Losing is Winning

Chapter 14

Tobio was already done with eating dinner when he finally heard his mother's keys at the front door. The greeting was brief, her passing him by with nothing more than a quick smile before she went to go upstairs.

"Mom!" Tobio called out and hurried up from the table to catch her on the staircase.

"Yes?" She had stopped mid-step, looking back down at him, her brows drawn together.

Tobo intertwined his fingers behind his back, toying with them. "I got invited to the All-Japan Camp." He smiled tentatively, wary as to what to expect from her. "I told you I would change and get better," he added a little more quietly.

As he looked up at his mother, she was looking down at him with a surprised look. "Wow," she said. "That's a surprise. When is that camp?"

"In about a week."

Her eyebrows shot up. "That's unfortunate," she said.

Tobio's stomach dropped. "I need to go," he insisted.

"You won't be missing an entire week of school for a hobby, Tobio." She turned and left Tobio standing at the bottom of the staircase.

"But an invitation like this is a once in a lifetime opportunity!" he called after her. "There's no way I'll be invited a second time!"

"I let you play volleyball as long as it didn't affect your academic standing—even beyond that," she said, and there was a sharp undertone to her voice that made Tobio wary. "Don't think I didn't notice your bad grades. But I won't let them get even worse just so you can spend a week hitting balls."

Tobio's mind was reeling at the attempt to find arguments that would convince his mother of the importance of this camp. "They invited me because they thought I had potential," he began. "I know that you think I'm too bad to play on a professional team, but they wouldn't have wasted their position on me if they didn't think it would pay out for them." He looked up the stairs at her, but her expression didn't reveal anything about what she was thinking. He wetted his lips. "The entirety of my high school time I spent working on my issues, and I believe that the middle school me and the me now are different. So please,"—he lowered his eyes—"try to reconsider what you are thinking of me. Please believe in what I'm trying to achieve." His voice sounded hoarse and he cleared his throat in the attempt to make it sound normal again, but he didn't dare lift his gaze back up.

His fingers behind his back were tightly interlocked, probably going white by now, and his jaw was tensing up in an irregular rhythm. The stretching silence was roaring in his ears—or maybe it was just the blood racing through his veins. He couldn't tell.

"Do you know how many kids get invited to these kinds of training camps? And just how many of them end up not making it as professional players?" she asked.

Tobio hesitated. Of course, not everyone made it, but that didn't mean that it wasn't an achievement to be invited, given that he had been rejected from a school because of his playing style only mere months ago, right? All he asked of her was to trust in him and his abilities.

"I really don't have the time for arguing with you about that, Tobio," she said. "We'll talk another time."

Helpless, Tobio watched her take the last few stairs, leaving him standing in the empty hallway. There wouldn't be another time; he had heard that phrase often enough to know that. "I have to go," he stated, taking a firmer stance—maybe subconsciously bracing himself. "I can't decline the invitation."

She looked back, her eyes narrowed. "If you really want to put volleyball above everything else, then that's your decision. I can only help you as long as you want my help, and if you really want to spend the rest of your life smarming over professional volleyball teams, hoping that one of them takes you in as a player—and even more important: keeps you—then do that. But don't expect me to support you on your way to the pits."