Olivia Medenwalt was the darling of the city of Ingram, the star of the high school volleyball team and the top volleyball prospect in the country. As an eighth grader, Olivia had led the state attackers in kills. Now, a freshman with a scholarship to her dream college, she stood poised to bring the Ingram High Tigers to another invitational trophy before leading them through the sectional playoffs and into the state tournament. Beyond that: fourteen weeks until tryouts for USA Volleyball's High Performance training program, plus the elite-level camps, the private club season and all of the special one-one-one coaching sessions that her mother would book her into. Volleyball was her life, and she truly did love the game.

"Go, Olivia!"

"Olives!"

"Let's go, girls!"

The 6' 3 aegean doubled over, dribbling the white-and-blue-paneled leather sphere rapidly against the court floor. She rose to her formidable height and started forward on a careful stride. Her eyes focused tightly before she lobbed the ball into the air. Her stride quickened as she tracked her serving toss against the rafters and bright lights. She left the floor a step from the service line.

There was no better place. No better feeling. The pure, fundamental pleasure of feeling muscles tighten and release, of soaring in the air and unleashing every bit of strength built with years and years and years of hard work.

The serve floated over the net in a lazy, steady arc. Then, as if on a cord given a rough jerk, all momentum died. Two girls in red and black scrambled from the back of the court as their white-clad libero started a desperate dive. Too late--the ball falling to the court before connecting with the libero's outstretched paws.

The final whistle. Screams. The upperclassmen swarmed Olivia while the opposing libero picked herself off of the floor. Another stellar performance for Olivia. Another decisive showing for Ingram High.

BOX SCORE

Set 1 2 3

Ingram 25 25 -

Bayers County 16 12 -

"Ah, finally, my love!" Olivia cried in her deep, sinewy purr, and she toppled against the vole before her--together landing on one bed a mass of fur, polyester, girlish laughter. Another girl, hare, laughed, unslung a backpack from one shoulder, drew her phone to document the buffoonery. A fourth girl, doberman, entered the dim room with a sleepy face and gently pushed the door shut behind herself.

Each girl wore identical attire--baggy blue trousers and sporty warmup jackets, INGRAM printed on the backs and circular white patches with roaring blue tigers embroidered upon the left breasts. The royal-blue polyester rustled as Olivia bounced from the vole, sprung to her feet and began to wrestle snorting hysterics out of the hare as well.

"No!" cried the hare, writhing against her captor. "No, stop!"

"Can't get away!" Olivia declared, rustling the upperclassman's jacket with sadistic vigor.

It was an unexceptional hotel room adorned in the wonderful colors of fall season. A nightstand was squeezed between two mattresses. Over the headboard of either bed, framed in gold: watercolored streams ran through autumn forests. In a far corner of the room, a small table and squat upholstered chair sat between the air conditioner and the room's television stand.

"How do you always have so much energy?" gasped the vole, seating herself at the foot of the first bed.

Olivia, suspending her torturous entrapment of the hare, ripped her own jacket over her head and reappeared with a sprightly grin. "What?" she asked, incredulous, "I'm wide awake!"

Aside the hijinks, the rowdy laughter--the doberman sat a duffel at the foot of the second bed.

Eventually, Olivia left the hare to her giggles and hard breaths, pivoted 'round to look at the doberman who was quietly sifting through her duffel--but Olivia didn't pounce upon her.

A year prior, Olivia had taken note of the doberman at her first varsity practice even before learning that the doberman was in the market for the same opposite hitter's position. She had quickly found the doberman underwhelming on the court--graceless and unrefined, no competition for the starting six, seemingly uninterested in even attendance, quietly going through motions and boredly watching matches from the bench.

Moreover, Olivia found the doberman exceptionally pretty--picturesque in a melancholic sense. Long, wild coils of orange hair spilt about sharp-cropped ears, down the back and shoulders of her jacket. Her muzzle: long and boxy with a round chocolate nose and short gingerbread fur. Her eyes--hung with a perpetual gloom--were the color of caramel. She was tall, but her slouch rarely revealed her 6' height.

Then, after one practice of her eighth-grade year, Olivia had overheard the whispers of the upperclassmen in the locker room.

"You ever wonder about Dana?"

"How so?"

"Like how awkward she is."

"Oh, yeah. She is."

"Aw, come on. She's a sweetie!"

"It's like she's trying not to look at us."

"Oh, yeah! She was like that in gym, too. She's just shy."

"Yeah."

"Know what I think it is? She's gay."

Exponentially, her intrigue had grown--hope along with it. She hadn't known of any gay girls at her own school.

From that point forwards, Olivia had made an effort to try speaking with Dana every day before and after practice--no easy task. The doberman _was_shy--painfully so--and averse to eyes. Their typical exchange saw Olivia bounding over with a pleasant smile and the doberman studying the floor. But now, on this very evening, they would be sharing a bed.

How could Olivia not have energy? Fate was smiling down upon her.

* * *

The water gushed through Dana's short fur like it was desperate to escape. The beads jumped from clawed fingers and thick hair, splattered and raced over the shower floor. It fought over the silver drain--an endless spiral. The water drowned the noise beyond the shower curtain, behind which Dana Cooke might have stood until she washed away had the water not grown so cold.

The senior dabbed at her rusty fur with a towel, eyes laying shy of the mirror hung over the hotel sink. She knew what the girl in the mirror looked like--didn't need the reminder. Stern, unnatural ears and an awkward stub for a tail. Bright-orange hair which refused her. A medley of unattractive features.

She yanked a dark, scanty pair of shorts up long legs and fit her stubby tail through a niche in the rear. The shorts impressed an unflattering squeeze upon her, quite opposite the short-sleeved shirt she donned which sagged from her form and invited sing-song appraisal.

Who knew they made shirts in size fat cow!

Moo, I cry 'moo!' There is plenty a heifer with finer figure than you!

Dana sighed and prepared to immerse herself with her teammates and their revelry.

* * *

They were all tucked into softer clothes for the night.

Olivia sat against the thick pillows and hard headboard furthest from the door. An empty half of bed sat beside her. Her eyes showed the white of her phone but flickered from her notifications to a slouching shadow which gathered a bluish tint as it slipped past the television and paused to look at the empty pillows at Olivia's side. Olivia forced her gaze on the glow of her phone, tried not to smile at the mattress's subtle shift. The prickly, cool odor of mint twitched her whiskers. The opportunity in which she had invested a year of prayers was excruciatingly close.

More excruciating than close, as it would seem. The upperclassmen sharing the other bed talked an incredible while--making predictions for the forthcoming day's matches, giggling at old volleyball memories, growing philosophical when the hare raised subjects of life and afterlife.

Olivia endured the sleepover palaver while Dana gloomily gazed around at them, thoughts to herself and long, curly hair fanned over the pillows.

The red figures of the nightstand clock had counted late when the hare and vole gave yawning goodnights and turned out the lamps. Darkness swallowed everything outside the reach of Olivia's phone.

Her moment had arrived.

Olivia dimmed her mobile to complete the room's darkness and reached for the nightstand set so conveniently beyond Dana's prone form.

Her furred arm brushed an upturned shoulder, evoking a small start.

"Sorry!" said Olivia, crawling her arm over the doberman. She realized that the doberman had faced her to sleep and fought to keep her happiness from squealing out. "Just gotta--"

Her nose caught a sharp ear, and her heart--oh, her heart!--came against the doberman's soft bosom. The phone slipped from her grasp and bounced on the floor, forgotten at once.

Her arm had fallen to lay limp over Dana's shoulder. Her paw rested on Dana's back. She felt the rhythm of Dana's breathing in her fingers.

The minty smell really was twitching her nose and whiskers now. Dana's strong canine muzzle could not have been more than an inch from her, and although she could see nothing through the dark, she could sense those gloomy eyes peering back at her. So close, so incredibly, wonderfully close. She wondered what was going on behind those eyes--although she couldn't speak. What good were words, anyhow.

After what seemed a few minutes--time had never felt so irrelevant--Olivia recognized the rumbling, drumming of her own purr and remembered the two other girls in the room, neither of them blind nor deaf. Olivia giggled.

Dana remained stoic, a lack of protest which, to Olivia, said that things were going well. The moment she had been praying for--she was living it. She was in it. She had never been one to settle.

With a smile in the darkness, Olivia spoke a whisper:

"Can I kiss you?"

* * *

The cat's warm breath washed over the skin of her nose, and upon it: soft, raspy syllables which whispered into her lopped ears.

