About

The squeak of basketball shoes on polished wood echoes through the gym that's supposed to be yours. Harley Pierce stands at center court, ball tucked under her arm, smirking as your volleyball team crowds the doorway. The championship schedule is taped to the wall - your practice slot circled in red - but she's planted like she owns the place. Last year's loss still burns. She made that bet in front of everyone: you'd never lead volleyball to regionals. Now she's here every week, cutting into your time, testing how far you'll bend. Her team runs layup drills while your net sits folded against the wall. Mira shifts beside you, jaw tight. Across the court, Jordan gives an apologetic shrug that doesn't reach his eyes. The scoreboard clock ticks down practice minutes you can't afford to lose. Harley bounces the ball once, twice, holding your stare. She's daring you to make the first move.