Page 87 of Wicked Serve

“It’s optional.”

“You can’t get back into your coach’s good graces if you don’t do it.”

I smash the cookie, letting the pieces fall over my plate. I’m making a mess, but I don’t care. Penny’s eyes narrow with concern; she fiddles with the end of her fishtail braid. Bex makes a soft noise, patting Charlie’s tiny back.

“Maybe I don’t,” I retort. “Maybe I quit.”

The breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh. Every time I’ve thought about volleyball lately, my thoughts have looped back around to that one painful, surprisingly tempting word. When the doctor in the hospital told me that I’d be able to get back on the court in a few weeks, he smiled like he expected me to be thrilled. I was supposed to feel that way, but I didn’t. I didn’t feel anything approximating happiness or gratitude or even relief. I just felt empty and tired.

“That’s bulls—bullcrap,” Mia says.

“Seb quit baseball. Did you call that bullcrap?”

“Sebastian quit baseball for another career,” Mia says evenly, refusing to rise to my admittedly weak bait. “One he’s better suited to anyway. That’s not the same and you know it.”

“At least he could have made baseball a career, if he wanted.” I dig my nails into my palms. “Volleyball doesn’t lead anywhere after graduation. It’s not the same as him or James or Cooper or—or Nik. It doesn’t mean anything anyway.”

“That’s not a reason to quit,” she says.

I ignore her. “And now that I screwed myself over, my coach will never give me what I want. She might not even play me again. Definitely not at setter. What’s the point of putting myself through all of the preparation for a team I don’t have a place on?”

“You can keep—”

“My whole life shattered when I tore my ACL,” Penny interrupts. “I didn’t skate competitively again.”

“That’s not the same,” I say. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“Wasn’t it?” she says. “If I’d been focused during that routine, maybe I wouldn’t have fallen.”

“I didn’t get injured. I broke a rule.”

“And your coach is a bitter bitch,” Mia says. “Sorry, Bex.”

“I’ll let it slide,” Bex says. “It’s true, anyway. She’s never liked you, which has everything to do with her, not you.”

Penny undoes her braid, shaking out her hair. “Look. The point is, I learned to love it again. I love my job at the rink. I love teaching classes with Cooper. I love lacing up my skates and practicing—even though I’m not preparing for a competition.”

I sigh, rubbing my forehead. The skin, freshly devoid of stitches, still feels tender. It’s definitely leaving a scar, albeit a much smaller one than the slash on Nik’s face. “It’s not the same.”

“Isn’t it?” she says. “You’re an athlete. Screw anyone who is making you think otherwise.”

It’s a nice sentiment, but it doesn’t change the fact that everyone around me is amazing at their sports. I’ve tried my best to keep up, but I’ve been chasing my family since the moment I was born. I blink, focusing on my half-empty mug. Sometimes the kind, logical thing feels like a slap.

I stand, taking my tea with me. “Okay.”

“Izzy,” Penny says as I walk out of the kitchen. I gnaw the inside of my cheek. I know she’s just trying to help, but I’m not in the mood to hear it. It was stupid to bring it up in the first place.

In the hallway, someone tugs on my sleeve. I’m expecting Penny, but it’s Bex. She adjusts Charlie from one arm to the other.

“Can we talk?” she says. “Just the two of us?”

I nod warily. “If it’s about volleyball—”

“It’s not, although I agree with them, for the record,” she says. “It’s about my wedding.”

I stand straighter. Finally, something way more fun to think about. I’ve been waiting for this ever since she and James postponed the original one in August. “Did you get in touch with Katherine?”

“I want you to do it,” she says. “I’ll pay you, of course.”

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