Can: Usage error, implies ability--of course the cat could. Insert may: possibility or permission.

I: A pronoun used for speaking of oneself, in this case: Olivia Medenwalt. A very pretty cat. A freshman. A teammate.

Kiss: A gesture done in certain cultures as greeting, pleasure, often to show love or affection.

You: A pronoun used to indicate the person being addressed, in this case: Dana Cooke. A pretentious, hopeless mutt.

All together and with context: In a dark hotel room on an overnight high school volleyball trip with two other girls in the room, Olivia Medenwalt was suddenly and unexpectedly asking to kiss.

That she had already fallen asleep was the obvious conclusion. Sarcasm? A spell of psychosis? Her ears playing tricks?

But in case none of those options applied: sound the alarm! Emergency! Fight or flight!

Fight?

Flight?

Easy choice.

Dana reversed course, flung her stub tail towards the cat. Her pulse thudded in her ears, silence beyond. The long arm which had draped over her shoulder receded. There was a soft rustle of sheets. Then just a very, very long night.

Ingram High Tigers Varsity Volleyball

Roster

Name Position Height Year Breed

1 Olivia Medenwalt OPP 6' 3 9 Cat (aegean)

2 Meredith Ashburn L 5' 3 12 Wolverine

3 Dana Cooke OPP 6' 12 Dog (doberman)

4 Vanessa Neil S 5' 7 12 Ermine

5 Jacquelyn Coops OH 5' 10 11 Coyote

7 Sonia Walsch M 5' 9 12 Dall sheep

8 Nicole Erdahl S 5' 10 12 Cat (snowshoe)

9 Heather Johnson M 5' 9 12 Singing vole

10 Brianna Lonneman OH 5' 9 12 Dog (poodle)

11 Scarlet Palmer M 5' 11 12 Indian boar

12 Rachel Stitcher OH 5' 7 11 Beech marten

14 Emily Haag DS 5' 7 11 European hare

The tumult around her--whistles shrieking, sneakers squeaking, voices screaming.

Dana sat with a tug at the blue sliver of spandex around her waist, clasped her ginger paws in her lap.

The gym was in chaos again. Three nets for three matches played in concurrence. The northern-most court was the loudest. There: the Tigers of Ingram High in their blue-and-whites versus the crimson-black-and-white Huskies of Alto Park. The championship match for the weekend's invitational, but hardly a match.

Another whistle blew. Dana stood with her teammates on the sideline and sat again. A well-practiced routine.

The commotion carried on, and as it did, Dana closed her eyes and wished for silence.

A beam of light came through a seam in the dark curtains, cut across the quiet hotel room. Luggage bags and clothes littered carpet. Phone chargers trailed from outlets. The clock on the nightstand blinked a late-morning hour while Dana wondered why she had to dig granules of sleep from her eyes. Beside her, the bed was empty.

Throughout the room's silence, the insanity of the previous night resounded.

Perhaps it hadn't really happened. There was no evidence in the morning. Olivia didn't speak to her in the continental breakfast hall where they ate at distant tables. Olivia said not a word as they restored the hotel room to a state near satisfactory. Olivia sat three rows back on the bus and shed her polyester warmups in an opposite corner of the locker room.

Dana watched the match from a metal folding chair on the court's sideline, watched as her teammates separated from another celebration and the tall cat wearing a blocky 1 on her back and breast dribbled the ball into the service area.

"Go, Tigers!"

"Almost there!"

"Keep it up, Olivia!"

The aegean was unmistakably gorgeous, elegant in design. Luxurious, lean--a long body in fine furs snowcap-white with gray-cloud patches and night-sky streaks. Uranian-blue eyes: soft in color, sharp in focus. Raven-black hair drawn into a neat little bun with a tail like the leaf of a lilac. Tail striped in black and gray, flirting. Quiet, athletic ripples played through her snowy legs. Her voice, like shagbark: "Can I kiss you?"

Dana shook her head.

* * *

Some teams preferred the stability of a single setter in the 5-1 rotation. Others opted for the more diverse attack of the 6-2. Ingram's approach operated under the rule of thumb: _Get the ball to Olivia._The freshman opposite hitter may have been accused of monopolizing the third contact. And while it made Ingram's attack predictable, it was no easier to defend against. Olivia possessed tremendous verticality and a wide catalogue of touches.

A rifle shot shot tagged the Alto Park endline. Ingram's upperclassmen collapsed on Olivia, patting her backside and cheering for her back-court attack.

"Nice!"

"Let's go!"

Olivia grinned.

They were running away with the second set. The tournament organizers may as well have started passing medals around. The second set was a formality. The match was done, a matter reflected by the wounded gait of Alto Park. For them, things were only about to worsen. Olivia's strike from the pipe rolled Ingram into first rotation which put Olivia in the front row. The freshman was deadliest ahead of the 10-foot line where she cast an oppressive megalith and could deliver more intimate shellings upon opponents. But the forces that be had mercy.

A double whistle sounded as Olivia hopped into the front-row stack of Ingram's serving formation. Looking to the sidelines, she saw Dana slouched in the substitution zone, gloomy and indiscriminate. Olivia scowled. The coaches were putting a muzzle on her, getting their senior opposite substitute some garbage time when the game was already over. Olivia hated that coaching.

"Go get em, Dana," she said, rearranging her scowl on approach to the doberman.

The sweet caramel eyes dove for the floor.

Won't even look at me, thought Olivia, tightening.

She found the open seat on the bench warm and hung her head.

Months of hope and prayer--

"Can I kiss you?"

A small wave through the mattress, a view of the doberman's back.

--crushed.

One of the managers swung a water carrier at Olivia who raised her head to jerk a bottle to her mouth, squirt a blast of water onto her spiny tongue and glare longingly at the court.

* * *

19-10

The coaches must have hated her, else they would have left her to the inconspicuous sidelines.

The ermine didn't like her much either, for she popped a nice, high set towards the right-side antenna.

Fetch, girl!

And there--taking in every lumbering step, every wink which rippled through the blue spandex, every bounce of her fiery tail, her stunted tail, every shape that the bone-tight, long-sleeve Ingram blues exposed--the legions from Alto Park, from Ingram and various voyeur, their noisy throats and paws rioting down on her from the bleachers.

Like a good doggie, Dana went after her setter's pass.

She hopped and loaded back her arm.

Her wild haymaker broke through the outside block and trickled down the other side of the net.

The other seniors sprung at her, unleashing more noise.

Dana only wanted to sink back in rotation--or back onto the bench, or back into her own bed--only wanted the match to end.

A crude back-court shot elicited the final whistle.

BOX SCORE

Set 1 2 3

Ingram 25 25 -

Alto Park 9 13 -

The Tiger Sports Bus was a nineteen-ton coach splashed in white paint with the roaring blue logo of Ingram High athletics slapped onto either flank. Its interior was an undulant sea of royal-blue polyester and ponytails, later a collection of slumped, soft-breathing forms and the occasional paws poking at phone faces. Dana slouched across two seats of the bus's midsection, head against one cool, tinted window. Olivia catnapped a few rows behind her.

The cat--the prettiest, brightest-eyed girl she had ever known--had held her in the dark of the hotel room, had petitioned her for a kiss. And how had she responded?

Roll over!

Good girl!

Tucked what tail she had left and ran.

Dana turned a listless gaze to the outside world passing by. An expanse of untamed grass which reached for the colorful hem of the sunset sky as futile as her own reach for answers--and as the bright skies tapered off along the horizon, for one painful moment, her eyes held in them the last smoky lines of tangerine.

She scraped at crusted eyes to find a stain upon nightfall--a vague, orange glow beyond the headlights of the rumbling bus. Around her, Dana heard dry voices and tired laughs.

The bus stopped behind an impressive collection of red brick and glass panels: Ingram High, its refurbished walls decked in the darkness of the weekend--its best dress.

"Make sure the bus is clean!"

"Rest up, and be ready for practice Monday!"

Outside, the air was pleasantly brisk. It peeled at layers of drowsiness. Most of the team scampered to cars sprinkled throughout the vast grid of the student parking lot. Dana wandered up to an unattractive hunk of gray-blue hunching in the bus's headlights.

The Buick LeSabre featured a long depression down its driver side, rust bites on its ankles, ugly black rims and an engine that gave off a suicidal idling moan. At the helm: her mama pushing out a pearly pink nightgown with white lace about its neck.

"Hey, hon," her mama said as she fell into the passenger seat.

