Page 3 of Wicked Serve

“Make sure you take off your necklace before next practice,” she says, gesturing pointedly to my diamond I charm.

Crap. I thought I got it along with my tennis bracelet and earrings, but since I wear it so often, I sometimes forget it.

“Right, sorry. Um, can I talk to you for a second?”

“Now? We just had the team meeting.”

She went over the usual things—the schedule, the importance of sticking with the team during away matches, our practice and conditioning commitments—in her crisp, speech-first-questions-later voice. Honestly, it was more like speech-and-no-questions. She prefers for her plan to be the only plan, which is why my stomach feels like one big knot right now.

My first instinct is to say I can come back later, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to work up the courage twice, so I nod. “Please. Just a moment.”

“Fine,” she says, leading the way into her office. “I only have a few minutes.”

Like all the athletic facilities at McKee, purple and white dominate the color scheme. Alexis made it glam, of course. The love seat is an inviting shade of lavender, and a chic white chandelier hangs above us. I perch on the end of a leather chair, snow-white with the McKee school logo stamped across the back, and give her my best smile.

“Let me play setter.”

She crosses one long leg over the other. “You do a fine job at opposite hitter.”

“It’s a new position for me.”

“It was new last season. This season I expect you to have gotten the hang of it.”

“Please, Coach.” I swipe my sweaty palms against my shorts. “It’s not the position I fell in love with when I started volleyball. I know I can do more for the team as a setter.”

She sighs. It’s the sigh you might give a toddler who covered herself with peanut butter. I twist my fingers together, excess energy getting the better of me. I bite my tongue so I don’t start spewing nonsense.

Last season, she took one look at me and decided I was a second-rate player. I made the mistake of showing up to our first team bonding exercise hungover, and I didn’t play my best in practice, and when she integrated the freshmen with the rest of the team, she moved me from setter to opposite hitter. I’m not the best volleyball player in the world, but I love the sport, and I don’t want to be sidelined when these four years at McKee are the only time in my life I’ll be competing at such a high level. Losing out on the position stung, and losing out on playing time hurt worse. My parents were surprised by the change and, although they didn’t voice it, disappointed, too. If there’s one thing us Callahans are, it’s athletes. My three older brothers—not to mention my retired pro quarterback father—can attest to that.

I accepted Alexis’s decision last year rather than fight it, but I know I’m better than that. I hope so, at least.

“You really want to do this, Callahan? You want to go there?”

“I don’t—”

“I’m sure you were the best setter on your high school team. But you’re not the star here. You’re nowhere near the top of the roster.” She leans in, drumming her knuckles across the glass top of her desk. “I understand that hearing that is hard. But someone needs to be the one to break it to you that you don’t automatically get everything you want just because you can afford to attend a school. I knew plenty of girls like you when I played, and every single one of them had to learn this lesson eventually.”

I blink once. Twice. Then one more time, hard enough my eyes sting, so she doesn’t see me cry. I knew I wasn’t her favorite person, but I didn’t think she thought I needed to be taught a lesson.

“What, did a football player break your heart or something?” I blurt. “Is that why you don’t like me?”

Her eyes flash. “Izzy.”

“Sorry, sorry—”

“This has nothing to do with your family. Not specifically. Were there other girls I wish I could have recruited? Other players who were maybe a better fit for the team but whose parents weren’t some of McKee’s biggest donors? Sure. You’re an adult, I don’t mind being honest with you. Like I said, the sooner you realize this, the better off you’ll be.”

“So I wasn’t your first choice.”

“I’m not saying you’re without talent. But perhaps you should be in a program more suited to your... level.”

I ignore that. I don’t disagree with everything she’s saying, but there’s no need to insult me. “Let me prove to you that I can do it.”

“I saw what I needed to see last season.”

“This season will be different.” I lean forward on my elbows. I don’t want to sound too desperate, but I don’t know when I’ll get this chance again. “Please, I promise. Let me show you that I can do it.”

“I’m committed to the starters I have.”

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