San Marino came out of the timeout way calmer than before. You could feel it immediately.
Their coach had clearly simplified things because suddenly they stopped trying difficult attacks and started playing safer volleyball instead. Higher passes. Controlled free balls. Fewer rushed swings. At eight years old, consistency alone already made teams dangerous.
Coach Daniel noticed too. "Good adjustment," he muttered from our sideline while folding his arms.
The next serve came floating deep toward Alex. He passed cleanly enough, but the ball drifted slightly off-target and forced Lucas to move backward before setting. That tiny delay messed up the timing of the whole play. Noah approached too early for the middle attack, had to stop his footwork halfway through, and Lucas changed directions at the last second to push the ball outside toward Dylan instead.
Dylan still swung. The San Marino outside blocker got hands on it. The deflection dropped short near the ten-foot line.
I lunged forward from middle-back and managed to pop the ball upward one-armed before my knees slid across the floor. Tyler chased the second touch near the sideline and sent a free ball over instead of forcing a bad attack.
That turned into another long rally almost immediately.
San Marino's setter pushed the next ball right-side. Their opposite hitter rolled a controlled shot toward deep corner instead of swinging hard, and Alex barely reached it in time with an awkward platform angle that sent the ball spinning too close to the net.
Lucas sprinted underneath it.
"HELP HELP!"
He jumped while drifting sideways and sent a high emergency set backward over his head toward Mason on the right side. Mason's approach was late again, but he still managed to get enough of the ball for it to clear the net.
Their libero dug it perfectly. The ball barely moved off his platform at all.
Their setter transitioned quickly underneath it and this time ran a middle attack before Noah could close the block fully. The hitter snapped the ball sharply cross-court between me and Dylan.
Point San Marino. 18–17.
The gym suddenly felt loud again.
I backed into serve receive while flexing my fingers once against my shorts. My breathing had sped up without me noticing.
Dr. Elizabeth would've noticed immediately.
The server bounced the ball.
Whistle.
Float serve toward middle.
I shuffled left early and passed cleanly again, but this time Lucas tried running a quicker offense afterward. He pushed a faster tempo ball toward Ethan in the middle. Too fast.
Ethan reached late and barely clipped it with his fingertips. The ball rolled sadly into the net.
18–18.
"MY BAD," Lucas called immediately.
Coach Mia pointed toward Ethan calmly. "Good approach timing though. Do it again."
Nobody looked upset yet. But everybody looked tighter.
The next rally became messy from the start. Tyler served short. San Marino overpassed slightly. Noah jumped for the block before their hitter even touched the ball and started falling too early. Their outside hitter saw it instantly and tipped softly behind him into open space.
Nobody got there.
18–19.
Now San Marino's bench exploded cheering.
Adrian was practically bouncing while high-fiving teammates near the back line, and for the first time all set, our side looked rattled. Tyler kept tugging at the bottom of his jersey. Mason was muttering to himself. Even Lucas looked nervous now while staring at the floor between points.
Dad leaned forward in the bleachers beside Ethan's parents. "Momentum changes so fast at this age."
Ethan's mom nodded immediately. "One mistake and they all start spiraling."
Mom hadn't taken her eyes off the court once. "Matteo's doing breathing exercises."
Henrique looked back toward me and noticed it too.
Slow inhale. Slow exhale. Again. Again.
The exact grounding exercises Dr. Elizabeth had drilled into me for years. Because my brain sometimes forgot how to be on the present.
On the court, San Marino's next serve came screaming toward Alex again. He passed too far inside this time and the ball drifted dangerously close to the net.
Lucas tried saving it with a jump set.
Their middle blocker stuffed the ball directly back onto our side before anybody could react.
20–18.
Coach Daniel called timeout immediately.
The whistle cut through the gym and everybody jogged toward the sideline looking exhausted now. Our jerseys were sticking to our backs. Kneepads squeaked against the hardwood while we collapsed into a rough semicircle around the coaches.
Nobody talked for a second. Then Mason pointed accusingly at Noah.
"You jumped into another dimension on that block."
"I THOUGHT HE WAS SWINGING."
"He literally tipped it." Coach Mia stepped in before the argument could grow.
"Enough. Eyes here." Everybody quieted immediately. Coach Daniel crouched slightly so we were all eye level again. Unlike earlier, he wasn't smiling now. Not angry either. Focused.
"You know what's happening right now?"
Nobody answered.
"You stopped trusting each other."
That made the entire group go silent.
Coach Mia pointed toward the court. "You're trying to fix every rally individually instead of playing together. One person shanks a pass, then the next person forces a set, then somebody swings too hard trying to make up for it."
"That's literally what happened," Tyler muttered.
"Yes," Coach Mia answered immediately. "Which means you already know the solution."
She pointed toward me first.
"Passers trust the setter."
Then toward Lucas.
"Setter trusts the hitters."
Then toward Noah and Ethan.
"Blockers trust the defense behind them."
Finally she looked around at everybody.
"And everybody trusts that one mistake doesn't end the match."
The gym noise kept roaring around us while I stared down at my kneepads, replaying the last few rallies automatically in my head. She was right. Every point after 18–16 had started feeling rushed.
Coach Daniel clapped once sharply.
"Listen carefully. They're eight-year-olds too. They're nervous too. Make them play one more ball every rally."
Then he smiled slightly.
"And somebody please tell Mason to stop trying to hit every ball through the floor."
"I can't promise that," Mason admitted. A couple kids laughed. That helped.
When the timeout ended, we jogged back onto the court again.
20–18 San Marino.
The next rally started with a deep serve toward Dylan. He passed higher this time instead of trying to force precision, and honestly that alone settled everything down. Lucas moved underneath it comfortably and pushed a clean outside set toward Alex.
Alex didn't swing hard. He rolled the ball softly cross-court instead. San Marino's back-row defender misread it completely.
The ball dropped untouched.
20–19.
"SMART," Coach Daniel yelled immediately.
Now it was our turn serving again. Lucas rotated back holding the volleyball against his hip while bouncing nervously on his toes. He glanced toward Coach Mia once before serving.
She pointed cross-court. Lucas nodded. Then he tried serving directly there.
The ball floated toward San Marino's outside hitter near left-back. The pass drifted too tight to the net, forcing their setter to chase. Noah recognized it immediately and closed hard toward the antenna with Ethan beside him.
Double block. The hitter swung anyway.
The ball slammed directly into both of their hands and ricocheted straight down onto San Marino's side.
20–20.
Now our bench exploded again.
Ethan grabbed Noah so hard after the block that both of them almost fell over.
"I TOLD YOU YOU'RE A WALL."
"You're also a wall!"
"That's how blocking works!"
The next few rallies traded quickly after that. One service error each. One free-ball miscommunication each.
21–21.
Then 22–22.
At this point everybody in the gym sounded louder because parents had started realizing the match actually mattered now. Even kids from other courts were watching between their own games.
The next rally became the biggest one yet.
San Marino served deep toward me. I passed cleanly to target again, and Lucas ran middle immediately with Ethan. Their blocker committed hard toward the quick attack, leaving Alex one-on-one outside.
Lucas changed direction midair and set outside instead.
Alex approached cleanly. Left-right-left. Jump. Swing.
The ball flew hard cross-court toward the deep corner.
Adrian dove fully horizontal trying to dig it and almost got there, but the ball clipped his wrist and bounced out toward the bleachers.
23–22 Stormbreaker. We were ahead again. And suddenly San Marino looked nervous instead of us.