*RRRRRIIIIIIING*

I jolted awake to the sound of my alarm clock. Ahhhhhh, first day of high school, I thought. I wolfed down the lukewarm congee and texted a quick “zao” to Mom, who had left for the hospital. I paused in the doorway. School sweatshirt? Check. North Face backpack? Check. My AF1s? Check.

The fresh, crisp air of the early morning filled my lungs as I hurried along. Past the main gates of Lower Merion High School, a crowd of blondes and brunettes had gathered around one wall. The volleyball team list was out. My heart raced. I pushed through the crowd and scanned the unknown names. Abrams, Rosenberg, Friedman… The sound of people, excited and disappointed, filled my ears as I neared the end of the varsity list. My heart sank…but, wait, is that my name? At the bottom, there I was: Chloe Hara, backup setter, written in bold, black ink. 

I turned around to celebrate with my best friend, Hannah Friedman. At 6’2”, she towered over the crowd and was already jumping up and down. 

“Chloe!! Did you see? We get to play together!” Hannah exclaimed. 

She is the reason I play volleyball. We hit it off in the nurse’s office in fourth grade when she inadvertently hit me in the face with a tetherball. Her bubbly personality perfectly balanced my quiet demeanor. In seventh grade, Hannah joined a club volleyball team. Even though I was a novice, she happily accepted me as her at-home drill partner and taught me the game.

Volleyball is fast-paced - bump, set, spike - and each play is usually over. The best part? The sense of belonging. After every play, you slap your teammates’ hands and cheer each other on for the next play. Playing volleyball in PE pulled me out of my shell and made me a part of a greater team.

Hugging Hannah, I looked back at the list. Practice and game times were intense. Five days a week. Two hours a day. 

“Oh my god, are you telling your mom about this?!” asked Hannah.

“Hmmm…” I pondered. “Maybe not…yet. I don’t want to disappoint Mom.”

“Girl, you made the varsity team as a freshman. She’ll be proud of you even if this isn’t Model UN,” she responded optimistically, aware of my family dynamics. 

Mom immigrated from Japan to the US as a picture bride, but Dad died when I was 7. She rushed to secure an ER job so we could afford our small 2-bedroom apartment in an excellent school district. Mom’s mantra is, “Get As in school, get ahead in life;” she insists I focus on my studies and disapproves of those who play sports, seeing them as distractions. Mom lives her mantra. At 40, she is still pursuing a nursing degree by studying late at night. I admire her and excel in school, but I wish she wasn’t so against sports.

“Please help keep it a secret, Hannah,” I begged. “I can’t confront my mom yet. Can I tell her I’m hanging out with you?”

“...Fine. I guess that’s not a complete lie…” said my savior.

That afternoon, I walked home with a pep in my step. Opening the door, I felt my phone buzz, and a text from Mom popped up.

“Ami-chan, how was your first day?” She must have sent it during patient rounds. 

“Good,” I replied. “BTW, Hannah and I plan to study math at the library after school.”

“Great! Just don’t get distracted by boys or sports!” she added immediately. 

“Of course, Mom.” I sighed.

For the next month, I led two lives - heads up at volleyball and heads down at school.

On the court, every moment with my team made me feel more connected: peppering together during warmups, cheering from the bench, subbing into a game and setting up a teammate - especially Hannah - for a spike. 

Once home, I shoved my volleyball bag under my twin-sized bed and rushed to shower before Mom returned home. After a quick dinner, I withdrew to my room and caught up on homework. To avoid suspicion, I turned off my lights at bedtime and continued my homework under the bed covers. 

Sometimes, I wondered if I should tell Mom, but I didn’t want to jeopardize the “good life.” Despite my growing eye bags from fatigue, everything was going well. 

That is until my coach mentioned that a parental signature was required to participate in the upcoming weekend tournament. How would I even ask Mom?! 

After practice, I rushed to my savior and begged for help.

“Ugh, Chloe, just tell your mom. I can’t forge a signature! That’s going too far. Besides, I’m sure your mom will be proud of you,” my supposed-to-be-savior said. Will she, though? I was still avoiding a head-on collision with Mom.

The next evening, I spotted light peeking through our living room blinds while hustling through the dark sidewalks. Why is Mom home this early?

I opened the door and saw her standing before the dining table, hands on her hips. She thundered toward me,  eyes set ablaze, as wrathful as a bull charging through an arena. Her every step conveyed unyielding outrage. Sweat dripped from my eyebrows, and all senses went numb. 

“Chloe. What is this?” Mom pulled out a wrinkled piece of paper.

My heart stopped. Of course. The form. I debated signing it and left it in my sweater pocket.

“I was doing laundry on my day off when I found THIS. What is going on? I said NO SPORTS!” she exclaimed. 

“I’m sorry, I wanted to tell you earli—”

“You lied to me!?” Mom interrupted, unleashing her fury.

“I’m sorry, but I—”

“You betrayed me. What else is a lie? Studying with Hannah? Keeping your grades up?” 

“But I AM—”

“NO. Absolutely not. You’re done! No volleyball for you!” 

“Fine!” I ran to my room and slammed the door. Curling up in bed, tears flooded down my cheeks like a waterfall. 

“I’ve been working so hard, and this is how she repays me,” Mom mumbled from the living room. But you never let me finish… I cried in bed for the rest of the night, eventually falling asleep from self-pity.

The next day, in Algebra II, I stared out the window. Despite it being a warm day, the heater was on, blasting in my face. I let my mind wander, and suddenly, everything went black.

What is this bright light? I thought, sitting up, shielding my eyes with my left hand.

“Chloe, how do you feel?” whispered Hannah with concern as I turned right to find her face. “You fainted in class. We brought you to the nurse’s office, and your mom came as soon as possible…I’ll leave you two now. I’m so sorry, Chloe. I should have followed my gut and made you tell your mom from the beginning.” 

As she turned to leave, I saw small tears gather around the inner glands of her eyes.

“Ami-chan—,” Mom sputtered, holding my left hand.

“Mom, I’m so sorry you had to leave work early!” I interrupted her.

Looking at Mom under the sunlight, I saw her face differently for the first time. I noticed the deep valleys between her eyebrows, the bruise-like eyebags, and the rectangular indentation the hospital mask had left. 

“Oh, Ami-chan. I’m sorry,” Mom responded, tears rolling down her face. “Hannah told me everything: your love for volleyball and your team, your teammates’ love for you. How hard you’ve worked to maintain good grades, and how happy you have been. I’m so proud of you. Your dad would have been so proud of you, too. I …I just want you to be happy…”

Mom and I cried together, embracing each other and the silence. Then, we sat and talked. How much we missed Dad. How we struggled to work hard and be strong for each other. I shared how I found refuge in volleyball and how stressful but relieved I was for maintaining straight As. She shared that she was one class away from a nursing degree and planned to cut back on work to spend more time with me. She told me how bad she felt after our argument and, after talking to Hannah, realized I deserved more independence. All of our thoughts and emotions came gushing out. 

The next day, as I walked onto the volleyball court, I reflected on the past months and how far Mom and I had come. A weight had been lifted off my chest. I ran toward Hannah and snapped a selfie of us, texting it to my mom: “I’ll make congee for dinner tonight.”