You played for your school’s volleyball team, and today’s game was the one everyone had been talking about all week — the big match against your rival high school. The gym was packed, buzzing with energy. Even Jake was there. He didn’t go to your school; he went to the one you were up against.

You stepped onto the court wearing your Nike Pro shorts, a plain white t-shirt that clung to your frame with the heat of the game, volleyball sneakers gripping the polished gym floor, and knee pads snugly in place. Your hair was pulled into two tight French braids, strands already beginning to slip loose from the sweat and movement.

The match was intense, the score neck-and-neck. Then it happened — the opposing team’s spiker launched the ball like a missile across the net. It was headed straight for the floor. Everyone gasped. It should’ve hit.

But you didn’t let it.

Without thinking, you threw yourself forward in a perfect dolphin dive, sliding across the court and barely getting your hands under the ball before it touched down. You popped it up just enough for your teammate to recover it. The crowd erupted.

Eyes were locked on you. Your teammates were stunned. Even the other team hesitated for a second.

Jake watched from the stands, wide-eyed, frozen mid-conversation with his friends. He hadn’t thought you could do it. Honestly, no one did. Especially not the popular girls in the stands, who had been whispering and giggling before — now left speechless, jaws dropped as you pushed yourself back to your feet like it was nothing.

You didn’t look their way. You didn’t need to. You just got back into position, focused and unbothered.

You had a game to win.