Headlines & Head Wounds

Concussion

"I wish Rorie was here," Sylvie muttered to herself.

Sylvie generally wasn't a disdainful person- she disapproved of a large number of things, but knew well enough to keep her feelings to herself. Which is why she had accepted Rorie's hasty request for her to cover today's volleyball practice.

Rorie, who was in charge of the Hawk's Herald, usually didn't ask Sylvie for favors. But once in a while, Rorie got held up and wasn't able to come, for one or another reason. Sylvie hadn't asked why- she supposed Rorie probably had some important commitment or impending assignment that got in the way- but she knew she shouldn't turn down a request, especially to cover something so important as today's volleyball practice. The last before the big game.

Sylvie's eyes flitted back and forth between the two teams, standing ready on opposite sides of the net. It was only practice, and the Hatfeld Hawks were pitted against each other rather than an opponent. Not that they had much of an opponent, what with the general lack of volleyball prowess in the Skybrook area.

And not with Tamara Burgess.

Tammy pushed her hair back behind her ears, baring her forehead so she'd have a clear view as soon as the ball was in play. She didn't usually say much of anything during practice; to the coach, she was more of a trophy than a part of the team, and her status as star player didn't much help her integration with the other Hawks. She was in her senior year, and in a few months she'd be leaving Hatfeld High altogether. According to Rorie, Tammy had already received a full-ride sports scholarship to "some university in Oregon" (Rorie hadn't specified which), and wasn't afraid to flout her superiority. Rorie thought her silence was due to intense focus on the game, but Sylvie was more suspicious. In her opinion, Tammy was just being haughty and aloof. She probably thought she was too good for the rest of them.

There was one other girl that Rorie had pointed out. Camille Lee, standing slightly apart from the rest of the group. She was on the opposite side of the net from Tammy; she seemed regretful of this, as if she wished Tammy had picked her for her team. She was a good player too, Rorie said, with the makings of a star- but, as she was only a sophomore, she had plenty of time to prove herself. The coach seemed to think likewise.

Not that Sylvie really cared about volleyball at all. Normally, at this time, she'd be behind the desk at the Gazette, taking an important call about some vaguely interesting local news story. She'd rather be interviewing one of her neighbors about the Suspicious Case of the Missing Lawn Flamingo than here, at volleyball practice, sitting on the sidelines with a pen in her hand and a deeply out-of-place expression on her face. Wondering where Rorie could possibly be that was more important than researching the Hawks' volleyball practice.

The coach readied the volleyball and handed it to Tammy, who served. It flew over the net in a perfect arc and landed heavily on the other side, having just cleared a small patch of unguarded air between two of the less adept girls. Sylvie clicked the tip of her pen impatiently, and then made a note. That kind of writing- "unguarded air", "perfect arc"- that was exactly what Rorie would be looking for in the sports column.

Now Tammy was having a murmured conversation with the coach, who seemed very proud indeed. The coach slapped her amiably on the back and indicated the court with a simple motion. Tammy, who was busy sweeping up her long blonde hair into a ponytail, gave a brief nod.

Even without hearing a single word of the conversation, Sylvie understood the coach's request. Go easy on them.

One of the girls on the other side was serving now. She looked rather frustrated at Tammy's obvious display of talent, and she was full-on gossiping with the girl beside her, still holding the ball, when the coach blew her whistle. "Go on!" she shouted. "Serve!"