gravity | r. suna ✓

twelve

- Tuesday, 7:15pm - 

The second set is over, but the game is not.

We won the second set, 24-26. I was terrified they were going to get a break point and it would all be over, but we pulled through in the end. The boys look pretty bummed out that they didn't finish this game in two sets, but our team couldn't be more energized. Our players are practically hopping from foot to foot, itching to get back on court.

I'm glad that my teammates are in such high spirits. At first, I was afraid they'd be too tired to play well in the third set, but they seemed more energized than ever. They're like children who've been given a whole pot of coffee and are now starting to show the result.

The whistle blows and we're back on court, taking up our positions. For me, that means the far right of the net. Kanemoto stands at the middle of the net, her arms beside her head, and Emi takes up the left, ready to attack. 

Last year, when I was a first year, I thought the idea of playing with Etsuko and Kayo, our third years, was terrifying. I was scared to set them because of how I thought they'd react if I messed up. Now, I've grown more confident in my abilities. I've grown into a good player. A better than good player.

"Mine!" Kayo's voice snaps me back into the game. She picks up the serve with no trouble, sending it to me in the perfect position. I rise to the ball, settle it in my hands, and push it up about a meter over the net.

This is called a meter ball, and it's Kanemoto's favourite set to hit.

While gravity pulls my feet back to the ground like a magnet, gravity also releases its grip on Kanemoto. She jumps, higher than you'd expect a girl of 5'2" to jump, and the ball connects at just the right place in her hand. 

But gravity had also let go of Suna Rintarou, and his hands were there, and now the ball drops, slowly, slowly...

"We'll get it next time, Aya." Kanemoto pats my shoulder, smiling. It's not the first time we've been blocked today. It's a sucky feeling, because I'm supposed to be the one drawing away the blockers.

It should have worked. It would have worked. It's like Suna read my mind.

I shake the thought away. That's impossible. I'll just do better next time.

Volleyball is a highly psychological game. If you're not thinking clearly, you won't do well. If you're not focused, you won't do well. If you're not confident in your abilities, you certainly won't do well.

If you aren't confident, if you aren't focused, if you aren't thinking, then your teammates won't be, as well. 

A negative mindset, a distracted mind, ruins the atmosphere.

Your setter needs to be thinking. They need to be focusing. They need to be working, jumping, reaching. They need to brush off their shame and their mistakes and apologize and move on when things go wrong.

It's always been the hardest thing for me to do when playing volleyball. 

Even though when I'm on the court I feel lighter than normal, my mistakes can weigh me down more than gravity does.

The score is 1-0. It's my turn to serve.

I have to shake off my mistake and pick up the ball.

To stay on the safe side, I do a standing float and aim the ball in between two of the defenders.

My plan works. The defenders' lack of communication makes them late to the ball, so the pass is sloppy. Atsumu has to take more than two steps to get under the ball, and therefore his set isn't perfect. He sets the ball to Suna, which I have to admit is a good decision on his part. Suna can make his body bend to any set that comes his way.

He scores a point. The score is 2-0. 

"Nice spike, jelly arms," I smirk at him, looking over my shoulder to see his reaction. He rolls his eyes, his face void of any emotion. I know he's laughing on the inside. That idiot.

My teammates' spirits haven't died. They're still craving the ball. Thank God their skin, their body, still screams for the contact of the volleyball; their muscles still scream for movement.

A few points later, the score is 9-8. We managed to close the gap to one point, but it's still not enough. It's not enough if we're not winning.

It's not enough if we're not winning because of me.

- Suna, Tuesday, 7:25pm - 

She's feeling the pressure. She's quiet, and not quite meeting her teammates eyes. Any other person, any normal spectator, any stranger would think that she was just being her normal self, that she had brushed off her mistake.

Otsuka Ayano, you're not perfect, I want to scream. If you don't keep playing like you were in the first two sets, I'll kill you. 

For once, I can't bring myself to speak to her. I can't force the words out of my mouth.

Ayano has always made me feel like my words have value. Ayano listens to me when nobody else spares me their precious time. Ayano holds me down.

But now, she stands on the court in front of me, the two of us separated by a net made of string, and I can see her being crushed into the ground. Her weight is melting her into the floor of the gym. Gravity is making her crumble. Her mind is eroding, and nobody else sees it.

Everything in me screams to stay silent, to let her figure it out herself, but instead I call a time-out and ignore the voice in my head for once.

The ref blows the whistle for a time-out and my teammates look at me for an explanation, but I don't meet their gaze. I grab Ayano by the collar and drag her outside, filled with an anger I never thought I'd feel towards her.

- Ayano, Tuesday, 7:29pm - 

Suna lets go of my collar as soon as we're outside the gym, turning around so I can't see his face. Fury radiates off of him. I wonder what I've done to make him so angry, and I wonder if it's because I called him by the embarrassing nickname I came up with at lunchtime. Before I have any more time to speculate, Suna answers my question for me.

"Why are you pretending to be perfect?" he questions, turning around to meet my eyes. They're filled with something I've never seen in them before. His jaw is clenched. He looks so calm, but his tone of voice is deadly.

I glare at the ground, folding my arms. "Because everyone expects me to be."

He walks to me slowly. I've never seen him like this, and I'm slightly scared of him. Not because I think he'll hurt me. Because it's different and I'm scared of what I don't know.

I'm backed into a wall. My shoe traces a circle in the dust, my eyes following it. It's a pathetic way of stopping myself from meeting his eyes.

He tilts my chin up with his bent finger. My heart pounds against its cage. My eyes are forced to meet his. 

He looks dead serious when he says, "Nobody in that gym is expecting you to be perfect, Otsuka Ayano."

I blink, shocked at this suggestion. I think about my parents, my teachers, the student council. I think about how I always thought I'd have to be perfect for them to be proud of me.

"We should get back," Suna says, and I follow him into the gym feeling lighter, like I'm not tied to the ground. 

The third set in a three-set game is won by the first team to reach 15 points with a two point difference, but we play into the 30s. The game is won by the boys, but I don't care about the result as much as I thought I would. While my teammates look downcast, I think about how I should thank Suna for releasing me from gravity, even if it was just for today.

a/n++

yall are probably thinking, fINALLLY, the name of the book makes sense bahaha

qotd: do you listen to jojo siwa? ;))