“Whenever she touches you?” He slapped me on the back. “She’s probably your future wife then.”
Christy and I spent our evening driving to the city to buy new balls. One wasn’t enough. It made scrimmaging doable, but nothing else. Hard to practice setting or serving with one ball when there were twenty-six players.
The next day, we were back in business, with twenty new balls—thanks to the Holden Dupree Spare Volleyball Fund—and a plan. We didn’t leave balls at the school anymore. They went into a large netted bag and I took them home every night.
“Settle down,” I called to the girls at the back of the game bus who were screaming about some up-and-coming artist’s TikTok video.
“Seddledowne, downe, downe, downe.” The entire bus yelled, jumping to their feet as they sang the words and did The Twist all the way to the floor.
“You have to stop using those words.” Christy smirked. “I think they do crap just so you’ll say it.” Then she winked.
She was right, but it’s what my dad had said—still said—whenever he thought his kids were out of hand. It might take years to break the habit. Besides, it was fun seeing them so happy. Sometimes I looked for reasons to say it just so they’d do their funny dance. It added energy to the group and built up their team spirit.
I made sure the bus driver wasn’t watching before I lowered my eyes and gave Christy a hungry smile. She rolled her eyes and mouthed the word,stop. Did I want to sit on the opposite side of the aisle? No. Not at all. But it was necessaryif we wanted to make it through the season without the scrutiny of the girls.
“Uh, Miss Thornbury,” the bus driver, Mr. Tinston, said. “The bus was at a full tank when we left but the empty light just came on.”
Christy scowled but got up to check it out. She bent over to get a look, giving me a nice shot of her backside. I grinned wide, happy with my view.
“That’s so weird,” she said. “How close are we to a gas station?”
“’Bout twenty minutes. Hopefully we’ll make…” The words died in Mr. Tinston’s mouth as the bus lost power and began slowing down.
The girls started hollering from the back.
“What’s happening?”
“What’s going on?”
“Did we just run out of gas? That felt like we ran out of gas.”
“We’re going to miss our game!”
“Are you kidding me?” I scowled and leaned forward, looking for myself. Dead empty. And we were in the middle of nowhere.
Mr. Tinston pulled carefully over to the side of the road. As soon as the bus stopped, I shoved the silver handle to open the door and bounded down the steps. A peek under the engine told me everything I needed to know. The gas line was dripping fast. Either we had a leak or it had been cut. A sick pang took up residence in my gut. Had Amber done this? It was the first thought I had whenever anything went wrong, and it felt reminiscent of her past behavior. But then I thought,nah.Because what kind of horrible person cuts the gas line on a school bus with students onboard, one being her niece?I was catastrophizing. It had to be a leak.
When I got back on, I told Tinston. Christy was alreadyon the phone with Don Smith, the guy who ran the bus garage.
The girls were panicking, so I walked back to calm them. “You guys, it’s gonna be okay.”
“It’s a district match. We can’t miss it,” Alyssa said, her eyes bulging with worry. “This is a team we can destroy.”
I held up my hands. “If they won’t push the time back, I’m sure they’ll reschedule. It’ll be okay.”
Ming grunted. “I was ready to whip some Maplewood trash.” A couple of more girls agreed.
“You’ll get your chance. I promise.”
“Oh look,” Alyssa pointed out of the back window, maniacally waving at someone who’d pulled up behind us. “It’s my Aunt Amber. And she’s in her SUV. Maybe she can take JV to the game and we’ll get another bus in time for Varsity.”
My stomach rolled, and a quick thought burst through my mind.Did Amber do this? And why? To roll up, looking like the hero?I eyed Alyssa, trying to decipher if she’d been in on it. But no amount of acting could conjure up her present excitement.
I didn’t want to be a buzz kill, but, “Every single player would need a signed permission slip to ride with her. Not happening.”
As Amber made her way out of her car, I hurried back to the front of the bus. I did not want Christy anywhere near her without me there.
When Amber got to the top of the steps, she flung her dark hair over her shoulder and smiled. “Looks like you’re having some technical difficulties. Anything I can help with?” She roved me up and down and I could see that look in her eye. It was the same one from a decade ago that yelled, Challenge Accepted.
