Bump, Set, Sparks

Chapter 1

Carry: When setting, the volleyball must be played with fingertips only, and not caught or thrown in any way. A ball that is lifted or held too long is a “carry.” The referee should call this fault, but there is a measure of subjectivity involved, i.e., sometimes they fuck it up.

There was something about the heat and the sweat.

Down in the sand, feet sinking and dragging, extra effort was required to overcome that friction to make the play.

Every stride slower. Every jump harder. Beach volleyball was about overcoming not just the body’s limitations in muscle, tendon, and stamina—physical and mental—but the environment.

The sun and the sand, the wind—gusts blown in from the vast, unyielding ocean, an uncaring product of climate and currents—none of that gave a fuck about the athletes or the game.

… The team who overcame it, though … they won.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jess cried, trying not to yell directly at the referee. “That was such a carry!” She wiped the sand from her uniform while the other team celebrated their tying point with high fives.

“Jess.” Tania, her levelheaded and long-suffering partner, gave her a low warning.

“But…” Jess trailed off. The ref was glaring at her, hand twitching in the direction of the red card.

It was lucky Jess hadn’t gotten a card already this match, to be honest. Other refs would have had her and her chirpy ass in the locker room by now.

Jess bit her lip and swallowed any further words about the missed call.

Tania gave her a low five. “We need a pass now. Come on, refocus.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Jess tucked a sweaty strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear and brushed the sand from her butt. She turned to face the server, hands on her knees, the California sun hot on her back.

They hadn’t lost to this team since early last season, and she certainly wasn’t planning on starting today. But her head hadn’t been in the game, and it was tied at fourteen in the third and final set. Time to dig in.

Her opponent and off-court friend, Chrissy, hammered a serve, but it was right at Jess.

She passed it easily to Tania, who gave her a beauty of a set.

Jess tore in for a hit, arm winding up …

and cranked the ball out the back of the court.

The few hundred spectators cheering for the other team hooted their approval from the stands.

Jess and Tania’s fans offered encouraging shouts.

“Fuck,” Jess growled while Chrissy and her partner pumped their fists at her error.

“Jess.” Tania took her hand and gave it a tug so Jess looked at her. “It’s fine. We’ve got this. Give me another pass like that one, then swing away. Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jess’s heart thudded in her ears. Fourteen to fifteen. Match point. No time-outs left.

Chrissy paused at the back line before the whistle, gaze flicking between Jess and Tania.

Another tough serve, this time a couple feet to Jess’s left.

She stepped into it and gave Tania another great pass, which got her another beauty set.

Don’t blow it, Jess. She eyed her crosscourt shot, knowing she could get it past the block …

but another unforced error at match point was unacceptable.

She took some heat off her swing—too much—and lobbed an easy ball at them.

Chrissy got there no problem and dug it up for her partner.

Jess settled at the net and waited for Chrissy’s attack, aware of the sweat on her temples and her tired legs, then jumped in time with her for a block.

The ball brushed Jess’s fingers and continued into the court behind her.

“Touch!” Jess yelped, peeling back and ready for the third hit.

Tania chased the touch deep into the court and brought it back high enough for Jess to attack.

The ball approached at an awkward angle, lost for a second in the sun over the open-air pavilion, so she had to give them another easy shot.

Chrissy popped it up, then went hard on her attack.

Jess jumped, reaching her hands over the net. She got a few fingers on the ball, but the hit went off her block and flew far out of bounds.

They lost.

“Fuck,” Jess spat. “Fuck.” The familiar feeling of failure curdled in her gut and made her heart race, prickling her skin with shame.

Chrissy and her partner whooped and hopped around the court in their hug while their fans cheered.

Jess watched them, hands on hips and trying not to scowl. Tania gave her a brief hug and slapped her butt. “Good game, Button.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Jess grumbled, the cutesy yet pointed nickname Tania had given her last season even more irritating now. “Not from me, anyway.”

“You played great,” Tania said. “We can’t win ’em all.”

“I played like crap. And I’d settle for winning half.” Jess sighed and followed Tania to the net. “Good game,” she said to Chrissy. “Nice serves,” she added, even though the loss rankled.

Chrissy grinned and shook her hand. “Thought you had me on that last block.”

“I had nothing but air, I guess.”

Once the score sheet was signed, Chrissy tugged her hair elastic out. “You guys heading over to Maggie’s?” Her red hair spilled over her shoulders as she scrubbed at it.

