Page 27 of Wicked Serve

“She’s very taken with it. I suppose it can’t be the worst thing in the world.”

“I’m sure it’s fun. It’s a net sport, I can get behind that.”

He chuckles. “And how has volleyball been?”

I take a breath, thinking about how to frame this. We have a winning record, and successfully navigated a difficult doubleheader against Albany. I even earned a compliment from Alexis after a snappy move to keep a crucial rally going during the Merrimack match, so all in all, it could be worse, but I’ve played opposite hitter each match. No setter yet, even for a few plays.

“It’s fine,” I say eventually, kicking my feet. “We’re 3-1 right now, with two matches coming up against UConn.”

“That sounds promising.”

“We’re better than them.” I think of Brooklyn’s presence on the court and nod to myself. “Definitely better. We should win both.”

“Has your coach given you playing time at setter?”

“Not yet.”

“But you spoke with her about your frustrations.”’

Yes, and she thinks you bought me a place on the volleyball team. I worry my lip as that thought runs through my mind. There’s no use mentioning it to him. It’s not like anything she said wasn’t true; my parents have contributed heavily to the university. They’re a big part of the reason why the library is adding to its fiction collection and the football facilities are getting upgrades in a few years. Neither of them came from money, but then Dad got into the NFL and started winning, and things snowballed from there. His second career in broadcasting has been one of the most lucrative ever for a retired athlete, and they funnel a lot of their resources into the Callahan Family Foundation, an organization my mother runs that works with various sports-related charities.

I do wonder what he’d say, though. My parents were never the type to complain to coaches—Dad knows better than anyone how important it is to form your own relationships with them, and we’d never get there on our own if they tried to clean up our messes—but I wouldn’t put it past him to try to talk to Alexis if he knew the truth about how our conversation went.

That would be so mortifying.

“Yeah. But it’s not like I’m going to play setter right away. She’s paying attention to how I’m doing with what I’m given now.”

“And I’m sure it’s going very well,” he says, in a voice that brooks no argument. “Just like your efforts in your classes this year.”

I’ve always ragged on my brothers for calling Dad “sir” when having serious conversations with him, but when he uses that tone, I can understand the urge. This is the same guy who led his team to three Super Bowls, after all. When he wants something to happen, he expects it to be done. I didn’t do terribly in my classes last year, but I still got a stern talking-to about buckling down.

“I did well on my first philosophy paper.”

“Good. I want to hear those kinds of updates all semester, darling.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, mostly teasing.

He sighs; I can imagine him pinching his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “Isabelle.”

I smile at the exasperated note in his voice. My mom is one of my best friends, but I’ve always had a special relationship with my dad, too.

I’m his only daughter, and his youngest kid to boot. His last Super Bowl win is one of my earliest memories; he held me on his shoulders while he celebrated on the field, confetti flying everywhere. I was obsessed with princesses at the time and absolutely loved when he dressed up as one too, so instead of donning a Super Bowl Champion cap, he put on a plastic tiara. He didn’t care that he was on camera, or that his teammates and coaching staff surrounded us. He held the Lombardi trophy in one arm and me in the other, crooked tiara on his head and glitter on his cheeks, and that photograph ended up on the back of every newspaper in New York. I have a copy of The Daily News framed in my bedroom at home.

“You took a big step forward this summer,” he adds. “I’m proud of you. Your mother and I have friends who attended the Heyman wedding, and they were very impressed by the work you put into it.”

“Oh, that’s cool.” I know he’s just trying to compliment me, but after the conversation with Coach, it feels uncomfortable. “Mom’s the one who got it for me, though. She met Katherine at that charity thing and heard she was looking for an intern, remember?”

“And you’re the one who took advantage of that opportunity. There’s nothing wrong with that. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up being a wedding planner after you graduate.”

Even though I loved every moment of my summer internship, I have zero idea what I want to do with my future. I wish I had a set path like my brothers. James has never wondered about his future, and Cooper hasn’t either. Sebastian changed course when he moved on from baseball, but he knew exactly where to go next. But volleyball isn’t going to be a career for me. I’m only majoring in communications because it’s a neutral course of study that could lead in a bunch of different directions. Including wedding planning, I suppose, but I wonder if it would truly be enough for Mom and Dad.

I know that they want me to be the best version of myself, but sometimes it’s hard to shake the feeling that their expectations are not that high. I can’t help but wonder if some part of them thinks I’m not worth taking seriously, and all this talk of pushing myself is just that: talk. I’ve always been coddled, always protected. Spoiled.

“Maybe,” I say eventually. “I need to get started on my swim.”

“Good. We’ll talk soon about coming to some matches, okay?”

After I hang up, I drop straight into the water, deep enough to touch the bottom before coming back to the surface. Cool water streams down my face. I settle myself against the wall, flexing my toes.

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