Life was so unfair. Case in point: her mama's sleek, black-and-tan coat. Her dark, ruly hair. Where had those genes gone?

Her mama asked how the weekend went. She never made the matches in other towns--said she didn't like to drive at night. She rarely ventured out anytime, anywhere, or at least that's how the last few years had been.

Gee, it was great, Mama!

We got first place.

I almost got to first base!

A tale for the grave--the sooner the better. Dana lied and told her mama that the weekend had gone fine.

They were both quiet as the car tiptoed across empty intersections, brown-nosed every traffic sign. The little houses lining their drive grew older and older until they could no longer be assuaged by nightfall nor autumn's brilliance--the city's southern side. Ingram's stubbed, stunted tail. It was neighborhoods of the nineteenth century left to weather and time--shanties withering around the high school and its multimillion-dollar facelift.

The LeSabre lurched up a short drive and came to rest beside a small cottage home. A blink-and-you-miss-it gabled speck of beige siding and brown shingles--small, plain, a single light peeking from the picture window projecting from its left cheek. Its next-door neighbor: an abandoned bungalow which had been draped in scaffolding the past two years.

"Do ya have any games next week?" asked her mama, nightgown swaying and fluffy-white slippers making whispers on the rough driveway.

"Tuesday," grunted Dana.

They stepped onto a short concrete platform which constituted the front deck, and her mama started rustling through her keys.

"Oh! That's right! Your senior night!"

Senior night. Always the last regular-season home match for Ingram. Dana gave a dreadful sigh, and her mother produced the desired key with a small, triumphant "Ha!"

The entryway amounted to a few scuffed tiles of linoleum before the wood floors of a quiet little living room and a short hallway off to the right. Dana took the hall with more speed than she had shown that day, past her mama's bedroom, between the doors of the closet and the single bathroom and past an old, deformed table set which appeared as the hallway opened up on the left. Dana dove into the darkness offered by the last door on the right.

Her sigh said finally.

Dark, beady eyes glinted in every corner of the room as the room came to light. Silent, expressionless, they watched from the roof of a dresser erected against the wall, from a stub-legged nightstand upon which also rested a clock turned facedown, from a little white writing desk shoved off to the side of the small room. Dana pushed the door shut on her mama's prattling and fell onto a lumpy mattress wrapped in threadbare linens. She curled herself into a pitiful red-and-royal-blue clump and came to face with another set of unblinking eyes--big black pupils rung in brown irises.

"You'll never guess what happened when I was gone," said Dana.

Bed-hog watched her with his patient, knowing gaze.

"Can I kiss you?"

A single word would have been enough to yield that gorgeous muzzle, to grasp the unattainable. Suddenly, Dana wanted to cry.

A soft knocking came at her door, and her mama's feeble voice: "Hon?"

The nook in between Bed-hog's big, round head and his big, round body cradled Dana's muzzle. She grunted into her giant teddy's tawny fuzz.

"I'm goin' to bed . . . Just wanted to remind ya to brush your teeth and say I'm so proud of you."

Dana grunted again.

So proud.

Of what?

A faggot!

She cried.

* * *

North of town, a black comet wearing a half-mile tail of dust rocketed. The dust rolled, pouring over long, rich fields of wheat and corn before it settled into the night. Off in the east, a lone combine toiled late, its racks of white LEDs stabbing at the darkness. Otherwise, it was a fine night--the moon a resplendent silver sliver upon an endless map of stars. But the night's beauty was lost upon Olivia. Her eyes kept by inches of touchscreen in her lap.

"Why were you sulking when they took you out of the last game, Olivia? You know that's something that they're looking at. You have to keep a good attitude on the sidelines, not just the court."

It wasn't just the court and the sidelines. It was practicing at the gym, walking the school halls, studying at home, singing and fraternizing at church, casting her voice into the depths beyond her phone. They were always looking at her. They: the scouts and coaches of the NCAA, the keen eyes of the community, the critical, invested gaze of her mother.

Scroll. Tap. Scroll. Tap.

"I'm already going to Stanford."

"A scholarship doesn't make you a starter."

Tap. Scroll. Scroll. Scroll.

"Yeah, Mom."

"Olivia."

The Volkswagen Jetta jittered along the narrow gravel which shot through the fields. Recent rainfalls and footfalls of the ongoing harvest had left the road rutted. Olivia hated the drive and looked to the long cat woven into the synthetic leather beside her.

Her mother always had something to say about her grades, her posture, her coaches, her tweets.

"You have four years to ruin the work you've put in. Don't let it happen."

"I won't," Olivia scowled.

"Although, I'll be honest," her mother continued. "You would be better off if your coaches would quit putting Dana in. She clearly doesn't even want to be out there. You don't see girls like her in club."

The last thing Olivia wanted to think of--

They were 10 miles north of town when the Jetta wrestled free of the ruts. The car swung a right onto a long gravel driveway ending in a wide T which fed into two garages--to the right was a saltbox standalone where Olivia's father put the UTVs and farm trucks, to the left was a two-car unit tucked under the gabled arm of a 3,000-sq. foot farmhouse. Partially wrapped around the garage, the main structure of the farmhouse was gullwinged over sleek white siding and a beaming pair of picture windows.

Olivia zoomed out of the garage, through the kitchen with its smooth, laminate floors and its granite countertop, over the smoky hardwood which surfaced the rest of the first floor. She scurried up a steep staircase with elaborate balusters and soft carpet, and she made through a dark hallway into the second master bedroom of the house.

"Medenwalt earns All-American honors with state selects"

"Freshman phenom tops the charts"

"13-Year-Old Volleyball Wunderkind Receives Scholarship"

The clippings from the local papers lined the sage-green walls of Olivia's extravagant bedroom. The aegean danced past pine-wood furnishings, a heavy tilting mirror, and she fell upon the breadth of a king-size mattress which was clad in taupe. She closed her eyes and tried not to think of Dana. Not to think of Dana. Not to think of Dana.

She tried not to paint the long, boxy muzzle. Tried not to imagine the infinite layers for the depths of curling hair, the swirls of orange and yellow for gloomy eyes, the fine shimmers and shadows which danced upon the short red coat of of fur.

But in the dark, it was the doberman's back which appeared most vivid.

Ingram High Tigers Varsity Volleyball

Match Schedule

Date Opponent Result

8/24 Dutch La-Grande Raiders 3-0 W

8/25 Rokonna Vikings 3-0 W

8/28 Melfield Titans 3-2 W

8/30 Battleford Kings 3-0 W

9/4 Dell Lake Matador 3-0 W

9/6 Gail City Hawks 3-0 W

9/18 St. Vincent Sharks 3-0 W

9/21 Cambron-Inbrook-Dakota Lancers 2-1 W

9/21 Dutch La-Grande Raiders 2-1 W

9/22 Brunton Scarlet Knights 1-2 L

9/22 New Torring Dragons 2-0 W

9/25 East Ordell Bruins 3-0 W

9/27 Winona-Belk Rangers 3-1 W

10/2 Battleford Kings 3-0 W

10/5 Norma Crest Bulls 2-0 W

10/5 Marshall Lake Lions 2-0 W

10/5 Valley Point Rams 2-0 W

10/6 Pioneer Falls Falcons 2-0 W

10/6 Dodge Springs Storm 2-0 W

10/12 Sala Raptors 2-0 W

10/12 Ashville Wolfpack 2-0 W

10/12 Bayers County Vipers 2-0 W

10/13 South Hartly Coyotes 2-0 W

10/13 Alto Park Huskies 2-0 W

10/16 Melfield Titans -

10/18 Pine Mills Academy Panthers -

From white rafters weaving well above glassy maple floor: six vinyl banners, royal-blue with white print. Each banner named an Ingram High state championship--one credited to boys basketball, two for girls track, three in the name of Tigers Volleyball. But beneath these banners were sagging shoulders, dragging feet, tired faces and silence. Not what coaches wanted from practice, particularly practices preceding an important match.

"Looking slow today," one coach remarked to another.

"Tomorrow might be rough," was the response.

"At least Olivia's got her game face on."

The freshman phenom was a spark amid stubborn tinder--blue eyes glaring, pink nostrils flaring, beguiling her varsity upperclassmen in drills, vicious spikes and then clever pushes, drawing groans and glares. But it was no game face. She simply hadn't slept well over the weekend.

Dana. Dana. Dana.

The dobie dawdling about her imagination with that melancholic countenance. Those sweet, sad eyes.

