In between- Spoke x oc!Fem

XI

I put my phone away and jogged over to the court where my team was already warming up. Coach gave me a quick, stern look, but then she nodded approvingly as I joined in with the drills. My mind was still buzzing from the conversation with Spoke, and I couldn't help but scan the bleachers every so often, wondering if he was really going to show up.

As we warmed up, the gym started filling with spectators. The tournament was in full swing, and you could feel the energy in the air—the excitement, the tension, the anticipation of the games to come. My teammates were focused, but there was an underlying buzz as we prepared for our second game. We knew this next team wasn't as tough as our first opponent, but we couldn't afford to get complacent. Every team here wanted to win just as badly as we did.

We finished our warm-up routine, gathered in a quick huddle, and listened as Coach reminded us of our strategy. "Stay sharp," she said, her voice cutting through the noise in the gym. "Don't let them catch you off guard. Play our game, and we'll control the match."

I nodded along with the others, trying to shake off the lingering nerves. The referee blew the whistle, signalling the start of the game, and I took my position at the net, shaking out any tension in my muscles. The first set started strong—we quickly gained a lead, thanks to some sharp serves and solid teamwork. I was in the zone, blocking spikes and making quick attacks that left the other team scrambling. The score climbed steadily in our favor, and I could feel our confidence building with every point.

By the time we reached set point, the scoreboard read 24-19. My heart was pounding as the ball came to me on defence. I read the opposing setter's hands perfectly, anticipating their hitter's attack. I jumped, my arms extending above the net, and the ball slammed into my hands. It ricocheted back onto their court, and before they could react, it hit the floor.

25-20. We took the first set.

During the short break between sets, I grabbed a quick sip of water, my mind already racing ahead to the next round. I took a moment to glance up at the bleachers again, my eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of Spoke. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the boy from earlier, sitting with a group of what looked like his friends. They were all watching our game, leaning forward with interest, and I couldn't help but wonder if one of them was the person I'd been chatting with for weeks.

But there was no time to dwell on it—we were back on the court for the second set. This one started off a bit closer. The other team had clearly regrouped and came out with more intensity. We traded points for a while, the score inching up on both sides. They were playing with more aggression, trying to push us out of our rhythm, but we held our ground. I was all over the court—diving for impossible digs, blocking their strongest hitters, and setting up plays that left them scrambling.

Midway through the set, we were tied at 15-15, and the tension was palpable. My team's libero served, and the rally began with a powerful spike from the opposing side. I lunged to my right, just barely reaching the ball to send it back up to our setter. She set it perfectly, and I went up for the kill, smashing the ball through their blockers' arms and into the far corner of the court.

16-15. We had the lead again.

The rest of the set continued in a similar fashion. The other team kept fighting, but we managed to maintain our edge, pulling ahead at the crucial moments. With the score at 24-22, we knew we were just one point away from taking the set. My teammate served, and the ball sailed over the net, catching the other team off balance. They struggled to get it under control, and their return was weak, barely making it over the net. I saw my chance and pounced, tipping the ball over their blockers and into the open space.

25-22. We won the second set.

We huddled together, our energy high after securing two straight sets. Coach reminded us to stay focused and finish strong. "Don't give them an inch," she said, her eyes locking onto each of us. "Take control, and don't let up."

The third set started off even better than the previous two. We jumped out to an early lead, 10-5, thanks to a series of well-placed serves and quick plays that caught the other team off guard. I could feel our rhythm clicking into place—we were playing as one unit, moving in sync with each other.

But halfway through the set, the other team started to rally. They tightened up their defence and began to claw their way back into the game. The score narrowed to 15-14, and the tension began to rise again. I knew we couldn't let them gain any more ground.

I stepped up to the net as their setter prepared for another attack. Reading her body language, I guessed she was going to set to the outside hitter. I was right. I timed my jump perfectly, and as their hitter went up for the spike, I was already there, my hands above the net. The ball slammed into my block and dropped straight down on their side of the court.

16-14. We regained our momentum.

With the crowd cheering us on, we pushed harder, extending our lead with every play. Our setter started feeding me the ball more often, and I took full advantage, attacking quickly and efficiently. I could see the frustration building on the faces of the other team as they struggled to find an answer to our relentless pressure.

Finally, it was match point. We were up 24-18, and the gym was buzzing with anticipation. I took a deep breath, knowing this serve could seal the game. As I prepared to serve, I glanced up at the bleachers again. There he was—the tall, curly-haired guy I'd noticed before. He was watching intently, and as our eyes met, he waved at me.

For a split second, I felt a jolt of surprise. My heart skipped a beat, and I almost lost my focus. But I quickly shook it off, reminding myself of what was at stake. The whistle blew, and I tossed the ball into the air. My eyes locked on the target, I jumped for my float serve, striking the ball cleanly with the heel of my hand.

The ball sailed over the net with a perfect trajectory, dipping just enough to catch the opposing team off guard. They hesitated for a split second, and that was all it took. The ball hit the floor before anyone could react.

25-18. Ace.

The gym exploded with cheers as my teammates rushed to hug me. We had won the game 3-0, and the feeling of triumph was overwhelming. My teammates and I celebrated together, the weight of the victory sinking in. We had played hard, and it had paid off.

As the adrenaline began to wear off, I sat down on the bench to take off my volleyball shoes, switching to my comfortable slippers. My hands were still shaking slightly from the excitement, but my mind was somewhere else entirely. I kept thinking about that wave, about the guy in the bleachers who had caught my eye.

And then it clicked. The guy who waved at me—he had to be Spoke. My heart did a little flip as I realized I had just unknowingly made eye contact with the guy I'd been chatting with for weeks.

I quickly slipped on my slippers and stood up, scanning the bleachers. My stomach churned with nerves and excitement as I spotted him still sitting there, watching as the gym started to empty out. This was it. I was finally going to meet Spoke. I hesitated for a moment, gathering my courage, then started walking toward the bleachers.