They are the only six who trust me. I am the only one who controls them. One volleyball court with long arms and quick feet like mine. Three who became aggressive with bruises on their knees. Two ridiculous excuses planted by the parents. From the floor, we can hear them, but Monica just focuses and doesn’t realize these things.
Their power is secret. They send intimidating glares across the net. They bend up and bend down and hit the ball between their long legs and fly into the air with violent faces and never quit their grins. This is how we fight.
Let one forget our reason for playing, they’d all fall like rain on the court, each with their arm around the other. Fight, fight, fight, coach say when I play. They learn.
When I am too tired and too weak to play playing, when I am a small thing against so many players, then it is I who look at players. When there is nothing left to stare at on this court. Six who played despite physical. Six who played and don’t forget to play. Six whose reason is to play and play.