They were set on opposing right sides as Olivia hit her five reps. Her fourth dived over the outside block and beyond the reach of a sprawling mustelid. "Good!" shouted one of the coaches, and as Olivia set herself for her final attack, her eyes cut cross-court.

There was Dana: slouched in gray practice shorts and a faded tee-shirt, her gloomy gaze decided on a patch of maple floor. The dobie was avoiding her. Had scurried from the locker room when Olivia had hazarded a _hi._Wouldn't look at her in huddles or drills.

The set was high. Olivia snuck an infinitesimal delay into her approach--left, right-left. Her jump was explosive. The blockers flailed their wings. Olivia soared over them. Fledglings versus the ace. As her right paw struck leather, she snapped her wrist--driving the ball across her body with all the frustration she felt.

_Whap!_A violent crash of leather and short-coated flesh.

Olivia landed gracefully, as did the first droplets of blood.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The droplets exploded on the maple floor--little crimson starbursts between black knee guards.

"Holy crap."

"Are you okay?"

Dana sat, blinking as droplets of blood fell through her lap.

"Ouch," winced the senior who had set Olivia's cut.

"That's what happens when you don't pay attention." Guilt materialized in a rather harsh tone--she hadn't meant to actually hit the dobie. As she said it, Olivia saw Dana's caramel-glazed eyes flash in her direction. She also saw the spark of tears in the florescent lights. The doberman flung herself from the gym faster than Olivia had ever seen her go.

* * *

"What happened?"

Well, you see . . .

It began at the tournament last weekend--

It was last weekend, right?

--when we went to bed at the hotel . . .

Dana gave the Ingram High sports trainer the abridged version. She had seen an explosive flash of red and blue. Her ears had sang like a bourdon bell. It might have happened on a Monday. October? Already? The bell tolled louder.

It was what happened when you didn't pay attention. She remembered that bit very well.

The spike to the muzzle was a clear exclamation. Whatever had stolen the cat in the darkness of the hotel room that night was gone--the window of opportunity slammed shut in her big, stupid face.

Won the lottery you hadn't even paid to enter--

and threw your ticket straight away.

Nice, Dana.

The trainer listened, poked, prodded. Her summation: concussion. Not the ugliest word Dana knew. The trainer followed her diagnosis by adopting a remorseful tone to decide that Dana would miss the Tigers' last two regular season matches. Dana left the trainer's office thinking that a little brain damage really wasn't all that bad--nothing to the ache in her chest.

* * *

Game days were the best. Olivia came to school looking smart: olive on a faux suede skirt, white on a pinstriped, pleat-cuffed blouse, leopard print on short pumps and her hair loose in a sketchy bob with bangs slightly ruffled and swept across her brow. Where she walked: smiles and good luck wishes for the night. In classes, she studied for the match--playing rallies out in her head, envisioning the court, the crowd--

sad eyes,

long, boisterous hair--

--her footwork, her opponents.

She was glad when the first referee signaled the first set to begin.

She sunk slightly into her knees, rocking her weight from leg to leg as the liberos subbed in. The gymnasium rumbled with the energy of senior night and rivalry. A blue-colored corner of the bleachers brandished cardboard signs and screamed at both teams on the gym floor.

"TOPPLE THE TITANS!"

"FINISH THEM!!!"

"GO OLIVES!"

"#4 IS MY GIRLFRIEND"

Olivia glared from just behind the left side of Ingram's 10-foot line, watching an azure-and-maize-gold-clad Holstein getting ready to serve. An identical Holstein stacked behind a taller bat. Everyone was still, waiting for the serve.

Any girl who wished to reach the state tournament from Section 4AAA could play for only Ingram High or Melfield High School. The rival schools held thirty-nine section championships between them. Melfield had claimed their nineteenth over Ingram the previous year, ending Olivia's eighth-grade season. Back in August, Olivia had powered Ingram through a five-set thriller over Melfield, recording 43 kills on the night. But this was not that night.

The Titan's didn't disguise their intent. They put the ball wherever Olivia was not. When Olivia was playing the right-front, Melfield's setters set their right side. When Olivia played back-row, the Holstein twins tooled the blocks and tipped into the seams. Olivia did what she could. She capitalized on every touch she got, but the upperclassmen were being picked apart around her. Losing 12-20 in the first set, Ingram's coaches called their second timeout.

"Let's go, girls! Settle it down out there. Talk, communicate. Don't rush it. We can beat this team. We did it once already. Let's get on the attack and get back in this one."

Olivia didn't need to be told. She battered her next three touches into the floor, revitalizing the Ingram student section. She could hear her own parents screaming for her to keep it up. She obliged them. Not enough. Melfield claimed the first set.

So, Olivia played harder. Every time one of the Holstein twins flopped, Olivia clutched her fists and screamed. Her aggressive attacking produced 16 more kills. Even then, the Tigers narrowly avoided an extended second set.

The teams traded third and fourth sets. Melfield's continued exploitation of the left-front was getting so bad that, in a timeout late in the fourth set, Olivia begged the coaches to let her play center-front so that she could be involved in the blocks to either side. "This is the way we practice, this is the way we play," had been the response. Olivia knew that it would be the way they would lose.

One of the Holstein twins pinned a line shot behind the left-front to put the score at 12-14 in the deciding set.

"Keep fighting, girls!"

"Don't give up!"

Olivia's thighs smoldered as she crouched in the right-back. She had been digging and attacking for two hours. Later, she would learn that her performance that night had been state-record-breaking: 55 kills.

Ingram's libero dug the serve, and Olivia watched with a sinking feeling as a sloppy exchange between the setter and leftside hitter led to an easy dig for Melfield. Olivia could hear her legs screaming as she moved to cover behind the left block. She saw the play developing--one Holstein twin transitioning for a pass to the outside, a decoy in the middle. The Holstein twin skipped forward. Olivia grew suddenly, thoughtlessly aware of a bright-orange spot which had sat unnoticed in the corner of her eyes all match, and a spike pounded the floor a half-step to the left of her.

BOX SCORE

Set 1 2 3 4 5

Ingram 20 25 17 25 12

Melfield 25 23 25 19 15

* * *

The post-game ceremony was subdued. The 9 seniors stood together at the bench. Dana, obscured in street clothes, hung a step behind the team's libero. The wolverine didn't lend much cover. One by one, each senior was drawn from the pack by their name and number. Their careers, senior wisdoms and futures sounded through the gymnasium. Some of them cried.

"Number 3, Dana Cooke--"

Bouquet clutched at her breasts, Dana shuffled across the maple. Her mama stood opposite the court, nervous and small. Behind her was a wall of eyes. Dana hastily presented her mama the flowers and hugged her mama as the other girls had done with their parents.

"Oh, hon--you're growing up so fast," her mama wept, holding her tightly.

"Mama," Dana whined, desperate to pry from the pillory. The whole school was watching. A pair of photographers--Dana recognized one from the local paper and another from the yearbook club--knelt down importantly and rendered the scene in eternity. For Dana, the moment itself was long enough. "Mama, please--"

Survivors crowded on the sideline. Some still sniffled as Dana joined them. When the doberman whirled her back to the wall of eyes, she saw that the seniors weren't the only ones crying. Peeking through white paws: a camellia-pink nose. Olivia was crumpled in one of the metal folding chairs on the bench, and her shoulders shook while one of the coaches squatted at her sneakers.

* * *

Olivia's legs protested as she rose at the net. Propelled by a gold-coated doe, the ball deflected off her fingers to land in Ingram's substitution zone. Olivia couldn't help but notice that it ended up in Dana's feet.

"Don't worry, Olives."

"You've got the next one!"

Dull fluorescents buzzed above lofty rafters. The gym felt huge and empty. There were no state-title banners here.

Olivia felt like a mouse in a tiger cage. Had the game always moved so fast? It was all happening too quickly. The blocks were insurmountable. Her hits were going long. Wide. Nothing was going right. She couldn't do a thing.

Her claws protracted. Her tail gave an ill-tempered twitch. She trod to her spot in serve receive.

Maybe if she had been able to sleep--

Olivia almost bumped into her setter in her hurry to the right side. She was late. Chasing the play. The set went to the left antenna, and Olivia watched as the Ingram outside hitter planted a strike into the opponent's back-court. The upperclassmen were all so happy as they celebrated another point--smiling and chirping, doing everything they had not against Melfield.

Pine Mills Academy was a private school nestled within its namesake, and while they had height in their ranks and a few wins within Section 1AAA they were young and nowhere near so fast nor skilled as Melfield. Nor were they prepared for the reinvigorated Tigers squad in their final match of the regular season. Ingram was closing on a decision in the third set.

