A Crazy Thing Called Love (Harry Sytles Fanfic.)

10

"Quit staring at me."

Carmen

"Carmen, hold up!"

I turn around, the strap of my duffel bag falling from my shoulder as I do. My coach, Austin, jogs towards me, his own bag over his shoulder. Matching, of course, since they're the team's bags. I notice for the millionth time since practice started that the scruffy hair on this face looks really good, and I find myself hoping he doesn't shave.

"Hey," I greet. He's 6'4, so he doesn't tower over me but I have to look up to talk to him all the same.

"I wanted to talk to you about something. Are you walking somewhere?"

"To the bus stop," I tell him.

"Let me bring you home, we can talk in my car."

His warm smile is inviting and while he's obviously just trying to be nice for some reason my guard goes up and I want to say no. But this is just my coach, and I have no reason to be wary. He just wants to talk.

"Sure," I say.

He starts talking about his car then, apologizing that it's so old and gross but assuring me that he's going to replace it soon. The new car will have some sort of bigger engine with all kinds of cool features that I don't get or care about. When I climb in I realize, though, that his car is old and dirty and the seats are torn. Not that it really matters. He's got a car, doesn't he? I don't have a car.

"Sorry," he says again, turning the key in the ignition.

"It's fine, I really don't care."

"So, I wanted to talk to you," he says, pulling out onto the road. "Where's your house?"

"It's on Maple, number fifty-seven."

"Okay. So anyway, I wanted to ask about your serving." We practice serving every practice, but today we spent almost an hour on it because Austin refuses to lose points on something so basic. "I noticed you practicing your jump serve a few times. Did you jump serve last season?"

"No, I couldn't do it consistently last season. Our coach thought it was a little risky, so Kayla was really the only one that did it."

"Yours is impressive," he continues. "You'll be using it tomorrow, right?"

I shift uncomfortably. "I'm not sure."

"Carmen, it's the best jump on the team. You see the power you get behind the ball, right? It's impressive and I can't imagine anyone having an easy time passing that," he says, shaking his head a little. "Guys on the team when I played couldn't even serve like that."

Austin is a former USC player, graduated five years ago. He went on to win a bronze at a world championship, and he ended up at tryouts for the olympic team. Then he blew his knee and ended up back here, coaching the women's team. He's extremely handsome; scruffy beard, chocolate brown eyes, dark hair, tall, lined with a perfect amount of muscle. He's an athlete through and through.

"I don't know if I-"

"Carmen, I don't like to be the tyrant coach, but I want you to jump serve tomorrow. I know it's not your comfort zone, but it's a great weapon for us."

"Austin, I've never used it in a game. I'm not sure if the home opener is the best place to try." USC students get pretty intense about our volleyball games. I don't want to get mugged in the parking lot for missing my serves.

"Alright, then if you want you can do a regular one for your first rotation back there, but after that I want to see you jumping."

He pulls up to my house and puts the car in park. I'm mulling over all the possible ways for me to fail now. Hitting the net, hitting the ball into the stands, missing completely, tripping as I jump and face-planting on the court. Hideous possibilities.