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Sophie crossed from the tiled pathway that lead to the front of her house onto the polished wooden floors, closing the heavy wooden door behind her with a thump. She somehow managed to get her shoes off without using her hands, then placed both of them on the shelf next to the door, that her mother had specifically designated to be the shoe shelf. She noticed that there were two pairs of shoes resting on there, instead of only hers.
“You’re home early, huh?” she shouted into thin air, figuring that her mother would likely hear her unless she was sleeping.
“So are you,” a reply came from the kitchen. “I thought you had a practice match today.”
“Did I forget to tell you?” Sophie took her school bag off, and could feel her shoulders slowly relaxing. She went towards the living room, seemingly forgetting to finish her sentence, prompting a question from her mother.
“Tell me what?”
“We had a few new people join the club,” Sophie said, throwing herself at the couch in the living room, which looked more comfortable than usual through her tired eyes. It didn’t take long for her thoughts to drift off. “Say, what’s for lunch?”
“I’m currently making mushroom soup,” her mother replied. Sophie was glad that the two of them were in separate rooms, because the facial expression she made when she heard the words ‘mushroom soup’ was that of despair. “I’ve got nothing planned for the main dish, though. You got any ideas?”
Something without mushrooms in it, preferably, Sophie thought, but trailed off again before she could speak her mind.
Seeing as she got no reply to her latest question, her mother decided to go back to the original topic.
“You still haven’t told me why you’re home early, though.”
“Oh, right,” Sophie jerked her head slightly, as if she suddenly woke up from a dream, even though her eyes were wide open. “As I said, we got some new members, and one of them is a libero.”
“That’s the position you play in, right?”
The two of them were finally face to face, as her mother walked into the living room, wiping her hands with a kitchen towel. Sophie nodded instead of saying anything. She found it strange that her mother still couldn’t remember what position she played in after almost two years, but maybe that shouldn’t have come as a surprise, given how she barely even knew what a libero is or does.
“But anyways, the coaches decided that the practice match would be a good opportunity to see what the new players can do,” Sophie continued, “which is why I’m sitting it out today.”
The smell of mushrooms started escaping the kitchen, and slowly crept towards Sophie.
“Maybe you should turn on the extractor fan. I don’t think you want the entire house to smell of mushrooms,” she said, contemplating whether or not she should get up to escape the odors. I certainly don’t.
“Right, sorry,” her mother disappeared back into the kitchen again, darting towards the stove.
“Besides, I’m stupid tired today, so it’s probably best if I didn’t play today,” Sophie awkwardly switched from talking about unpleasant smells back to volleyball. “We have another practice match in a week’s time anyway, so I’m not even losing out on much. Though I would’ve liked to see the newcomers play, at least.”
Clara clicked her tongue as she watched the ball float over the net and towards their opponents.
I must’ve misjudged how fast that spike was going to be, she thought, watching as the ball fell into the arms of a tall, black-haired girl on the other side. Fortunately, their receive seems to be a bit off.
After a moment’s hesitation from the other side, the ball is back up in the air. A clumsy receive, sure, but it fulfilled its purpose. It’s going straight into the hands of the player closest to the net. Her eyes darted around as she scanned the court.
Only two of them are taking a run-up, but they’re on opposite sides, she thought, and her eyes then went to the setter. I can’t tell anything from her stance, but…
Her suspicions were reaffirmed when she saw two of her team’s blockers begin making their way towards the left side of the court, with only one person covering the right.
We’re at match point, and they’re three points behind, she took a slight step to the left. They’re very likely to give the ball to their most experienced spiker.
At this point, their setter already realized that the opposing team knew where she was going to send the ball, but at this point, a change of direction was impossible. Her hands were already up in the air, preparing to send the ball behind her.
They’re so predictable.
Clara followed the ball carefully, but its trajectory seemed slightly off. Despite this, the two blockers marking the left side jumped up. Just as their feet left the ground, past three different players obscuring her view, she noticed a third person, one coming from the back row, running towards the net.
They used their main spiker as a decoy?!
This soon became evident to the now helpless blockers, as they watched the person they were defending against swing her arm, only for it to hit nothing. Everyone who had jumped was now on their way down, but the ball was still on the other side of the court.
Coming into view from the back line was a much shorter girl with her right hand in the air, ready to hit the ball. With the block disappearing by the second, Clara was the only one who could stop this point from going through right now.
