Move

I glanced around. Everyone’s faces looked hot with sweat and exhaustion. They looked as though they would explode with anger if Sarah didn’t make her serve. I knew better, though. I was sweating myself, actually. I could feel it. I slowly raised my hand up to touch my forehead. It was warm like a fire at Christmas time.1

I turned towards Coach Schmitz, in case she wanted to give us any pointers before Sarah served. She also looked tense and frustrated. I knew how she felt. It seemed like hours before the ref blew the whistle. Coach stared at the other team with almost a frown on her face. I slightly pivoted to see what she saw. It took me half a second to realize that a tall, large girl would step into the server’s corner if Sarah missed.2

We had never played against the large girl’s team before, but we had also never wondered how the Northwest Bullets got their name. Other schools we had played against talked about them. “They’re faster than lightning,” one girl had said. “There’s no way we’ll beat them in the tournament!”3

After I heard that, I had feared them. They were good; there was no doubt about it. The score was twenty-four to twenty-four. If Sarah failed to get the ball over the net, we’d be toast. “Ms. Tall-and-strong” over there would obviously crush us with the final serve.4

I turned back to look at Sarah. Oh, my gosh! I thought. The pressure is all on her! What do I do?5

Before I could think of my answer, the most horrid thing happened. It was a sound; a sound so heart wrenching, that I wanted to scream. It lasted about a second and then stopped. The sound that I and everyone else heard was the black whistle of the ref.6

Sarah did the steps slowly then quickly tossed the ball up into the air and slammed it down. Everyone in the audience stood up to see what had happened. They all seemed to have a look of intensity on their faces. I looked up as the ball flew over my head. It all seemed to go in slow motion, but I knew that in reality, it wasn’t possible.7

I stared at the ball, waiting for it to go over. For a second, I thought time had stopped. That is, until, I heard screaming and cheering. We had another chance! I started to jump up and down but I stopped because I saw Sarah’s face. She looked at me like I was nuts and I stared back, giving her the “why-aren’t-you-excited-we-won” kind of look. I was confused until I realized the screaming came from the other side of the court. I quickly pivoted around and tensed when I saw all the girls cheering on “Big Bertha”.8

I must’ve gone pale because Coach called a timeout to see if I was alright. I answered yes but she made me sit down for the remainder of the break. Coach asked us questions like “Are you all okay?” or “Do you think we can win this?” and “Did you play your hardest?”9

The last question struck me. Did I play my hardest? Did the game turn out like this because we did or did not? I started breaking down the question into smaller bits in my head while coach continued on the topic of strategies.10

Did, I thought. The past-tense verb of does meaning something that was preformed or done. I, a first person pronoun that means me. Play, a verb meaning to take part in. My, an adverb that means the possessive form of I. Hardest, an adjective meaning the most difficult.11

I thought on that and looked back on the game. I convinced myself that I had not played my hardest.12

I started to realize more of what I did wrong and then jumped up and off the bench just in time for coach to say, “Hands in the middle, girls.”13

We all did.14

Coach continued with her regularly eloquent voice. “What do we want to say before we go out there and do our best, growl, and fight?”15

We paused. I don’t think anyone knew what to say for our mini-cheer. ‘Fight’ was okay but that’s what the bullets said. ‘Momentum’ was, I guess, fine but not for that circumstance. That’s when it really struck me. We were not just going to fight or have momentum. We were going to move; that and trust God on High. We had to get to the ball by moving.16

I spoke. “Let’s say ‘move’.”17

Coach answered, “Move. I like that. Ready? One...two...three...”18

“MOVE!!!” we all shouted.19

We ran out onto the court and got into our positions. Bertha was getting ready to do a full powerhouse. If we stopped them here then we could take over and win. We stooped low to the ground and got in ready position. The girls from the Bullets gave us a cold look but I hinted a “we’re-going-to-win” smile in there somewhere. I gave them a smug look back to get them ready for an incredible comeback.20

Bertha served.21

The ball came down, straight down to English Elliott, my friend since forever. She looked frustrated at first but put opposition on the ball and popped it up to our main setter, Jessica Miller. She set it impressively to our best spiker, Lindsey Coppler, who slammed it down on the other side.22

They tried to dig it up but were too amazed at the fact that we were able to dig Bertha’s serves. One girl, skinny and short, sprawled but missed. She hit the ball at her knuckles and it went straight into the net. The setter on their side amazingly bumped it up to Bertha in the back row.23

We tensed. Bertha had a beautiful spike and only by God’s great mercy did we dig up her overhand serve. She stepped left...right...left, right, and...ran into the net! She missed the ball and slammed down to the cold, hard floor. We thanked God that we had yet another chance and then looked at Bertha. She was crying.24

Brionna ran to her and helped her up. Soon, Sarah and Lindsay went; then Jessica and English went to help her. I stood, not knowing what to do. She was on the other team. Some of her players were getting up to help but the coach sat them back down saying, “She’s okay. She’ll be fine, just let her cry and get it over with.”25

I stared gravely at that ignorant coach. Her face was all perked up but that didn’t hide her looks as the “ugliest model” alive. I looked back at Bertha. I finally realized why the "model" coach wasn't helping her. She was putting an imposition on Bertha because she was black.26

I snapped to my senses and ran over to her. We took off her kneepads and saw that they were stained with wet blood. We dampened her knees with cold water and tissues. Coach saw what we were doing and helped us. It felt good to help someone in need. We told coach that Bertha’s team wasn’t helping out. Coach went over to them and said, “Why aren’t you helping this poor girl? She’s bleeding!”27

“Well, she’s black,” answered the model coach.28

“That doesn’t matter! She probably comes from a very hard background. Blacks are no different than whites; only skin color. God wants us to love one another.”29

Coach Schmitz came back looking determined. The other coach never came but we all knew that that was her choice. We were comforting Bertha to keep her mind off the blood. The hospital was called and the ambulance was on its way. She asked why a couple of whites were helping a black like her. We told her that Jesus called us to love everyone. We told her that Jesus came for blacks and whites and that he died on the cross for her and so her sin would be taken away. She listened intently and finally exposed her interest. “I want to learn more about this Jesus.”30

“We’re very happy to hear that! What’s your name?” I asked.31

“Joanna Johnson.”32

Coach spoke. “You can call me Mrs. Schmitz. This is Lindsay, Kali, Jessica, English, Sarah, and Brionna.”33

“Alright, Mrs. Schmitz,” she answered.34

Just then, the ambulance came in. They looked at her cut, saw it wasn’t too deep but still needed a quick trip, and carried her away. We said goodbye and to meet at Culver’s on Friday at seven. She agreed and then left. It was time to play again. We ran out onto the court and got down low. It was game point for both the teams and it was our serve.35

We all looked and felt tense but we said a short prayer to God that maybe, just maybe we could...36

...win...37

I whispered the word to myself a thousand times before the ref blew the whistle. It was my turn to serve. I did my rhythm and put the ball up into the air. I could almost swear that I saw two angels dancing around the ball. They sang Proverbs 3:5: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding, in all your ways acknowledge him and he will direct our paths.” I looked towards coach, then to the audience, the ref, and finally, the ball.38

I took my approach. Step by step I did an over-hand serve. I tossed the ball into the air and hit it with all my might. Such force was placed upon it that I thought it had gone too far. I put my head down, not wanting to see the outcome; but something caught my eye. The ball suddenly slammed down and right in the middle of the court. It was so unexpected that the other team didn’t even realize it had hit the ground until two seconds later! It was incredible! We all ran towards the middle of the court and shouted together, “Thank you, Jesus, for this victory!”39