“Hey.” I ducked down, looking my niece right in the eye, speaking a hundred miles an hour. We had sixty seconds to fix all her world’s problems. “What’s going on? You look like someone just peed in your cereal.”
She scrunched her adorable nose and let out a breathy laugh. “Ewww. Thank you for the visual.” But her eyes flitted for a split second, back to that group of guys. Her hands were trembling.
I grabbed her by the shoulders. “Are those boys making you nervous? Look, you can’t let a bunch of jerk guys get under your?—”
“They’re not j-jerks.” Her breath hitched and her cheeks heated.
“Ahhh. Gotcha.” I chuckled, causing her cheeks to gofrom light pink to tomato red. I squeezed her shoulders. “You can’t think about that right now.”
She put a hand over her eyes and turned slightly to shield her face. “It’s this one guy. Blue Bishop. The one in the gray shirt. He’s the JV quarterback. I watched a bunch of his highlight reels this weekend.” She looked dead ashamed to admit that. “He’s like—sheesh—so good. But he’s a real athlete. And I’m just…” Her eyes lifted, but they were full of doubt. “I’m just a wannabe.”
I shook her slightly. “Don’t ever call yourself a wannabe again. Your mom would be so upset if she heard you talk about yourself like that.”
Her eyes lifted and she stood a little taller. “You’re right.”
“This Blue kid is only good because somebody told him he was and he chose to believe it. If he thought he was crap, he’d be crap.” Had we not told her enough how amazing she was? It killed me to think that might be true. “You’re a freaking Goddess, Anna. Do you hear me? And that guy is looking at you right now like he’d step off a cliff if you asked him to.”
“Really?” She crinkled her nose but I could almost see the weight fall off her shoulders and crash like busted concrete onto the floor.
“Yes.” My eyes widened. “Really. And you better hope Silas doesn’t find out.”
She tipped her head back and laughed.
I looked up at the time clock. Fifteen seconds. “We can talk about this Blue kid more later.” And we would. “But right now you have five seconds to come up with a mantra you’re going to repeat every time you serve the ball. And five more to believe it.”
We stared at each other for three seconds and then it came to me. At the same time, we blurted, “All to pieces.” It was one of our Dupree family mottos. It meant to do it completely and without reservation. In volleyball speak it was the equivalentof leaving it all on the court. Her mom had said it to her, probably daily.
The buzzer sounded.
I raised my brows, locking eyes with Anna. “You say that in your head when you’re dribbling before your serve. You got me? And you don’t think about him again until you’re done serving.”
The ref blew a whistle, warning us.
Determination stole across her face. “Yes, sir.” She saluted with a laugh.
I pressed a kiss to the top of her head and left her on the court.
The ref blew the whistle again and Anna dribbled the ball three times. All. To. Pieces. One word for each dribble. She twirled the ball up, her left toe tapping against the court behind her. Then she tossed it up high. Christy’s hand shot out, squeezing my knee. Heat exploded up my thigh and I almost forgot what we were doing. My breaths became staggered and my adrenaline surged.
When the ball came back down, Anna reared back and smacked the living daylights out of it. A perfect serve if I’d ever seen one. The ball shot across the court, skimmed three inches above the net, and dropped just this side of the Eagle’s serving line. It was so powerful and fast that the libero dove but missed it by a foot. The ball smacked against the ground and flew up behind her, hitting the back wall of the gym.
I did come up out of my seat this time, screaming, “Woo-hoo!” So did Christy. The entire bench was up. They broke into a chant. “A-C-E, whaaat? A-C-E, whaaat?” As their arms danced in a large circle motion. Then normally expressionless Brooklyn whipped a hand towel over her head like a propeller and screamed, “That’s my bestie!”
But Anna wasn’t looking at any of us. No, her eyes were trained on this Blue kid who was offering doublehandedhigh fives to every teammate in his vicinity, grinning proudly like she was already his.
And she was luminous.
Not even a full week into her high school career and we were already in trouble. Because I knew the look Blue Bishop was wearing all too well. Euphoric, honed in, and half-drunk. This was no crush, passing fancy, or lustfest. It was the expression of someone who’d had an intense love-at-first-sight moment.
I would know. I’d worn the same look when I’d walked these halls.
I shook my head, feeling for the kid. Falling for a girl who was barely a freshman? You may as well throw your hands up recklessly daring Fate to bring it on. There were so many obstacles in the way.
Blue Bishop was magic for Anna. She served six times in a row after that, scoring two more aces. Until her seventh serve, which was so powerful it landed on the outside of the opposing team’s serve line. Magic indeed.
We won the second set 25-17. The Eagles were losing their confidence. We were going to win this. I was riding a high, feeling lucky for having been here when Christy needed help. And for Anna’s new killer serve. Everything was great. Fantastic.
Until the devil walked in.
