Monday mornings during summer break felt slower than school mornings used to. Sunlight filled the kitchen early, warm and bright against the counters while Pasadena slowly woke up outside. Sprinklers clicked across front lawns somewhere down the street, and the smell of coffee drifted through the house while Dad got ready for work.
I sat at the kitchen island eating cereal while highlights from the Volleyball Nations League played quietly on the TV in the living room. Brazil had won the night before, but the United States men's team had lost again, and honestly the more I watched the replay, the more it bothered me.
"They missed like three serve receives in one rotation," I said while staring at the screen.
Dad looked up from tying his shoes near the front door. "Good morning to you too."
"I'm serious."
"You're right but they also are playing against realy good teams."
"That doesn't make the passing less bad."
Mom laughed softly into her coffee while leaning against the counter. The replay showed another rally ending after two American players hesitated on the same ball, and I immediately pointed at the TV.
"See? That one too."
Dad grabbed his work bag and walked closer to look at the screen. "So what happened there, Professor Volleyball?"
"The libero moved left but the outside hitter didn't release seam responsibility fast enough." I frowned slightly while the replay rolled again. "And then nobody called the ball early."
Dad stared at me for a second. "You talk like a tiny assistant coach."
"I'm correct though."
"That's not the point."
Mom smiled while packing away dishes from breakfast. "So your official analysis is…?"
I crossed my arms dramatically. "I hope my future teammates are better."
Dad laughed immediately, but then his expression softened a little while he crouched beside my chair before leaving.
"That's not really how teams work, buddy."
I looked back toward the TV. "What do you mean?"
"Everybody messes up sometimes. Even really good players." He pointed lightly toward the screen. "That libero probably saved twenty impossible balls before the match even got close. You only notice the mistakes because that's how sports work."
I stayed quiet for a second after that.
Dad smiled slightly. "A volleyball team loses together and wins together. Nobody carries everything alone."
That sentence stayed in my head even after he left for work.
The rest of the morning passed quietly with just Mom and me at home. Around lunchtime we ended up watching Jurassic World in the living room because it was too hot outside already, and within fifteen minutes I had accidentally started explaining dinosaurs almost nonstop.
"The velociraptor training makes no sense," I informed Mom seriously while holding a bowl of popcorn against my chest. "Predators don't follow commands consistently like that."
Mom looked over at me from the couch. "It's a movie."
"That doesn't mean the science shouldn't matter."
"There are giant genetically engineered dinosaurs."
"That's actually less unrealistic than the raptor management system."
Mom laughed so hard she nearly dropped her drink.
Unfortunately, once I started talking about dinosaurs, I couldn't really stop. By the end of the movie I had explained pack hierarchy behavior, why Jurassic Park security was historically terrible, and at least four reasons the Mosasaurus tank should never have passed inspection.
"You know," Mom said while pausing the credits, "most kids just watch movies."
"I was enhancing the experience."
Around three in the afternoon, Dad finally got home early enough to take me to Stormbreaker practice. The second I heard the garage door opening, my brain immediately switched back into volleyball mode. I grabbed my backpack so fast Mom actually laughed.
"He's been ready for twenty minutes already," she told Dad while I shoved my kneepads into the side pocket again even though they were already packed.
"That sounds accurate," Dad answered.
On the drive to practice, the conversation from breakfast came back into my head while we sat in Pasadena traffic with late afternoon sunlight glowing across the windshield.
"What if somebody keeps making mistakes?" I asked quietly.
Dad glanced sideways at me. "On your team?"
"Yeah."
"Then you help them."
"But what if it costs the game?"
Dad shrugged slightly. "Then next game you try again."
"That sounds frustrating."
"That's because team sports ARE frustrating sometimes." He smiled a little. "But that's also why they matter."
Outside the car window, palm trees passed slowly while the sky turned deeper gold over the city. Somewhere ahead, hidden behind gym walls and squeaking shoes and bouncing volleyballs, Stormbreaker practice was waiting.
And even after everything else that day, just thinking about stepping back onto the court again made my stomach tighten with excitement.
Stormbreaker practices started at four during summer because most kids still had camps, activities, or younger siblings with chaotic schedules during the mornings. Dad explained that youth clubs usually avoided super early practices in summer unless teams were older or traveling nationally already.
The second we pulled into the parking lot outside the gym, my chest tightened with excitement again.
I liked this place. Not just the volleyball. The feeling of it.
The sounds. The organization. The smell of the hardwood floor and athletic tape and rubber shoes. Even the nervous energy kids carried while walking into practice felt familiar now.
Inside, players were already scattered around the courts stretching, passing casually, or talking near the benches.
That was when I started really noticing everybody.Not just as random kids from tryouts. Teammates.
Ethan was impossible to miss because he was already tall for nine and moved naturally like his body understood volleyball before his brain even caught up. Coach Daniel clearly liked him as a future middle blocker because he was always getting corrected on approach timing and blocking footwork.
Then there was Caleb, another middle, who looked quieter but jumped ridiculously high for a ten-year-old. Noah and Julian were middles too, both loud in completely different ways. Noah talked nonstop while Julian barely spoke unless somebody mentioned Pokémon or serving velocity.
Mason was one of the opposites.
And honestly?
Mason hit volleyballs like they had personally insulted his family.
He was nine, taller than most kids there, and constantly trying to hit harder than necessary during warmups. Coach Mia yelled "CONTROL first, POWER second" at him at least four times every practice.
He still swung as hard as possible anyway.
The other opposite, Tyler, was smaller and calmer. More technical. Dad said he played basketball before volleyball because his footwork looked cleaner than most kids his age already.
The setters were easy to identify because setters always looked slightly stressed even at eight years old.
Ben talked to himself constantly while setting. Lucas corrected everybody's positioning even when he was wrong. Adrian was probably the best setter technically, but he got frustrated every time hitters mistimed approaches.
There were four outside hitters too.
Sean, Ryan, Alex, and Dylan.
Ryan never stopped moving even during water breaks. Alex somehow looked cool all the time without trying. Sean asked coaches a million questions every drill. Dylan was quieter and looked nervous almost constantly.
Then there was Owen.
The other libero.
Well — backup libero technically. Except Owen clearly hated being a libero.
"You know middles get to hit cool balls, right?" he complained while we stretched near the sideline.
"You know liberos control the entire defense, right?" I answered immediately.
"That's not as fun."
"That's objectively incorrect."
Owen looked at me for a second. "You REALLY like defense."
"Obviously."
He sighed dramatically. "I wanted to be an outside hitter."
"You're like four foot six."
"That was unnecessary."
Coach Daniel eventually blew the whistle loud enough for everybody to gather near center court.
"Alright, listen up," he called while kids slowly shuffled closer. "Now that placements are finalized, we're officially starting team development. Summer practices are going to focus heavily on fundamentals before tournaments start later in July."
That immediately got my attention.
Tournaments.
Real tournaments.
Not just camps anymore.
"We practice Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays," Coach Mia continued while holding a clipboard beside him. "Conditioning first. Ball control second. Team systems after that. At your age, fundamentals matter more than winning."
Mason raised his hand immediately.
"What if we wanna win too?"
Coach Daniel pointed directly at him. "Then learn fundamentals faster."
A bunch of kids laughed.
Then practice started.
And honestly?
The second volleyballs started flying across the court again, everything else in my brain went quiet automatically.