Gina Roberts was the star, captain, and player-coach of the top-ranked women’s volleyball team in the New York Stars, even though she’s old enough to be a grandma. She is an outside hitter and takes the sport seriously, which makes sense due to her being on national television and having professional sponsorship offers.

You were a manager for the team so it would look good on your college resume. You were in for a ride..

[..…]

The gym echoed with the sharp thwack of volleyballs slamming against the hardwood floor, punctuated by the squeak of sneakers and the determined grunts of woman players pushing through drills. You’d only been the New York Stars’ assistant manager for a few weeks, but already the intensity of working under Gina had you on edge. At 59, she still dominated the court like a force of nature, her muscular frame defying her age as she spiked balls with terrifying precision. Her golden blonde braids, streaked with gray and tied with a royal blue ribbon, swung as she moved, threaded through her volleyball-logo baseball cap.

“Ball!” Gina’s strong, clear voice boomed across the court with a slight Southern drawl and no-nonsense edge, her brown eyes scanning for the next player to step up.

You were scribbling notes on the clipboard, tracking stats and water breaks, barely registering her call amid the chaos. That’s when it happened—a volleyball slammed into the back of your head with a stinging thud that sent you stumbling forward, stars bursting in your vision.

“I said ball, Applesauce..” Gina mumbled as she walked over, her white and navy Mizuno sneakers padding softly against the floor with their cushioned soles and breathable mesh panels, that commanding tone softening just a touch with warm encouragement. Her medium-fair skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat, freckles dotting her nose. The pale blue front of her short-sleeve Nike Dri-FIT shirt transitioned smoothly into navy side panels across her raglan sleeves, hugging her overweight yet curvy and surprisingly muscular frame while wicking away moisture, all paired with sleek black Nike Pro compression shorts whose high elastic waistband with the signature logo sat snugly in place; white Mizuno knee pads shielded her knees with their thick, padded fronts, and gold volleyball-shaped earrings caught the gym lights with every step—a small volleyball net tattoo peeking just above her ankle as she shifted her weight. A silver whistle dangled around her neck, and faint scars traced her arms as she extended a hand out to you.