Olivia could ignore the claws of fatigue, the gravity of sleeplessness--

Dana was sat on the sidelines, not yet cleared by the athletic trainer to play. That day, she appeared as an overcast autumn afternoon: a gray-plaid button-front, bargain-bin jeans, long curlicue tumbling down her back.

The ball was live again, a floating serve right into the arms of the PMA libero. It popped up to the setter: a 6' 2 cougar who had eclipsed Olivia on multiple front-row battles that night. Olivia watched, saw the PMA outside hitter approach, but the setter dumped the ball over the net. It was headed straight to Olivia's left. Olivia dove, flinging her fingertips across the floor. The dig worked. She felt the ball dribble off her knuckles.

The whistle shrieked the play immediately dead.

The referee directed the point to PMA.

Olivia snapped upright and waved the back of her paw at the referee platform. Her teammates clamored around her in consolation.

"Don't worry about it!"

"Nice try!"

But two points later, Olivia, drove a furious back-court shot over the net. She watched her shot skip off the fingertips of the puma blocker. She shouted in hard-fought triumph as the ball landed beyond the opponents' endline. Her first kill of the third set. The referee directed the point to PMA. Olivia caught it from the corner of her eye: one of the line judges hoisting their flag. Ball out.

"Bullshit!" Olivia roared at the referee, stabbing at the net. "It hit her!"

The rodent on the platform squeaked his silver whistle and fumbled in a pocket.

"You're blind!" Olivia screamed.

The seniors were yelling in her ear, pulling at her, but she stuck her glare on the referee.

Yellow card.

Red card.

Disqualified, point to PMA.

Olivia crashed into the bench, face in paws.

BOX SCORE

Set 1 2 3 4 5

Pine Mills 12 15 12 - -

Ingram 25 25 25 - -

"What's going on with you?"

"Sorry I can't break a record every night!"

Olivia hit the passenger seat of her mother's Jetta crying. Sleep had abandoned her, left her to rue her embarrassing meltdown, but as the long bus ride had went along, it was those stricken, gloomy eyes which had claimed all heed. Guilt, fear and longing had swished about her stomach, and she was reminded of how much she hated to lose. Now, her mother's first words after that long ride--"What's going on with you?"

"I'm not asking about your play," sighed her mother. "I'm asking why you're acting like this lately. What's going on?"

"I don't know," Olivia sniffled, slouching against the passenger door.

But even the seat belt whispered "Dana!" as Olivia crossed herself.

"Olivia," her mother sighed, tone softening. "You know you can talk to me about anything."

Gusts of cold air were the first breaths of the new day. Midnight had come to pass not long ago. The roads around Ingram High were black while the heart of town wore the alien orange of the streetlight rows. The scenery was urban-nocturnal-contemporary--big chain stores with vacant lots, fill stations and quiet fast-food restaurants, name brand hotels and empty shops. The Jetta jogged through sparse traffic. Olivia quietly sat with her phone.

Dana. She couldn't stop thinking about Dana.

The aegean pawed her tired eyes.

"Mom."

She couldn't take it anymore: playing pretend, licensing the lie to play on.

"If I tell you something--promise you won't get mad."

Pressure wrung fresh tears.

The Volkswagen swung into the next intersection's left-turn lane. A green arrow beckoned.

"I promise," her mother sighed.

Olivia gave a sniffling breath. Her mother and the night merged into watery mess. "I--"

The car began to turn, glowed bright.

"Oh--" her mother screamed.

A second's fraction horror--tempest blast. Airbags in blossom and deafening noise. Flashing pains. Tearing. Smashing. Stillness just as sudden.

The Jetta settled abreast the vehicle which had struck it. The traffic lights cycled overhead: green, yellow, red. Another gust swept the intersection.

* * *

Where darkness and silence crossed paths was a sacred convergence to lie in and wait.

Dana lay twisted upon her side, head resting upon an arm which she had tossed across her bed. Bed-hog gazed back.

In the silence, Dana heard an angry roar.

"Bullshit!"

In the darkness, Dana saw a pretty pink nose and sobbing shoulders.

What had possessed the cat? Olivia had always been strong, confident--invincible. Invincible except for that night, when within a different, distant darkness, another distant silence--

"Can I kiss you?"

In that moment, Olivia had seemed so fragile.

* * *

Olivia rode a pulsing channel of consciousness which rhythmically faded from one scene to the next--a night bombarded by flashes of yellow, blue, red; a small and stagnant compartment with a friendly voice which spoke to her; a hallway with an infinite sequence of white ceiling tiles and bright panel lights passing by; a warm, green room where she heard her mother crying. As the scenes faded to and from, thoughts, vague, gathered and evaporated.

. . .

What was happening?

. . .

Why was her mother crying?

. . .

Pain.

. . .

The first thing she realized was the pain. It mapped her extremities, effected multiple forms upon her: some quick and bright, others dense and long. The pain was insulated by layers of drugs and drowsiness. Beyond those, Olivia observed less sadistic textures: soft pillows, temperate air. Her eyes opened to russet vinyl floors which ran to walls wearing pallid green and plain white, black windows half-lidded by blinds and reaching to the white-paneled ceiling. Everything: neat, clean, apathetic. The word hospital came to mind.

"Olivia?"

Eyes olive-green, distraught and long awake slid into Olivia's sight.

"Thank God." Her mother dropped beside the cot. "Can you hear me?"

"Aah," Olivia groaned.

What was this? She drew another breath to speak, but her muzzle rendered only incoherent soup. Part of it seemed no longer bound to the traditions of anatomy. Olivia ran a hasty inventory, wiggling her toes, flexing her knees, testing every stiff joint and sore ligament. Everything worked but her mouth and neck--both castigated her efforts.

She was in the hospital, unable to speak.

Fear awoke, gathered momentum in her stomach.

They had been driving home--

Everything had gone bright--

Olivia's claws popped in and out of sight.

She was scared.

"Hey there, Tiger,"

A second feline loomed over her: wiry, tall, eyes of maze, champagne-colored muzzle twisted by a frown.

Olivia whimpered uselessly.

"We can't understand you," said her father. He patted sympathetically at her legs. "Try and rest. We'll be here."

She wanted to know what was going on, but she was very tired.

Later, a doctor explained it all: Le Fort I fracture. Avulsion of incisors 101-103 and canine 104. Sprain of the nuchal ligament. Concussion featuring loss of consciousness.

Translation: Olivia's varsity volleyball season was done.

"When can she play again?" her mother asked, paws clasped tightly at a sofa beneath the windows. Color was seeping into the slice of sky beyond her.

The doctor said that answer would fall on facial surgery and Olivia's recovery.

Olivia cried.

All the hours sacrificed--

The club season--

The High Performance tryouts--

Now, the terrifying unknown.

She wished that Dana was with her.

* * *

Her own room was sick of her. Bed-hog's eyes said so in spiteful sheen. So, Dana inflicted misfortune upon the living room sectional: a fat, paling sofa squeezed into a corner of the little dim room, below the picture window and a side wall which was dominated by a black-faced clock with gothic roman numerals and hasty hands. Dana lay underneath the curtain-covered window, wrapped in a cream-colored throw with bored eyes nurtured by a dusty television screen. Nearby, her mama was hunched at an old, scratched desk, fingers flopping against a keyboard--eyes bouncing between a primitive computer monitor and a set of papers caught within a three-ring binder. Dana lay a while, listening to the sporadic beating of the keyboard. Free jazz.

Then a loud, fluttering noise threw the arrangement into utter nonsense. It came from the kitchen adjacent. After a few rings, Dana's mama warily smiled, called, "I'll get it," and scurried out of the room.

"Oh, no!"

Dana's ears twitched. Her eyes swirled with sudden consciousness. She listened while her mother intermittently squawked at the caller.

"What hospital i'she at?"

Hospital?

She?

_She_looked miserable: sat in the hospital cot in a soft-blue gown to match her eyes. Her eyes were still pretty, sharp--narrowed alertly and unblinking as they fixed upon Dana. The rest of the aegean's splendid architecture had been defiled. There was a clean, horizontal gash which ran right underneath the pretty pink of her nose--a blood-red fault strung with black knots. Meanwhile, her mouth bulged at either side--a chipmunk and his reserve.

