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“Yeah, actually. In the mornings, too, so I have to be extra early. About that,” Sam looked at him. “I wouldn't be able to go to school with you and might not be able to go home with you too.”
Maddison pouted, “I can always spend extra time in the club room. Plus I can use the senior class’ spot near the window. Six am?”
“Six am,” Sam nodded. “That's too early for you though. Classes won't start until eight.”
“That's okay. I always love the ambience in the morning. It's peaceful.”
“If you say so. But I won't wait for you if you're late.”
A scoff. “I'm an early riser.”
“Early riser, my ass. Whatever, get me that hot dog.”
“So bossy, Sammy.”
The closer the date of preliminaries approached, the lesser time Sam spent with Maddison. Their practices extended to eight in the evening and Sam forced him to go home without him. Even on weekends, the team had to be in the gym for the whole day. They even had training camps, going to different schools overnight to train with other teams. It was awful. Maddison missed his Sammy, but as petulant as he was, he couldn't complain. It was volleyball, after all. And as Sam's best friend, he must support him.
Even though they were just freshmen, Sam was already part of the starting line-up. He was a dependable wing spiker so Maddison was not even surprised when Sam told him. The coach knew Sam's potential, and he was popular back in middle school too, making a name for himself through his skills. Nothing less from Samuel Bailey.
“You'll come, right?” Sam asked him one time, when practice was cut short because the facilities needed to clean the gyms. He and Maddison were walking home, popsicles in hand.
“Of course! When did I ever miss your games?” Maddison said.
“Yeah, well. That was before. What if you're extra busy now? Exams are coming up...”
Maddison laughed. “Are you worried your lucky charm won't be there, Sammy? Don't worry, I will come! I will even make you a new banner.” With a wink and a grin, Maddison ruffled Sam's hair, making the latter scowl deeply.
“You're not my lucky charm.”
“It's okay, Sammy. No need to be shy — ow! Ow!” Maddison covered his head to avoid getting smacked by his best friend. “Geez, Sammy. Such a brute.”
“Just make sure to show your sorry excuse of a face at the game, got it?”
“Yeah, yeah. I'll be there with the prettiest banner.”
Suckling on his strawberry-flavored popsicle, Maddison did his best to hide his smile. It thrilled him that Sam wanted him to be there, and even though he was kinda brutal most of the time, he perfectly knew that was just how Sam showed his affection. His best friend was not the best when it came to showing his true feelings and emotions anyway so Maddison understood.
When the day of the games came, Maddison sat in the bleachers along with his schoolmates. He could see Sam from his seat on the second floor, stretching and warming up with his teammates. It was the first official game of the year, and he wondered if Sam was nervous. He had yet to see Maddison in the crowd, but that was okay. Maddison knew he had no choice but see him. He prepared the largest banner he could make so Sam would see him immediately.
It was unfair, he thought, how Sam looked so good in the teal and white volleyball jersey of their school. But Sam always looked good in whatever he wore, in Maddison's very biased opinion. He was wearing number 10. It was only a matter of time before he got the number 4, the number of the ace, Maddison was sure. Or at least that was how it was in that one show they loved watching together.
There was the sound of a whistle, and the starting players gathered on each end of the court and bowed before they went to their positions in the middle of the court. Sam was looking at the bleachers, eyes scanning the crowd. Maddison's heart jumped in his chest and he gave his brightest smile when the player spotted him. Sam gave him a thumbs up, which he returned, shouting 'good luck, Sammy!' right after, making his best friend look away, hand on his nape. With another whistle, the game began. Maddison was focused as if he was also playing, shouting several‘nice receives’and‘nice kills’, every time Sam touched the ball. He knew how the game worked by heart, what with Sam insisting on teaching him when they were little. Maddison knew how to play but not very well, just enough to pass gym class, but he knew the rules, the signals, and the violations from watching all of Sam's games and the matches on TV with Sam all the time.
The game went on, with both teams earning a set each. Everyone was on edge, and the cheers on their side of the gym were getting louder and louder. The score was 27–28 in favor of Hillwood and it was the last set. They needed to win to qualify for the next round so this game was important, everyone knew that. The pressure was on, and the players more than anyone were feeling that.
It was the opponent's serve and their team was able to receive it cleanly, the setter tossing to the left where the captain, another wing spiker, hit the ball. Maddison watched as the ball was blocked by two blockers, but their libero was able to save it and get it back for their setter. Maddison's heart was pounding when the setter tossed to Sam. There were three blockers waiting on the other side of the net, but Sam jumped without hesitation and spiked, the sound of his palm hitting the ball resonating across the gym, and getting the ball past the blockers. The other team's libero tried to save the ball with a flying receive but failed. There was a short whistle, and then a longer one. The crowd cheered. Maddison stood and cheered, shouting Sam's name over and over again.
They won.
In the middle of the court, surrounded by his teammates, patting his back and ruffling his hair, Sam looked up to where Maddison was and waved at him, smiling the brightest, his eyes crinkling from excitement and happiness. Maddison waved back, and he was so proud of his best friend his chest was about to burst. On the floor, his banner was lying trampled and forgotten.
Maddison was packing up his things, ready to wait for Sam in front of the school and go home. After the preliminary games, the volleyball team's practice sessions were back to normal club schedules so Maddison and Sam were back to their routine too. Zipping up his backpack and standing up, he almost bumped into his club advisor.
“Flynn,” Mr. Reyes said, a gentle smile on his face. “About to go home?”
“Ah yes,” Maddison smiled back. “Do you need anything, sir?”
“No, no. I am glad I got to talk to you before you go though. About the competition next month, are you interested in joining?”
