Beach Volleyball - Part 5
Peter Mayhew frowned as tall-n-blond marched toward him, fists clenched. Non-violent as Peter may be, he’d been physically attacked a surprising amount of times in his life. Being pretty, effeminate, overly clever, nearly as sassy as Harry Potter, and attending high school in the homophobic early 2000s, he’d been picked on quite a lot by the popular boys. It certainly didn’t help that all of the girls were borderline-obsessed with him. Flashbacks of Charles Hackett played in his mind as tall-n-blond swung a wild haymaker at his face. Charles was a senior and a basketball player whose girlfriend flirted relentlessly with Peter. Just like tall-n-blond did now, he charged Peter in the halls and swung without a word.
With the slightest tilt of his head, Peter dodged the haymaker and took a step back. The second punch, a slightly more controlled left jab, was caught by the meaty hand of Greg Van Helsing. The crowd, small as it was with only a handful of supporters and spectators in attendance, gasped as Greg put Kyle on his back with a gentle twist of his arm. Gentle, if the viewer knew what kind of twist Greg was capable of. These people did not.
The officials rushed to separate the combatants as Kyle pushed himself to his feet, red faced with uncontrolled rage. His teammate grabbed him from behind by the shoulders, holding him back while his green eyes glared venom at Greg. Tall-n-blond’s eyes never left Peter. He looked like a caged tiger, unrestrained, childlike anger clear on his face. Peter couldn’t help brightening his smug smile as he looked back at the manchild.
“The team Straight Up Monsters has been disqualified from this and future events for egregious unsportsmanlike conduct,” came the final verdict of the lead official after a fair bit of finger pointing and name calling.
Watching another game while they waited for their second match to begin, Greg sat next to Peter on an aluminum bench that gleamed blindingly under the sun. He punched Peter ‘gently’ in the shoulder ‘affectionately’. Peter glared, rubbing his shoulder dramatically. The look on Greg’s face wiped Peter’s glare away to be replaced with curiosity. Greg’s eyes were narrowed, almost as though in suspicion, and his lips were pressed together. Peter couldn’t identify the expression but, if he had to guess, he’d say that Greg was amused and perhaps impressed by something he had done.
“You did that on purpose,” Greg accused, a smile spreading.
Peter’s chin drew back, brows high on his forehead. “Did what?”
“Provoked that guy into violence.”
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“Me?” Peter asked, his hand held up to his chest innocently. “How could you even think that?”
“Can’t fool me, Peter. You should really take credit, I’m impressed.” Greg clapped with the other spectators as a compact, heavily muscled but quite short asian man made an incredible save. “No small achievement either. I didn’t like our chances against those two for the third set.”
Peter let his veneer of innocence morph into a mischievous grin. “Mind games are my favorite part of competitive sports. Either way, I think we had them. And I wasn’t trying to get the guy to actually swing at me. Just make mistakes because he was mad. Thanks for the assist, by the way. The look on his face when you snatched his fist out of the air was priceless.”
Peter imitated the shocked, suddenly flaccid fury of the manchild and Greg boomed with laughter.
“They’re still here,” Greg said, lowering his voice when he was done laughing. “In the parking lot. I doubt they’ll try anything, but keep your eyes open.”
Peter turned around, scanning the parking lot until he found them. They were leaning on the hood of an 80s Camaro that had seen better times. They were too far away for Peter to make out their expressions, but even from here he could tell they were looking right at Greg and himself. He shrugged.
“I’m not worried. Greg Van Helsing’s got my back.”
***
Nuchi was riding a high after the first match. It was the kind of high that one can only achieve by pulling off an epic comeback victory. Their opponents, a married couple in their late twenties with an average height suggesting neanderthal DNA was thick in both of their blood, were no joke. The woman stood over 6’3’’, towering over Nuchi and Ben who were both around 5’8’’. Her husband was even taller and both of them could spike the ball with power and accuracy. Their blocking was on point the entire match. Their only weakness was receiving, but the ball had to get past their blocks for that to matter at all. Nuchi and Ben only won after scoring 19 points in the third set.
As if being a competitive individual wasn’t enough, Nuchi had the added incentive of giving this tournament everything he had because Chelsea came to watch. She was a year or two younger than him and an absolute goddess. He’d never been great with the ladies, and most of his talents weren’t the type that usually impressed the fairer sex. Volleyball, however, was his ace in the hole. When their next opponents stepped onto the sand on the other side of the net, Nuchi sadly pulled his eyes from his crush. He smacked both sides of his face with a loud slap. It was game time.
Their opponents were not what he was expecting. There was a massive hairy guy who, for some reason Nuchi couldn’t quite put his finger on, just looked weird in shorts. The other guy was clearly a supermodel plucked from a magazine, complete with photoshopped perfect skin. They didn’t look particularly dangerous. But he’d thought that about the last team, too. The opponents were serving first, so Nuchi and Ben got into position to receive as the whistle blew.
“Just like we always do,” he told Ben with confidence. Today was his day. He could feel it with every fiber of his being. Pocket Passers were going to take this tournament by storm, Chelsea would fall in love with him, and he’d use his portion of the prize money to take her on an expensive date.
The jacked behemoth tossed the ball, jumped, smacked the ball, and the first set was underway. When the ball hit the sand between Nuchi and Ben with the force of a cannonball before they’d even reacted, they shared a nervous look.
Today is my day, Nuchi reminded himself.
He really hoped that first serve was a fluke.