The whole varsity squad was there, crammed into the hospital room. Dana mumbled sympathies and dove into the crowd, but even as she awkwardly milled about, each time she looked towards the cot she noticed the cat looking back at her. Dana wished that she could read feline eyes, for Olivia's were imposing some unspoken intent--words which her wounded muzzle refused. But what?

"Let's go, girls! Let's go!"

"Pick it up! Playoffs in ten days!"

The same day she had visited the hospital, Dana had been sentenced back to practice by the athletic trainer. Worse: the coaches were dumping reps and reps upon her. They were trying to prepare her to start in the next match. To thrust her onto the stage for all to see.

That night, Dana spoke to her empty supper plate. "I wanna quit."

Her mama slowly chewed and glanced over the small table. "But . . . but hon," she faltered, "Why?"

A sullen whimper: "I don't wanna play!"

"But . . . it's your senior year, hon. It's almost over."

Dana flung back her chair and pulled herself tall. Her mama made a great flinch, and Dana growled, "Just leave me alone!"

She continued to attend every practice, and she dreaded each the same. She wasn't as fast as Olivia. She wasn't as precise as Olivia. She wasn't as smart as Olivia.

Nor pretty, nor prepared!

Each practice was years long, but when one ended, the next was already upon her.

* * *

A week after the Pine Mills Academy match, Olivia was back to school and practice. Her cut matched her nose, and she had shed her stitches and swellings. Longingly, she stared at the court.

Dana leapt at the right-side antenna--composing a block with a fellow canine senior. Olivia scowled. She liked Dana, and she enjoyed looking at the pretty doberman. But she hated watching her. She could see clearly from the bleachers: the latent power hiding in the dobie's strong legs, the inches surrendered to her permanent slouch. Olivia didn't get it.

Neither could she grasp her own hesitation.

The dobie was right there, and frequently, throughout the practice, the dobie turned to look at her--always quickly looking away. Olivia knew that she only had to take a few steps, say a few words. Yet she didn't take those steps nor say those words. She watched quietly from the sidelines.

There were uglier thoughts to tend, what with it being the eve of her surgery--the precipice of the knife. Tranquil comforts such as "Sublabial incision," "Titanium plate and screws," and "You won't feel a thing," echoed from her preoperative assessment.

"Oliviaaa!"

"Olives!"

Noise tumbled down from the Ingram student section. The gymnasium was loud and filling, primarily blue and white but punctuated by a black-and-gold knot kitty corner from the Ingram students. These students and adults cheered for the girls warming up on the court: the #9-seeded Matador of Dell Lake. A non-factor in Section 4AAA. They had no state tournament appearances. Early in September, they had fallen 0-3 to Ingram. Tonight, however, Dell Lake arrived with the wind on their back. An exciting 3-2 victory over the #8-seeded East Ordell Bruins and the absence of Ingram's star player imbued them with the gift of chance, the quiet What if?

The noise was worsening Olivia's headache.

She followed her mother up the middle bleachers where the Ingram players' families congregated.

"Hi, Olivia!"

"Oh, how's she doing?"

"We've been praying for you!"

Over a blue sweater, Olivia wore her home-white jersey. A matching pressure dressing looped around her head, wrapped snugly beneath her chin and knotted between her ears. Her muzzle projected outwards--far more noticeably than after the accident. Tiredly, Olivia slumped against her mother's side. Her head hurt, and the gym lights could not have been more abrasive towards her eyes.

But she wanted to watch the match, and she squinted past the girls on the court to the girls crowded at Ingram's free zone. Dana, deepest in the corner, was slouched with her ginger paws clutched at her lap. Observing her inspired anxiety.

* * *

"Now, your starters for the Ingram Tigers--"

Is that the gym shaking--

Or you?

"Number 3: Dana Cooke."

Aligned with her teammates at the threshold of the court, Dana acknowledged the horrid noise around her by grazing the crowd with her eyes, an act which did nothing to sooth the doomed drumming of her heart.

Soon--much too soon--she was stacked at the net with her middle and outside hitter.

"Let's do this!"

"You got this, Dana!"

The swell of voices led to the thud of the ball and the Ingram setter's paw.

Mush!

She didn't take long to screw things up. After her teammates secured the night's first point, a girl from the other team put a shot off Dana's paws that bounced into the Ingram bench. In the following rally, Dana hammered a long ball into the Dell Lake service area, gifting their opponents another point. It was 7-5 when she was substituted, and one of the team's defensive specialists filled her spot in rotation in the back row. Her slow feet and mind made her a defensive liability, she understood. The cool, inflexible steel of the chairs turned a sentimental feel within her.

* * *

Olivia sighed relief. It made perfect sense why her mother and the other parents screamed and sounded so tense during her games. Watching Dana dropping into the bench, Olivia endured nerves and emotions magnified ten times what she had ever felt on the court. Were she not all but smothered by painkillers and general fatigue, she would have been screaming to blow the roof off the gym.

"She's hesitating," her mother said, and, as though Olivia wasn't already aware, her mother added, "Dana, I mean."

Her mother was right. Olivia could see the reservations in the dobie's blocking, but it hadn't been a bad start for Dana. She was swinging hard on attacks, and though her footwork was bullish, she was looking strong. Underneath the shyness was a very capable opposite hitter. Olivia wanted to see her.

There were winks throughout the quarterfinal. After returning to the floor in the opening set, Dana clobbered two kills which kept Ingram well in control until a little, late run by Dell Lake turned a respectable scoreline.

Dana's highlight happened in the middle of the seesaw second set, right in front of Olivia and her mother. It was 15-15. Ingram's libero put the ball in play, and the teams exchanged harmless pushes until Ingram's setter flipped a back set over her head and Dana--two stampeding steps to the antenna, hurling into the air--unloaded like a cannon. There was a reverent hum throughout the gym. The artillery whistled through the outstretched paws of Dell Lake's outside blocker and cratered the Dell Lake endline.

"That's more like it," Olivia's mother nodded.

Olivia was already up, smashing her paws together.

Down on the court, Dana's head drooped into a humble bow as the other girls danced around her. Olivia wished that she could join them. She wanted to throw her arms around Dana right then and there. When she sat back and slumped against her mother, she slept.

She pushed her eyes open to find the air in the gymnasium had turned apprehensive. Those around her leaned over the bleachers, paws together, faces drawn tight. The Dell Lake student section was buzzing.

"Wha- -appened?" grumbled Olivia, particular syllables eluding her partially-numbed mandibles.

Seeing Dana entering the court, Olivia sat up with a groan. A heavy pulse pummeled her temples like large, shining cymbals. The gym's florescent lighting grated her tired eyes which sought therapy in Dana's figure. The dobie squatted at the near antenna.

"You missed the rest of the second set. It's the third now, and D.L. is at twenty-four points. We just scored to make it 22-24."

Discounting Melfield, the Tigers hadn't dropped a single set to a 4AAA opponent that fall--a streak maintained as they made a clean four-point streak to claim the quarterfinal. The tension melted from the air as the girls in blue and white bunched together.

BOX SCORE

Set 1 2 3 4 5

Ingram 25 25 26 - -

Dell Lake 17 17 24 - -

The dobie shuffled right and squatted into her platform. Her big, bright ponytail settled against her back. She swung her arms outside of her body to catch the ball which went spinning over the net.

Olivia grimaced.

The dobie shuffled left, and her ponytail galloped.

Ingram had only a few days to prepare for their section semifinal--opponent to be decided that night by a match between #4-seeded Battleford and #5-seeded Winston High School. Either would be a big step from the young and comparatively-weak Dell Lake. Watching Dana in practice wasn't filling Olivia with confidence.

The dobie's next dig landed out of bounds behind her, and she slunk from the court to stand in line.

Now's your chance, thought Olivia, and she slid down the bleachers. She followed the sideline to the corner of the service area where Dana slouched behind two other upperclassmen. Her gloomy gaze seemed to belong to some faraway place.

"-ana," grunted Olivia.

When she wasn't careful, her voice spilt out in an indecipherable mumble. When she really tried, she could produce most phonemes of the English language so that they could be heard and understood within arms length.

Dana hadn't heard her.

Olivia moved until she must have been near the center of the dobie's vision. Someone got the lights, and the caramel eyes made a peregrine dive.

Olivia squatted into her platform and joined her paws to dig an imaginary ball. She looked right up at Dana and wrestled her maw around her lesson.

"You're -oving your arms -oo -uch when you dig."

The dobie's eyes flicked at her.

Olivia dug another invisible spike, looking right at Dana. They were only a half-step apart. The closest since--

"Jus- -ull your arms -ack when the -all hi-s you, unless i-'s a sof- hi-."

