Apartment 311

Ch | 37

Brooklyn Noelle Brankovich

Chapter Thirty-seven: "Off her rocker"

"-And another net violation on number ten, Brooklyn Brankovich." The announcer proclaimed after my mistake.

Myself and the rest of the team huddled. They slapped my butt and told me it was okay. Sydney said she'd set me again and I nodded, assuming the position.

The whistle blew and the server from the opposing team sent over a flat, short serve.

Lizzy in the back row passed it to Syd who set it to me. I took my approach to the low ball and got denied.

"Brankovich goes up strong- OH, AND A BIG BLOCK FROM SAN DIEGO!" The commentators roared, hyping the crowd.

"Fuck!" I grunted, pulling down my spandex shorts.

"It's okay, girl," Kacey encouraged me, slapping my ass as I walked away from the net.
It's not okay, I thought in my head. I'm playing like shit.

Everyone tried lifting me up but I mentally clocked out and grew angrier, frustrated with myself.

We were down by two, it was the third set. My team won the first two, but it was a struggle to take the lead in this one.

She served again, this time it barely cleared the tape. Acting fast, I dove and pancaked the ball right up to Lizzy. As soon as I was set, I rolled the ball and got us a point.

The score was tied 24-24 now. My confidence didn't increase despite my last kill, I still hated my performance through the match, but I had to shake it off and they high-fived me.

Kacey on the slide, pounded the ball and got us to 25 points.

With Rita serving, the ball went on San Diego's side. They pushed it over and I went up like I was going to kill it but tipped the ball. The opposite player read it and they managed to get a kill, leaving me in a split as I tried digging it.

"SHIT!" I roared, slapping the floor.

The game ended in a win. After I had yet ANOTHER hitting error, Kacey got a big block, and Sydney ended with a couple of aces.

We slapped hands and I carried my attitude all the way to the bleachers where I kicked my shoes off and watched some of the final game.

I ended with 9 kills, 2 blocks, 3 digs. Horrible - for me, anyway. In actuality, it's not bad but I held myself to a higher standard and expected better. Especially after last week's ending game with 18 kills.

Just as I was about to pop the AirPod Pros in my ear, a little girl addressed me.

"Emereigh," I exhaled, "hey! What are you doing- Noah." I knew he wasn't too far behind.

Emereigh had one of the mini soft volleyballs we threw at the crowd before the game started, when they announced the starting line up. Hers was the one I threw, it had number 10 on it. I smiled small and let her lead me away.

"Good game, Brooks," she said, calling me the nickname her brother gave me.

"Thanks, Emereigh," I said back in an unsure tone.