat anything yet today so my body is ready obviously.” I squished the stomach my mom asked me to cover up before leaving the house. (I just don’t think you should show your belly until you unbloat, you need to cut back on gluten-)

He took the nonexistent invitation and poked my unflattering tummy too.

“Dude just poke me three inches lower and I swear I’m gonna pee myself.” He coughed with laughter, and had nothing better to say after that. We both knew I was funnier. (Conceited? Yes, he’s supposed every time I don’t pretend I don’t notice it.)

The dark haired girl who had once gently brushed his skin also had nothing to add but watched us anyway.

She waited for him at the gates last week, but I was already here, and was already here.

In volleyball, I like the part where I get to hit the ball but not much else. You could say I’m a sore loser, because when I’m not winning I’m just not caring. I hate volleyball actually, but I really, really love the part where I get to hit the ball, because- well I don’t know. There’s a space, between the limbo of dreading volleyball and loving it, where I don’t think about it at all. That’s normally in the middle of the game. Maybe it’s because I have to worry about my face getting pounded in, but that little rope is always ducked under with my eyes closed. Maybe I’m always gonna hate every game I play before I play it. Maybe I wanna play a game that I don’t start to hate. Maybe I should have never played volleyball knowing I didn’t like it the way others did. But then-

It’s week 8 and we’re finishing up a game. My lungs are burning, and his eyes are full of smoke while he follows me out the gate for the first time. I feel giddy.

“-and you know, my brother had to drive us all the way back to Ontario. I'm not gonna pretend to be brave, driving through the Rocky Mountains at night and high is scary as hell-“

“Try driving through it in the rain at night.”

“Oh hell no. You realize you could have died?”

“Yeah it was scary at the time, but the rush I felt after was great. That’s probably just biology though”

“Biology… so you’re just a hardwired thrill seeker? Masochist?”

“No, just human. On my Mother’s side.”

He’d talked about girls he’d kissed before, and my lack of jealousy was extra novelty. Which is why I knew where was going when he wanted to talk about it again. And we turned on baker street and on the road ahead was this,

“Have you ever been kissed?”

I turned in time that he missed and we both laughed, and his eyes burned into me when I walked through my front door.

It was Thursday again I noticed, when I took the time to unlock my phone after sleeping in. I looked at the spare volleyball that I had started bringing to the net every other week. It was on top of my unfolded clean laundry, chores. My dad bought it for me years ago because I asked for one back in church volleyball. I also lied and told him they had canceled the meetups so I wouldn’t have to go anymore. I got up to eat breakfast and nearly tripped over the ball, so I kicked it over to my closet and headed downstairs for a bowl of marhsmellies.

“You playing volleyball today? I can give you a ride on my way to the doctor in 45 minutes.” That was mom.

“Nah, I’m all done. What’cha watchin?”