The eyes flicked away.

"Okay," Dana mumbled.

Olivia returned to the bleachers, but after that moment, she made it routine to traipse down the bleachers during and between drills. "Your firs- --ep is -oo big." "-u- your -aws like this--" "--and -urn your wris- when you hi- i-." But there was something even more important than volleyball which required address. Olivia told herself that all she needed was a chance.

It came one day after practice.

* * *

The day had shriveled from winter's omen. Through a hideous transparency set within one metal frame of a door to the Ingram High parking lot, Dana surveyed the glow of the lights and the darkness beyond and waited for her mama's car to appear. Tomorrow: the semifinal match. Perhaps the final match. A sigh dribbled from the doberman's mouth.

"Wai-ing for a ride?"

Even in its threadbare state, the purr shook the air in the hallway.

Olivia stopped at the door coupled to the one which Dana faced, her sky-blues beautiful and fearless. There was now but a near-imperceptible sliver of nakedness below her nose and the slightest swell which tugged her cheeks. She was so close, the closest since--

Of all sights, Dana chose the floor. "Yeah," she mumbled.

"Me -oo," said Olivia.

The aegean granted a second's consideration to the world outside.

"How come you don'- dri--?"

Dana shrugged.

She hadn't, so she didn't.

"I couldn'- wai- -o ge- my own car -efore this--"

Outside, the curb shone. Dana glanced to see her gray-blue chariot come a-limping behind its headlight glow. Home, her bedroom, but a few steps and a short ride away!

"Wai-!"

Olivia's suddenly-desperate tone grabbed Dana. Both paws on the door, left foot inched forward, Dana nervously glanced back.

Those gorgeous blue eyes held in them such intent--as they had that day in the hospital.

* * *

The spotlights snapped, relegated the rest of the scene to the shadows. The light poured over the doberman's gingerbread muzzle and chocolate-brown nose while her brow cast a shadow down her eyes.

Olivia willed her own gaze onto the dobie.

"I'm sorry abou- tha- nigh- a- the ho-el."

She had been such an idiot.

She should have said this then. Perhaps a year ago.

She sighed, took a breath.

The dobie was motionless.

The words were a waterfall through a burst dam--

"I was jus- really happy -o be with you. I've like- you for a long -ime, and I s-ill like you. I jus- wan-ed -o -ell you."

Now it lay in the light.

Olivia freed a long breath.

Dana said nothing, rushed from the stage.

* * *

A crisp sigh courtesy of the October evening rose to a roar as Dana scurried out of Ingram High and towards her mama's car. The wind drove squarely into her face, sent her hair into a fracas and battered her stern-cropped ears.

She hurled herself into the LeSabre. Then onto her bed. She shunted Bed-hog--who stared mockingly through the darkness--and entangled herself in her bedding.

_WHAT ARE YOU DOING?_screamed the voices inside her.

Lying alone within your castle, crying out to your inanimate court.

Queen of flees and fools!

"I've liked you for a long time."

Yes, you: Dana--you stupid faggot!

Absurd.

Impossible.

Yet, those were the words the cat had spoken.

Dana curled, letting the darkness of the room absorb her. She lay until her breathing fell soft and silent and examined everything. Beyond the dark came the feint clinks and clanks of her mama in the kitchen.

Olivia liked her--had said so with those very words!

What, the invitation to kiss wasn't clear enough?

You ninny.

Focus!

Olivia liked her.

She liked Olivia.

But--

Dana rolled out of her blankets.

Kitchen scents began tickling Dana's nose. Spots of drool and blurred graphite marked the leaf of paper between her and the little white writing desk in the corner of her room. Dull light from a globular ceiling fixture fell upon her back and livened the beady gaze of a small tiger slumped at a corner of the desk. Dana sighed. The pencil in her paw whirled from point-end to eraser-end.

"Supper's ready, hon," her mama said through the door.

Dana didn't break. The pencil jumped. Her eyes pummeled the margins. "Gimme a second," she mumbled.

She wrote and erased, wrote and erased, wrote and erased 'til the ghosts of a thousand letters clouded the page.

While her mama showered after supper, Dana closed her writing around a tight crease and ventured down the hall to her mama's bedroom. She slipped the folded piece of paper underneath one ruffled pillow and dove back into her own bedroom. Bed-hog was once more in her company--her nose tucked into his tawny fuzz. In the darkness, Dana lay and listened.

The shower's steady hiss--

The curtain's metallic trill--

The bathroom door's pop--

A wisp from outside her own door:

"Goodnight, hon--"

Dana buried her muzzle further into Bed-hog's neck.

The whisper of slipper-bottoms going down the hall--

An abused bed's protest--

Nothing but the hummingbird wingbeat in Dana's chest.

Then, the shrill roll of tension through old springs--

Feet scuttling--

A light switch crack: thunderous--

Bombshell silence.

Then, speeding steps--

And a dim beam of light fanned out across the room.

Swishing steps--

Closer, joined with short, nasal breaths--

Dana felt her mama's lips nuzzle between her eye and ear.

"I love you too, Dana."

And that was all her mama said.

The dim light fled. Silence reclaimed the dark. Years of harvested fears spilled out into Bed-hog's tawny fluff.

There were hesitant chirps of rubber soles and the muted percussion of the leather ball. It was a small gymnasium with a small band of bleachers along one sideline and a short net flying over the centerline. The ball--white with strips of navy and red--glided over the net, spinning in the attention of two large caramel eyes. A plume of blue-ribboned orange hair bounced across the court, and the doberman who towered over the others took flight. She struck at the ball full and hard. There was a spattering of applause from the stands, through which sang a howl never so joyous, never as unbound.

* * *

In a larger gymnasium with section-championship and state-title banners strung about, voices from either side of the volleyball court gathered into a roar. Down on the floor, a red-furred dobie ebbed from a white-and-blue celebration, bashfully traded two fives with the ewe whomst she arranged herself behind in waiting for the next point.

The #5-seeded Broncos of Winston High School bore scowls and dread, dragged themselves to their positions in serve receive. Their night was one of hope, injustice and decline. Attacking hard from the antennae with a pair of 6' outside hitters, Winston had taken the second set and had been making a go of the third when the officials had made a blunderous call--a blatantly in ball flagged _out--_putting Ingram back in the lead. What crowd wasn't clad in colors of the home team hissed, booed, and the match had only resumed once Winston's head coach had been reined and penned back behind the sideline.

The scoreboards read 23-11 over 2-1 as a serve fell into the paws of the Broncos' back-row setter. Both teams scrambled in offense and defense. Winston: digging to the front-row setter, setting to the right-side antenna. Ingram: outside hitter and middle sliding to block the attack. The Bronco's outside--a gangling stoat in burgundy and white--dodged the block with a decent cut shot. The ball sought Ingram's 10-foot line but met ginger forearms, popped and spun to Ingram's setter. The home crowd stirred at the dig, but groaned as their own outside attack was caught by Winston's sprawling libero. A long set was sent across Winston's side of the court. A mouse, a springy sheep and a tall doberman harmonized in flight: the rodent winding back an arm while the bovine and canine reached over the net. The mouse spiked into the flared fingers of the doberman, and the ball tumbled to the floor.

The whistle, the screams--a laughing voice at Olivia's elbow: "Who _is this_girl?"

She was familiar--the color of caramel in her eyes, the chocolate nose capping her boxy, gingerbread muzzle, the orange anarchy spilling down her back--but Olivia had never before seen this girl who exercised her strong figure in play and who fidgeted shyly amongst her cheering teammates as match point came in the section semifinal.

All match, Olivia had regarded the dobie in awe, in delight, in frustration--having untangled a great knot in her heart only to dangle within uncertainty's abyss.

* * *

BOX SCORE

Set 1 2 3 4 5

Ingram 25 19 25 25 -

Winston 14 25 18 11 -

"Awesome work, girls. Tomorrow we're fighting for state. Let's show up like we did today--game-day mentality--and we'll be fine."

One knee guard planted into the maple floor, Dana panted at the coaches.

Practice had been intense--the Ingram High gymnasium loud with quick feet and sharp calls over the last two days. Dana had been no exception, showing her newfound height and hustle, but she was terribly nervous. Melfield High School had crushed St. Vincent in the other 4AAA semifinal, and the Titans had already beaten Ingram, even with Olivia playing at her All-American best.

