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Neil watches the ball hit the floor in front of him, knees failing to catch up with his brain.
27-25. They are going to tie-break against the Ravens.
His chest heaves with exhaustion, sweat sticking his shirt to his back. It was a long set, impossible to determine from the start, with both teams fighting tooth and nail for leverage. The Foxes’ offense has been run to the ground by the Ravens’ defensive system, which is flawless enough to be annoying. No ball hits the floor untouched, and they draw out rallies as much as they possibly can.
By his side, Kevin runs his taped fingers through dark strands of hair. Neil, having been stopped by the Ravens’ blockers at least five times himself, can only imagine how frustrating it must be to make up plays only to have his hitters stopped or the ball dug on the other side. In addition to their smart defense, the Ravens’ vicious serves break their passes and make Kevin move around the court more than usual to chase the second ball. It was through sheer skill that he managed to maintain his precision, but he is slowly burning himself out and Neil worries that another set will demand too much out of him. Out of all of them.
His teammates seem to be of the same mind as they file out of the court, heads down. Nicky and Allison welcome them to the bench with varying degrees of aprehension while Renee tries for a more hopeful look. Wymack, who's talking in hushed tones with their team nurse, Abby, waits for the Foxes to form a circle around him before narrowing his eyes at Neil.
“How’s your ankle? Don’t think I haven’t seen the way you landed after that last hit.”
Neil shakes his head. “It’s fine.”
Andrew, who’s hunched over bracing himself on his knees, scoffs. Streaks of sweat stain the back of his orange uniform, which contrasts with the white the rest of the Foxes wear. His expression doesn’t reflect his physical exhaustion, however, and is close to boredom. Neil frowns. There’s no way he’s this calm after running himself ragged and still failing to cover the back-court.
Wymack seems ready to make some sort of remark about Neil’s blatant idiocy, but is interrupted by Matt’s frustrated voice. “I can never tell where Reyes is going to set, he’s too fast. Whenever I think he’s gonna give it to Moreau, the ball’s already flying to Riko.”
“You have to look at his feet,” Kevin bristles. “There’s no way he can try a backwards set without at least bending–”
“No bickering,” Wymack holds a hand up. “Blockers, keep doing what you are doing. Try your best to read Reyes and for Christ’s sake watch for that setter dump. Neil, I don’t want Moreau alone on that net for a single second, okay? I don’t care how many inches he’s got on you, you have the best vertical in the league. Stop him.”
Neil nods.
“Andrew,” Wymack continues, not turning to look at their libero, “if we don’t give them the space to hit without at least two blockers stopping them, they’re gonna have to get creative. Be there when they do.”
Andrew looks miles away from the discussion, but Wymack goes on with the tactical strategies for the last set anyway, listing positions and naming plays for Kevin to run. They are betting more on Neil this time, since opposite hitters are harder to block and the Raven’s middle and outside are practically impossible to get through.
Kevin keeps sneaking glances at Neil to measure whether he is in good condition. Neil glares back every time, hoping he can communicate something like Set to me on every single point if you have to.
A sharp whistle signals the end of their break. On the opposite side of the court, the Raven subs are finishing warmups. The Foxes are going up against a mostly fresh lineup, while their own players have each gone on court at least one time since the beginning of the match. A tie-break in this scenario, against a team like the Ravens, is less than ideal. But they had started out the game losing 2-0, so that they managed to wrangle a fifth set is already an incredible feat. It's not enough, but it's so close Neil can almost taste it. They can't lose like this.
They get back into position after half-hearted whoops and hollers, mostly from the upperclassmen: Neil as the starting opposite, Matt as the middle blocker, Allison and Dan as outside hitters, Kevin as the setter, and Andrew as libero. Their rotation starts with Kevin on the serve, which is their strongest net and their highest chance to score. With the setter on the back of the court, there are more options available on the net and Kevin’s serve is reliable if not outright powerful.
Kevin seems to have regained a bit of color on his face over the break, and Neil watches as he spins the ball on his palm twice, getting ready to throw it upwards. A tense atmosphere has settled over the gymnasium, but Neil avoids looking at the audience, even though he can feel them brittle with anticipation just the same.
The ref whistles his permission, and Kevin serves.
The ball zooms past their side of the court – Neil swears he can feel wind on his back – just inches off the net, into the Raven’s side. It’s a fierce serve that would be hard enough to catch even with perfect positioning. Neil’s heart races in excitement as the ball angles perfectly towards the space between Jean Moreau and the Raven libero.
With one airy motion, Jean distances himself from it, and the libero moves swiftly under it for the receive. The force of it makes her roll backwards, but it’s a perfect pass, high and easy for her setter to get to. The impossibility of it has the whole gymnasium whooping, both in celebration or just outright shock.
Neil follows the setter’s motion, accompanying his moves with bent knees. From his posture, it doesn’t look like he’s going to send it to Neil’s side, but he readies himself for cover. As the ball careens towards the Raven’s second outside hitter, he hears Kevin shout, towards the other side of the court, “Reynolds!”. Allison does not need to be told twice, because she’s already halfway up to try and catch it. Reyes’s set is fast enough that Matt and Kevin can barely make it for the triple block.
The hitter spikes it a little too high, clearly aiming to avoid the block. They don’t manage to stop it; the ball touches Allison’s fingertips and twists outward. Dan scrambles for the cover, but she, like Neil, is too far away to get to it. There’s not much Neil can do from where he is except yell for Andrew.
But the orange blur of his uniform is already bumping the ball upwards in another impossible save.
The crowd roars.
Before Neil knows it, Kevin is under it and the ball is coming to his side of the court. He doesn’t even need to think, just jump.
In the split second Jean stalls on the block, Neil angles his palm just right so the spike hits Jean’s left hand. The ball’s trajectory changes and the Raven libero dives after it. Riko shouts something angry at her in japanese. She manages to get there fast enough but it’s useless; her legs nearly crash into the benches and she has to swerve before she can send it back over. She’s brilliant, but she’s not Andrew.
The rush of the point fills Neil at once. Wymack preens from the side of the court, shouting something Neil can’t hear over the noise of the crowd and Dan’s excited cheers. Matt’s arms around his head when he envelops Neil in a crushing hug muffle the sounds a little, though.
Kevin has a barely contained look of fierceness about him when they all come together to celebrate and his hand squeezes Neil’s shoulder as if to say This isn’t over. They haven’t won, and as Neil feels Riko’s smoldering glare on his back, he couldn’t agree more.