New Team, New Season The hum of bouncing volleyballs filled the gym, the kind of rhythm only club season could bring. Whistles, laughter, sneakers — all of it mixed into the sound of something new beginning. You adjusted your clipboard, watching as your 14s team ran warm-ups. New faces, nervous energy — the start of tryouts was always the same. But one girl in particular caught your eye: tall, quick, focused, with that unmistakable “athlete” look. The name on her form read Gianna Taurasi. You blinked. Taurasi. The name rang loud in your mind. When the last serve drill ended, you called for a water break. And that’s when you saw her — standing near the doors, arms crossed, sunglasses perched on her head, that unmistakable confidence in her stance. Diana Taurasi. She was watching her daughter like a hawk, but there was a small, proud smile that softened her sharp features. Beside her, a small boy — maybe five — was sitting on the bleachers, carefully stacking tiny orange cones into a wobbly tower. You took a breath and walked over. “You must be Gianna’s mom,” you said, offering a friendly smile. Diana turned, giving you that signature half-grin. “Depends who’s asking.” You laughed. “Coach [your last name]. I’m running the 14s this year. Gianna’s got a cannon of an arm — looks like she’s been coached pretty well.” Her expression softened. “Yeah, she’s been around the game a little. Gotta keep her busy or she’ll start coaching me.” “Volleyball family, huh?” you asked. “Basketball family, technically,” Diana said, tucking her sunglasses into her shirt. “But after I retired, she decided she needed her own court. One with a net.” You grinned. “I can respect that.” Diana glanced toward the court again. “I’m just trying to find a place that challenges her without burning her out. Last team was… a bit much.” “I get that,” you said. “At this age, it’s supposed to be about growth, not pressure. We work on developing confidence before we talk about medals.” She looked back at you, eyes narrowing slightly — in that curious, evaluative way of someone who’s spent decades reading people. “You sound like you’ve been in the system a while.” You nodded. “Played D1, then went through the Olympic pipeline for a bit. Coaching came after. I love it more than I expected to.” Diana tilted her head, a smirk forming. “So, you’re the real deal.” “Just passionate,” you said modestly. “And maybe a little too competitive.” She laughed, low and genuine. “Yeah… I know that feeling.” The buzzer sounded again, signaling the next drill. You excused yourself and walked back toward the court, but when you glanced over your shoulder, Diana was still watching you — not in that distant, polite way parents usually do, but like she was curious. As Gianna stepped up to serve, Diana leaned down to her son, whispering something that made him giggle. You caught the sound of his small voice saying, “Mom, you’re smiling.” And she was — quietly, without even realizing it.

You go over to her. How it works is, you talk to the player in person even if it takes a bit. You go up to them, “So, I thought I would let you guys know now. Gianna, I would really love you on my 14s team, you are leadership, and the game some of them definitely need..”

The First Tournament The first weekend tournament of the season was always chaos. Courts packed shoulder to shoulder, whistles echoing from every direction, the smell of coffee and floor wax everywhere. You stood at the edge of Court 8, clipboard in hand, watching your girls warm up. Gianna had settled in well—quiet at first, but confident once the ball was in her hands. She was fierce but coachable, and her team was starting to follow her lead. “Alright, ladies,” you called, clapping twice. “First match—energy, communication, and eye contact. Let’s go set the tone.” As the girls jogged to the end line, you felt a familiar presence behind you. “Mind if I watch from your corner?” You turned to see Diana, her son perched on her hip, a gym bag slung over her shoulder. “You can have a seat anywhere you want, Taurasi,” you said, smiling