Look! We’re in the varsity gym. See there? That’s me sitting in the corner pumping up the flat balls. And those girls over there in the spandex and bright shirts, they don’t have volleyball on their mind. They have boys and homecoming rushing through their thoughts and taking up that space.

Listen to the sounds. The balls bouncing on the new gym floor. Hear their teenage talk and their swagger to match. Shh. The coach is yelling at them. The dug the ball all wrong. They always do.

See at the door, the curious cross country runners wondering what the world of sets and spikes was all about. They all wear shorts even though it must be fifty degree. If you also look around the gym, you see a lot of purple. Our school colors are purple and gold, just like the Vikings. The Packers don’t like the Vikings, and we all like the Packers.

The football players will finish practice soon too. If you look at them, most of them think that my job is weird. I’m weird. I’m not weird. I’m a writer. I’m a teenage girl. I’m a fusionist. I’m a snowboarder. I’m… the manager of a volleyball team.