The 6' 3 aegean was notably absent from the end-of-practice huddle--had not shown to Wednesday's practice either. Just when Dana had finally, _finally_thought herself ready to transcribe the impossible into reality--

"What's'a matter, hon?"

Dana's eyes climbed from the supper before her to the narrow white crescents visible beneath her mama's dark irises. Dana attempted to ward off the concern with a grunt and a jab at her food--

But, tepidly, her mama: "Is it about that girl?"

"Mama!"

Dana dove behind her arms.

This was in_severe_ violation of their unspoken agreement to forget the note which Dana had written and now hoped resided in some unreachable place, preferably in the form of ashes or some other illegible modicums.

She's right, though.

She knows already.

A soft, sad pout permeated Dana's hiding place.

"I just don't know what to do . . ."

After supper, Dana laid herself down. Her room was dark but for the faintest glow of the alarm clock on the nightstand, and through the darkness, she could almost see Bed-hog staring back at her.

* * *

Unabated, a steady wind skimmed the fields north of town, occasionally rising to stir dust from the long gravel roads and agitate a white leather sphere which soared up into the night--illuminated from one side by the bright, cool light of the lamps attached to the large farmhouse--and fell to snow-white fingertips which propelled it once more.

The sky gave view to distant stars and the waxing crescent of a young moon.

Again, the ball arched between the two cats stood apart at the end of the driveway.

"Olivia?" asked one.

"What?" replied the other.

Olivia frowned as her mother stopped the ball in her paws.

"That night, before the accident--"

Now three weeks bygone. Still evident in stinging pains whenever Olivia lobbed her head about in haste, such as she did at her mother's retrospection.

"--you wanted to tell me something."

Olivia hissed, grabbed at her neck.

"Careful," said her mother.

"I'm fine," said Olivia.

And she was.

She would miss the finale to her freshman varsity season. She would miss the first weeks of the club season. But she would be in the best shape of her life for the High Performance tryouts. She would showcase a ferocity and skillfulness which would demand her a spot on national rosters, and she would play for Stanford and eventually go professional abroad.

She was fine.

Her mother didn't ask again, tossed the ball up into the night again.

* * *

Someone ought to have called the fire marshal, Dana reckoned.

She wasn't sure how the population of the Ingram High gymnasium could be higher than it had for the semifinal match against Winston, the quarterfinal against Dell Lake and senior night combined, but somehow, it was. She was sure of it as she slapped a spike into zone 1 and reported back to the right-side line for her next rep in the prematch hitting lines.

Casting her eyes to the left, she found herself reflected in the wall of eyes: all-seeing, all-knowing. Atop the bluest corner of the stands, the flashes of the Ingram High pep band's shouting brass bells and banging chromed drums. Writhing underneath the band: most of Ingram High's population with signs waving:

"To The Tourney We Ride!"

"#1 For A REASON"

"VANESSA I'M SORRY!!"

Among the signs, a feline face with eyes of forget-me-not blue: a giant cutout of Olivia's head waving up near the pep band.

The real thing sat in the middle of the stands with the Ingram parent section: as relieving as terrifying to Dana's heart.

She put another shot into zone 1 before the whistles of the officials rang, ordering her team to clear the court for the azure-and-maize-gold Melfield Titans. She hurried to the coaches. She didn't have much time.

* * *

The Section 4AAA Final: winner to post a new banner in their gym and vie for the state championship, loser to hang the word almost upon the season. As the Melfield Titans took the court below, Olivia thought a bit of revenge sounded nice, but, alas--

Through the pulse of the crowd, a loud bark:

"Olivia!"

It was not a voice she recognized: a throaty whine with the sweet, sticky quality of honey or a caramel roll's glaze. Olivia's brow tightened as she sought the source, tightened further as she spotted a tall dobie in the white uniform waving frantically from the base of the bleachers.

What does she want?

"Looks like someone needs you," Olivia heard her father say.

She didn't move.

"Olivia?" her mother prompted.

Then, the dobie was hurdling up the bleacher steps--her eyes fixed to Olivia.

"I gotta talk to you!" she yelped, her grappling stare as unrecognizable as her voice.

Olivia thought that maybe she was dreaming.

She followed the big, bright, bouncing ponytail into the hall between the gymnasium and locker rooms, made a wary frown as the doberman came to a stop.

"What is it?" she asked.

Dana turned.

And as the dobie leaned forward, Olivia thought that, with all of the space in the hall, they were quite close.

There was a quick, soft nudge of round, canine nose to flat, feline nose--the warm, pink swipe of a tongue against the short whiskers 'round Olivia's mouth.

When her mind caught up to her eyes, Olivia found herself alone in the hallway but for the sounds of the match about to start in the gym.

* * *

She was no All-American, nor would she set any state records that night, but Dana Cooke played possessed. Possessed by a determination to dazzle Olivia, to make her mama cry out in joy, to recapture the love she had so long forgotten, forsaken: of leaping through the air, belting spikes and raising near-impassible blocks. And whenever she was substituted out, Dana sat on the Tigers bench and made modest cheers for her teammates of many years.

* * *

Swinging fists, springing feet, paws beating the maple floor, screaming smiles to the rafters above--

Five sets to decide the champions of Section 4AAA.

The girls of the Melfield High School volleyball team puddled on the court, a laughing, crying mass of excitement.

Opposite, the Ingram girls stood crying and waited for their rivals to pause their celebration.

The gym was struck between ghastly silence and triumphant fervor. Some of the Ingram students had their paws on their head. Those from Melfield had to be corralled from the gym floor.

Olivia watched from the bleachers, a pool of emotions going 'round and 'round inside her.

She could see Dana's sharp ears were tucked, her long, boxy muzzle hung open.

She couldn't take it.

She jumped down the bleachers and ran across the court to the Tigers bench where the girls congregated with unfocused and despairing faces. Dana was shaking behind her ginger paws when Olivia drew an embrace around her.

An apology spilt from the dobie's muzzle.

"Don't be stupid," cried Olivia. "You were awesome."

BOX SCORE

Set 1 2 3 4 5

Ingram 25 25 19 23 14

Melfield 20 22 25 25 16

* * *

Ingram High Tigers Varsity Volleyball

Year-End Banquet Awards

Most Improved

Jacquelyn Coops

Most Valuable Player

Olivia Medenwalt

Leadership Award

Sonia Walsch

Hardest Worker

Meredith Ashburn

Coach's Award

Dana Cooke

The hall was fall's final hours: its long crossbeams the bare branches of the oaks and elms, its floor the auburn-gold quilt of the passing season. From spindly golden chandeliers, a quiet yellow light wondered it if could impart itself over those who attended the night's banquet: the few dozen girls in sleeved dresses and open cardigans who sat at the long central table with balloons, royal blue and white, also the parents and antsy siblings who sat at smaller tables flanking the Tigers volleyball team and the coaches at their head table which sat perpendicular to the rest. One coach was stood to address and adjourn the gathering, their parting:

"Things didn't necessarily go the way we expected, but, in the end, we hope everyone had fun and learned a lot. It's been so much fun coaching all you seniors and watching you improve every year, so thanks to you for your hard work, and we hope to see you come back and support us at some matches next year."

There were squeaks of chair feet and satisfied groans of fullness. Some families quickly left. Others mingled among their peers. At one end of the players' long table, a red-and-rust doberman sat with her fellow seniors, listening to the chatter. Occasionally, she lost hold of her dry-cough of a laugh and embarrassedly tugged her black cardigan shut.

As more Ingram families trickled out from the banquet hall and into the frigid airs marking December's impendence, the doberman grew aware of an intermittent blue flickering in the corner of her eye.

The aegean waited with her parents, recycling responses to the concerns and consolations of those passing by. She was just days fresh of the first of several dental operations, but she was no less gorgeous. A dress sprinkled foam-white and pastel blue made gentle waves against the white fur of her legs, and her dark bangs were carefully-ruffled and scooped across her brow. She moved when the doberman rose from the table.

They met underneath one chandelier, the tall doberman smiling shyly at the taller aegean.

"Congrats," said the cat, gesturing the small trophy in her paw to another which the doberman clutched.

The doberman quickly changed the subject. "Can I call you tonight?"

The aegean nodded, carefully smiled. "I can't wait 'til you get your license."

"I know," frowned the doberman.

Beyond the cat: another doberman, this one short, round and dark-furred. She fidgeted and looked around the room.

"I'd better go," said the red-and-rust doberman.

The cat sighed, nodded. Her muzzle parted, silver studs glistening as she mouthed the words "I love you."

The doberman silently echoed the sentiment.