The last thing Anita Jones was expecting when she went to her local community center to practice some volleyball was to be recruited by her school's rival volleyball team. No, not the girl's team but the boy's team. When she manages to impress the t...
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Smack. Smack. Smack. My palm connects with the volleyball, the sound reverberating through the empty community center gymnasium. I've been here for the last thirty minutes trying to perfect my serves since it's the one skill I want to solidify. I'm playing volleyball, have been playing the sport since I was six and not to pat myself on the back, I know my handling of the sport has exceptionally improved since then. I'm no longer serving the ball to the net or missing a receive. Today's Saturday and I'd usually be playing with some of the older women that frequent the gym during the weekend but for some strange reason today, nobody showed up today but me.
"I guess they have plans with their families," I think to myself. I pick up another ball and my stance drops with practiced ease, knees bent, feet falling shoulder-width apart, and the right foot slightly in front of the left. I take a deep breath in and toss the ball in the air with my right hand, moving forward until I'm underneath it.
I crouch and wind my arms back, ready for the swinging motion when my palm meets the ball. I jump up, knees bent and my palm meets the ball, fiercely striking it to the other side of the net. As the ball is falling to the floor, I see a boy run up to the ball and receive it, a perfect receive too I might add. It's silent for a moment as he observes me before moving towards the net.
"You serve like a fucking guy," he blurts and I stare at him for a couple of seconds as my brain registers what he said. Wait, what?
"What do you mean I serve like a guy?" I ask in offence, my arms crossed over my chest.
"No, I wasn't trying to insult you," he says quickly, hands raised in a placating gesture. "That came out wrong. I just meant that your serves weren't the average female serve, there's more strength in your arms which I think is awesome!" he continues. I observe the guy in front of me. He somewhere around six feet, his hair a shade of dusty blonde and piercing blue eyes. There's muscle definition to his arms and legs and I have no doubt in my mind he plays the game.
"Well, thanks, I guess, but who are you and why are you here?" I question in confusion.
"Oh, sorry for not introducing myself. The name is Sean and as for why I'm here," he trails off, scratching his head sheepishly. "Well, I heard the sound of the volleyball and I decided to check it out." I hold back my laughter when he says that. How random is this guy?
"I see, well you can go now since you've seen what you wanted to see," I say, bending down to pick up another volleyball.
"Actually, you know what, I think you'd be perfect," he muses as he looks at me. "You'd definitely be perfect, wait here," he says, and he rushes out the door. I don't even have a second question to ask him what he means that I'd be perfect. Well, it doesn't matter. I'm not going to stand and wait for him to come back, who knows how long he'll take. I toss the volleyball I have in my hand in the air and get myself ready to do another serve. When I hit the ball, it goes once again across the net, hitting the floor, the noise echoing in the empty gym. I pick up another ball, my stance ready when I hear noises near the gym doors.