Jess’s tastebuds watered at the thought of a nice cold beer.

“Can’t. I’m working today.” She didn’t normally work on Sundays but she had picked up a shift after the morning game.

With summer approaching, the amusement park was getting busier, so extra hours were usually available if she wanted them.

“Okay, cool. Maybe later, then?”

“Maybe.”

The four of them signed a few autographs for the kids hanging around and Chrissy gave a quote to the local sports reporter, then Jess and Tania stopped to chat with Tania’s mamá, tías, and assorted cousins.

“Come for dinner soon!” Tía Diana said when she hugged Jess. Jess’s first hug from Tía Diana had come after she and Tania won their first match together and now Jess melted into the comforting softness of each one. “It’s been too long, mija.”

“I will, I will.” Jess squeezed her back extra tight. “Just let me know when.”

After a few more hugs for some cousins and promises for a visit, Jess and Tania rinsed off at the outdoor shower near the locker room, then headed in for a proper cleanup.

The cool quiet of the locker room was welcoming after the late spring heat and rumble of the crowd in the bleachers.

The shower spray on her tired muscles and scent of her lavender shower gel soothed her, but Jess couldn’t stop replaying that last failed block in her mind.

If she had just jumped a bit higher … reached a little farther …

Jess wrapped herself in her towel when she was done and was heading back to her locker when a voice cut through the chatter.

That voice. Low and judgmental. Smooth and haughty. “Ugh, who got all this sand everywhere?”

The voice that crawled down Jess’s spine like the most unwelcome of insects. There was no mistaking it.

Jess rounded the corner, clutching her towel, hair dripping, and yup, there she was.

Vivienne Morris. Perfect and petite—for a beach volleyball player anyway, one of the smallest women in the league—with shining black hair, golden tanned skin, and features so tidy and delicate they looked painted on with the tiniest of brushes.

Vivienne and her partner, Lee, were locked into the top spot in the league, undefeated so far this season.

Jess hated her. Even more than she hated losing, which was a lot. Everything came easy to Vivienne, and she looked down on people who had to work for it, the ones who showed the effort with mess and imperfection.

And Jess was nothing if not a mess.

Their eyes met as Vivienne looked up, curling her plump lips into their usual condescending grimace. “Oh.” Vivienne raised an immaculately groomed eyebrow, then looked pointedly down at the sandy floor again.

Jess tried to keep the scowl off her face. “That wasn’t me,” she said, aware she sounded like a petulant five-year-old. “I rinsed off.”

“Mmm.” Vivienne shared a look with Lee, who struggled to hide a smirk.

The heat rose in Jess’s cheeks, her chest tightening in anger. She bit back the repeated denial that gathered in her throat and instead breezed past Vivienne to get to her locker.

Vivienne stood and slid her fingers into the bottom of her swimsuit to snap the elastics into place.

She and Lee were playing in the next match so were in their new one-shouldered bikinis—black with gold accents.

Sleek and expensive-looking—all the glamour of the bad guys in a sports movie …

aside from Lee’s old, gross, sweat-stained “lucky visor.”

“How did your match go, Jess?” Vivienne asked with wide eyes.

The absolute bitch. She knew exactly how it had gone. “Fine,” Jess snapped.

“Did you win?” Vivienne’s face was blank and innocent.

Tania joined the crowd at their lockers. “We’ll get ’em next time.” Tania was on the smaller side too, but with prominent curves and still taller than Vivienne. Jess delighted in the way Tania patted Vivienne’s head as she passed by.

“I’m sure you will.” Vivienne glared at Tania and smoothed her hair, not that she needed to.

Vivienne always had the most impossibly perfect ponytail.

It hardly even budged after a long match.

Her fingernails were gold this week. Most of the athletes in the league didn’t wear nail polish, but Vivienne always had her nails done—short, but glossy and immaculate.

“Good luck today,” Tania said cheerfully. She dropped her towel and started pulling on her underwear.

Jess followed suit. “Yeah, good luck. Being undefeated must be a lot of pressure, hey?”

Vivienne’s placid expression wavered. “No, I wouldn’t say it’s a lot of pressure.”

“No? I mean, you’ve got to lose one day, right? Might be today!”

Vivienne pressed her lips together. “If I need advice on how to deal with losing, I’ll be sure to ask you.”