C’mon, Josette yelled from the pickup. Snow was driving. Maggie got into the jump seat just behind. They drove to the school and parked by the gym entrance. The gym was huge and there were three courts with nets rolled up in the steel rafters so that there could be several different games played at the same time.
The eighteen girls trying out for the team wore ponytails centered high on the back of their heads, and wide stretchy headbands of every color. Some looked Indian, some looked maybe Indian, some looked white. Diamond grinned at Maggie. Six feet tall and in full makeup, she danced around, excited, snapping gum. Another girl’s ponytail, even tightened up high, hung nearly to her waist. She was powwow royalty. Regina Sailor was her name. Snow was five ten and her ponytail was also long—halfway down her back. Maggie decided to grow her hair out. Diamond was powerfully muscled and the powwow princess had extremely springy crow-hop legs. Maggie decided to work out more. The coach was small, round, smiley, maybe a white Indian. He wore a bead choker. His thin hair was scraped into a grizzled ponytail. He was Mr. Duke.
Coach Duke started the girls off with warm-up exercises. Josette paired off with Maggie and Snow paired with Diamond. The powwow princess, very striking with winsome cheekbones and a complex double French braid, looked at Maggie with cool scorn and said, Who’s that.
She’s my sister, Josette said. She’s a digger, too. You watch.
The coach made them number off twos and ones, for a scrimmage. Josette and Snow were twos. Maggie tried to stand in a spot where she would be a two, but she got stuck as a one. She was on the same team as Diamond and the princess. They seemed to know where they played best and took their positions. Diamond passed Maggie the ball and said, Serve!
Maggie’s throat went dry. She slammed the ball on the floor—it didn’t bounce crooked like in the yard. The ball came right back to her hand as if it liked her. She tossed the ball high.
Wait.
Coach hadn’t blown his whistle.
Okay. He tweeted.
Maggie tossed the ball up again, knocked it into the net. But the others just clapped and got down to business. Her face was hot, but it seemed nobody cared. There went the next serve. The princess returned it. Josette set the ball and Snow launched, legs gangling, spiked the ball left of Maggie just the way she did in practice. There wasn’t time to slide under it so Maggie dove fist out, konged it up high, and rolled. Diamond messaged that one deep but Josette was there with a bouncy blonde, who again fed the ball to Snow, who again whacked it straight at Maggie.
Ravich! she screamed.
Maggie dug it out again with a kamikaze dive.
Holeee, screamed the powwow princess. Another girl set and the princess slammed a pit ball past Snow’s lifted arms right into the sweet spot of gym floor nobody could reach.
Kill!
Maggie couldn’t serve or jump. She couldn’t hit for squat. She wasn’t graceful, but she got to where the ball was, wherever it went, and popped it up. Sometimes she pounced, sometimes she frogged, sometimes she stag-leaped to cork it overhead, backward, if a teammate smacked it out of bounds. And her placement was good. Her craziest save was playable. She gave everything—every fret, every gut clench, every fear—freed herself for a couple of hours, made the coach laugh, and picked up the team with her slapstick retrievals.
Okay, you might be on the bench a lot at first. Don’t worry, said Josette, when they found out she’d made the varsity team. You mighta got more play JV. But we need you.
You’re suicidal out there!
Snow laughed. They were driving back. Neither of them saw Maggie’s face freeze at the word, saw her eyes lose focus. She was suddenly in the barn—her mom standing high in the slant of light. Zip. She ricocheted back into the car. She was afraid that she felt too good, too happy, and that would make her mom feel the opposite. She watched the road, anxious as the sisters gabbled. Snow was driving fast enough, but still, she needed to get home.