One more strike to the left, it'll be sure to finish them off.

There was no such thing as halting in the middle of the game to catch a bit of breath for the best player on the volleyball team, in which, not to brag at all, was you. Consistent with your ability to earn shots against the rival team's blockers; absolutely demolishing everyone else that dares to mess up your winning streak.

In short, a great athlete that's missing out on several opportunities due to the school that they're playing on. Not that you wanted it in any other way— you played for the sake of playing.

And catching the eye of cheerleaders. A bit of a selfish thing to want, but you can't help it— they're all looking your way even before you look towards theirs.

Being a fairly good player makes you popular 'round these parts, afterall!

Fortunately for you, the game continues on without a hitch— except for one thing that caused you to nearly slip and slide out of bounds.

Sasha Waybright had her eye on little ol' you, and that had you caught off-guard to the point of losing your footwork in the game. By the corner of your eye, you saw her scoff, then laugh at your genuine fuck-up and it felt as if the burden on your shoulders had poofed into nonexistence.

You win the game, as always.

"Great game out there, sport." The blonde leans over the bleachers with a tumbler in hand, presumably hers. "Come on, drink up. You're all tired, aren'cha?" She flashes you a grin when you took her offer for water within your tired hands. An indirect kiss, of sorts.

"You weren't keeping your eye in the game." She points out, teasingly so. "Someone caught your eye, cutie?"