With her body already in motion, she kept her eyes on the ball, and not a second after, it was sent flying through the air. The sound of the weighty hit resonating through the gymnasium, then everything went silent.
Then, before she even realized why, she stopped moving. She raised her hands first, but her legs took a bit longer to catch up. When all was said and done, she’d avoided touching the ball, but barely. For a moment or two, she doubted her decision, but there was no changing her mind now.
It’s going out, she watched as it travelled past her. It felt like everything was slowed down. It has to be.
The ball hit the floor with another dull, resounding noise, but there was no cause for celebration just yet.
It’s way too close to the line.
All she could do now is wait for the line judge’s call, although they also seemed to be taking a while. After an excruciating few seconds, a whistle sounded, and the flag pointed to the outside of the court. Clara sighed, and her shoulders relaxed. The rest of her team began celebrating before the head referee could declare them the victors, but it was more than evident now.
As their cheers filled the court, the team’s captain approached Clara with a wide grin plastered across her face. She wore a blue and yellow jersey, with a black number one adorning the front of it that befit her as the team’s leader.
“Great call there!” she said, and gave Clara a particularly enthusiastic pat on the back. “I totally thought that was going in.”
“Thanks!” Clara replied, willing to take the credit for the game-winning point, while at the same time trying to suppress the knowledge that she made a very marginal call. She still wasn’t quite sure how she even knew it was going to go out, but some subconscious part of her brain realized it before the conscious part did.
After they exchanged handshakes with their opponents, and went through all of the usual post-match procedures, both teams retreated to their respective changing rooms. It was only then that Clara finally realized what she’d done. She couldn’t help but smile, as teammate after teammate complimented her, not just on the call that scored them the final point, but how she played throughout.
The changing room was filled with idle chatter, some of which was directed at her, but all of which went over her head. It took her a few minutes for her to come off the high, at which point the room was mostly empty. A sudden voice brought her back to reality.
“Holt!”
She twitched slightly as her last name echoed through the changing room, dropping the jersey in her hands onto the floor. She went to pick it up, and looked towards the door to see who spoke up.
“There’s someone who needs to talk to you,” even though her vision was obscured somewhat by the jacket hanging in front of her, and she couldn’t see who was talking to her, Clara recognized the voice of their head coach, who left without explaining anything.
What was that all about? she thought, stuffing her jersey into a backpack before zipping it up. And who would need to talk to me anyway?
She grabbed her jacket and threw it over her shoulder, then slowly walked out of the changing room. She noticed a pair of girls waving at her from the building’s exit, including the captain, so she half-heartedly waved back before the movement of her arms turned into a stretch.
She heard her last name again, and turned toward the source of the sound to see the same coach that was in the changing room moments ago, standing next to a man she didn’t recognize. He was tan, tall and well built, and had it not been for a few stray grey hairs, there would be nothing that betrayed his age. It quickly became evident that he was the person who needed to talk to her, even offering Clara a handshake which left her momentarily befuddled. Once she accepted his handshake, she noticed how rough his skin was, and his hand was a fair bit larger than hers.
“Good evening,” he said. Clara was once again caught off guard, this time by his accent, although she couldn’t place it from just those two words.
“Evening,” Clara returned the greeting, but the head coach interjected before the conversation could continue.
“This is Giovanni Mazzone,” she said.
After that, Clara was no longer in the dark about which country his accent was from.
That last name sounds familiar, she thought, but had no time to ponder where she’d heard it before, as the head coach continued talking.
“He used to play for Italy’s national team,” she explained, “then he moved here after retiring and started this club.”
Ah, so he’s the owner then, Clara didn’t seem all too surprised, nor did she have anything to say, so Giovanni got to the reason why he needed to talk to her in the first place.
“You probably know that we had a few new players participate in today’s practice match to see what you guys can do, but we also had a look at where everyone came from,” he explained. “I know that you played at nationals a few years ago, and I watched you play today as well.”
Did you? Clara tried to remember if he was anywhere in the gymnasium during the match, but realized that she likely wouldn’t have noticed him in the midst of everything that was happening.
“Long story short, I’d like to make you part of the main team,” he finished.
Clara found herself slightly amused by his pronunciation of the word ‘team’ before realizing what he actually said.
“Wh… What?”
He didn’t want to repeat himself, and instead allowed Clara to process the question in silence.
“Are you sure?”
