“Bump! Set! Spike It! That’s the way we like it!” the cheerleaders chanted from across the floor.


The audience roared while Andover Central set up the play for a spike. Knees bent with my arms in front of me, I was ready for the spike. My stomach ached in anticipation. The game occurred while I was in the seventh grade, during the “B team” volleyball tournament.


This was the biggest game of the year for my team. Andover central was our main rival. In any sport or competition, they were always the largest threat to our school. As soon as both schools were built in the same district, the Andover Trojans and the Central Jaguars were instant competitors.


We were inside at the Andover Middle School gym. The stands were filled with ecstatic fans; including my entire family. With my eyes open wide, I surveyed the spike. I could hear the slap of the fierce hit against the girl’s hand. Remembering the score, I knew it was around 24 to 21. We were not winning, and everyone knew the game would be over soon. This could be the last play.


I quickly yelled, “Mine!”


Bending down even farther, I dove for the ball as soon as it came over. Dig! My team clapped and chanted from the sidelines. It was a perfect pass to the setter. Now it was our turn to arrange the play for a spike. Our setter gently passed the ball to our greatest hitter. Jump, and spike! As she swung her arms, I could tell the ball was going to land out of play.


“No!” my teammate cried. The ball had landed slightly over the line!


The referee blew his whistle to signal the teams to shake hands. As Andover Central cheered, we solemnly lined up to shake their hands.


“Good game, good game,” the girls snickered.


Later in our huddle, Mrs. Fetters, our coach, told us not to hang our heads. We had each played great, and to be proud of that. All of us did play amazing, but it was not enough this time. Maybe next time though, it would be.