This question was meant more for Clara herself than the person who asked her. The answer should’ve been obvious at first, but she began questioning whether or not she should accept the offer. She didn’t quite feel like she belonged in the team just yet, but that was something that would go away with time. More than that, she felt that if she agreed to this, she’d be taking the place of someone who was part of the club for far longer than the few weeks she was.
“It’s your decision, in the end,” the head coach said, although the team’s owner seemed to echo the sentiment. “We just need your reply by the end of the we–”
Her words faded into the background, and much to the surprise of everyone around, Clara interrupted her.
“I’ll do it!” she blurted out, then put her hands over her mouth, realizing she may have come off as rude. Nobody seemed to mind, though, and the owner even gave her an affirmative nod.
“I’m in a bit of a rush, so I’ll excuse myself now,” he said, then began retreating into one of the hallways to the side. “I’m glad you accepted, though.”
Clara exchanged a few words with the head coach, then got going herself. On her way out, she heard the head coach and one of her assistants question the owner’s decision, probably because they thought Clara wasn’t within earshot anymore. Even though she looked so eager to accept earlier, the more she thought about it, the more she found herself agreeing with their words. She wasn’t sure if she was right in accepting that.
Their talk of chemistry was long over, and both of them forgot that was the reason they met in the first place. They were now sitting in a coffee shop, although only Clara had ordered something. Their focus had now shifted to what happened a year ago.
“Why did you apologize back then?” Sophie asked. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“I don’t actually know,” Clara replied. “I think I just felt the need to say sorry.”
“Wait, did you know what was happening?”
Clara shook her head.
“And you still apologized?”
“Yeah,” Clara nodded, then took a sip of her coffee.
Why? Sophie used that pause as an opportunity to ponder. Who feels sorry for nothing?
“I mean, I knew something was going on, I just had no idea what,” she continued. “Something about me being chosen that soon after joining just felt off.”
“Did you ever find out what happened?”
Clara shook her head again, provoking a surprised reaction from Sophie.
“Why’d you quit, then?”
“Oh, that had nothing to do with this whole situation,” Clara said. “I just got accepted to a club that’s closer to me, so I left at the end of the year.”
Oh right, the club we went to is probably an hour or so away from here, Sophie thought. Could she really not find anything that was closer? Well, I guess she did, eventually.
“So, do you know what actually happened?”
“Yeah,” Sophie nodded. “One of the assistant coaches who quit at more or less the same time told me what was going on.”
“And?”
“It turns out that the coaches wanted me to play, but the club’s owner decided to overturn their decision after he saw you play,” Sophie said. “He’s allowed to do that, as far as I know, but he never did it before he saw you play. He obviously saw something in you.”
“And then I left,” Clara mumbled, her expression somewhere between amused and bemused. “So how did things turn out for them?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, they had two liberos leave on short notice. I assume they found someone to fill in for us,” she explained. “I don’t actually know why I asked you, though. You probably don’t–”
“As luck would have it, I actually do know,” Sophie interjected, “although I’d hesitate to call it luck, thinking about it.”
“Oh?” Clara raised her eyebrows.
“Lisa contacted me a week or so ago, trying to get me to come back, so they’re obviously having trouble with finding liberos.”
“Wait, who’s Lisa?”
“The captain,” Sophie answered. “Do you really not remember her?”
“No, I remember her,” Clara said, trying to balance a small spoon on the brim of her now empty cup, “I just forgot her name.”
Sophie trailed off briefly, watching the plastic utensil fall down to the saucer below it. “Where was I again?”
“The captain contacted you.”
“Right,” Sophie nodded. “She all but grovelled at my feet, begging me to come back.”
“And, did you?”
Sophie’s derisive chuckle was all the answer Clara needed.
“I have no reason to go back there,” she said. “No amount of pleading will change my mind.”
Her words were bitter, unintentionally so, and Clara couldn’t help but notice. In an attempt to hide the vitriol she didn’t know was still lurking within her, Sophie hastily changed the topic.
“So, how did your exams go?”
Clara sighed, perhaps a bit too loudly.
Alright, I got the message, Sophie thought, though much to her surprise, her question did actually get answered.
“I didn’t get into my first choice of course,” Clara said, “so I guess I’ll be seeing more of you next year.”
Why do you sound kind of disappointed by both those things, Sophie thought. “Well, maybe it’s for the best.”
“Really?”
“You were planning on studying molecular biology if I remember correctly.”
Clara nodded.
“I saw some of them over the last year or so, since they have a couple classes in the same building we do,” Sophie said, “and from what I’ve seen, none of them looked too happy with life. It’s probably one of the most difficult science courses you could take. According to rumours, at least.”
Clara had nothing to respond with, so she just shrugged. Sophie felt like she had something else to ask her, but it was apparently so unimportant that she forgot about it before she got the chance.
“Did Aaron really not mention anything about me?” Clara asked, saving Sophie from the burden of having to come up with something to talk about.
Sophie shook her head, “I wouldn’t have been so surprised to see you if he had.”
“Did you really remember my name?”
“I’m good with names,” Sophie shrugged. “I might not have been a hundred percent sure who you were, but ‘Clara Holt’ would’ve rang a bell, at least.”
“I’m not that surprised that he forgot about it, though.”
Why? Because he’s a moron? Sophie thought, remembering the phone call from this morning, as she was now face to face with the one who hurled that insult at Aaron, though without knowing that Sophie happened to be listening to their conversation.
“I mean, I don’t think he ever told me your name either,” Clara said. “Admittedly, I am terrible at remembering names, so if he said anything, I would’ve forgotten.”
I’d still hazard a guess that he never told you, though.
Clara finally stopped fiddling with the plastic spoon in front of her, and took out her phone. She fiddled around with it for a few moments.
“Oh, crap!” she exclaimed after her eyes drifted towards the time. “I forgot!”
“Forgot what?” Sophie tilted her head. She also checked her phone, almost instinctively after Clara did so, and realized they’d actually been talking for quite a while.
“I wanted to get my enrolment done today,” Clara scrambled through her wallet, hastily taking out one coffee’s worth of money, “since we’ll probably be leaving town tomorrow.”
“If I remember correctly from back when I was enrolling, that should be going on for two more hours, though,” Sophie said, “so you still have plenty of time.”
“It takes me forty or so minutes to get there, though,” Clara said, pushing her chair away and slowly getting up. “How long did it take you to deal with all the paperwork?”
“A bit more than an hour,” Sophie replied. Right, I get why you’re in such a rush now.
“Thanks for this,” Clara started leaving, but turned around so she could face Sophie one last time before taking off, “and see you later, I guess.”
“See you!” Sophie waved at her. In three months, give or take.
She watched Clara walk towards the exit of the café, her hair swaying with every step, then she turned a corner and disappeared from view. With nothing else to do, Sophie also started getting ready to leave, although she was slightly more relaxed about the whole ordeal.
A woman sat in a candlelit room, leaning against the table. She had the index finger of her right hand pressed against the handle of a small knife, fixing it in place, while she spun it around its axis using her thumb. She watched it spin, and the warm orange light of the candle bounced off the blade as it went around.
She gripped the handle, and ran the knife through the flickering flame, causing it to dance back and forth. She then brought it closer to her eyes, and began inspecting the thin blade for any rust, or slight imperfections. For a moment, she stared at her pitch-black iris, looking back at her from the flawless metal. She leaned back in her wooden chair, and deftly spun the knife around so it was now facing the floor. Just as she was getting ready to put it away, someone entered the room.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” said a voice so quiet as to be almost inaudible.
A short girl was waiting for a response under the doorframe. Her large, chestnut-coloured eyes, pale complexion, and thin, almost fragile-looking limbs, all matched the timid, gentle, and almost cutesy tone in which she spoke. In contrast, the voice that spoke up next, that of the only other person in the room, was deeper and somewhat rougher.
“What is it?”
“The Ice Sword has been located,” the girl answered. Upon hearing that, the woman at the table grinned, then nodded in approval.
“Stay perfectly still,” she said after acknowledging what she’d just been said. She brought the knife back up to eye level, and moved it left and right, as if she was trying to align it with something.
In a flash, she flung the blade towards the door, causing the frail girl standing there to flinch and close her eyes. After a few short moments, once she realized she was unharmed, she opened them again, and looked at the woman across her.
“Why did you do that?” she asked. Her expression was annoyed, almost angry, but her voice was anything but. Knowing she wouldn’t get an answer, she looked around the room, noticing the small blade jammed in the edge of the door, the part of it that was level with her head.
“We’re leaving in the morning,” the woman at the table said.
“I’ll inform everyone,” the girl replied, still obviously shaken by what happened. She slammed the door shut. When she did, the knife that was wedged in it wobbled for a couple of seconds, before falling to the floor with a dull thump.
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