1
Wins: 3
Losses: 9
Carry: When setting, the volleyball must be played with fingertips only, and not caught or thrown in any way. A ball that is lifted or held too long is a “carry.” The referee should call this fault, but there is a measure of subjectivity involved, i.e., sometimes they fuck it up.
There was something about the heat and the sweat. Down in the sand, feet sinking and dragging, extra effort was required to overcome that friction to make the play. Every stride slower. Every jump harder. Beach volleyball was about overcoming not just the body’s limitations in muscle, tendon, and stamina—physical and mental—but the environment. The sun and the sand, the wind—gusts blown in from the vast, unyielding ocean, an uncaring product of climate and currents—none of that gave a fuck about the athletes or the game.… The team who overcame it, though … they won.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jess cried, trying not to yell directly at the referee. “That was such a carry!” She wiped the sand from her uniform while the other team celebrated their tying point with high fives.
“Jess.” Tania, her levelheaded and long-suffering partner, gave her a low warning.
“But…” Jess trailed off. The ref was glaring at her, hand twitching in the direction of the red card. It was lucky Jess hadn’t gotten a card already this match, to be honest. Other refs would have had her and her chirpy ass in the locker room by now. Jess bit her lip and swallowed any further words about the missed call.
Tania gave her a low five. “We need a pass now. Come on, refocus.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Jess tucked a sweaty strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail behind her ear and brushed the sand from her butt. She turned to face the server, hands on her knees, the California sun hot on her back.
They hadn’t lost to this team since early last season, and she certainly wasn’t planning on starting today. But her head hadn’t been in the game, and it was tied at fourteen in the third and final set. Time to dig in.
Her opponent and off-court friend, Chrissy, hammered a serve, but it was right at Jess. She passed it easily to Tania, who gave her a beauty of a set. Jess tore in for a hit, arm winding up … and cranked the ball out the back of the court. The few hundred spectators cheering for the other team hooted their approval from the stands. Jess and Tania’s fans offered encouraging shouts.
“Fuck,” Jess growled while Chrissy and her partner pumped their fists at her error.
“Jess.” Tania took her hand and gave it a tug so Jess looked at her. “It’s fine. We’ve got this. Give me another pass like that one, then swing away. Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Jess’s heart thudded in her ears. Fourteen to fifteen. Match point. No time-outs left.
Chrissy paused at the back line before the whistle, gaze flicking between Jess and Tania. Another tough serve, this time a couple feet to Jess’s left. She stepped into it and gave Tania another great pass, which got her another beauty set. Don’t blow it, Jess. She eyed her crosscourt shot, knowing she could get it past the block … but another unforced error at match point was unacceptable. She took some heat off her swing—too much—and lobbed an easy ball at them. Chrissy got there no problem and dug it up for her partner.
Jess settled at the net and waited for Chrissy’s attack, aware of the sweat on her temples and her tired legs, then jumped in time with her for a block. The ball brushed Jess’s fingers and continued into the court behind her. “Touch!” Jess yelped, peeling back and ready for the third hit. Tania chased the touch deep into the court and brought it back high enough for Jess to attack. The ball approached at an awkward angle, lost for a second in the sun over the open-air pavilion, so she had to give them another easy shot. Chrissy popped it up, then went hard on her attack.
Jess jumped, reaching her hands over the net. She got a few fingers on the ball, but the hit went off her block and flew far out of bounds.
They lost.
“Fuck,” Jess spat. “Fuck.” The familiar feeling of failure curdled in her gut and made her heart race, prickling her skin with shame.
Chrissy and her partner whooped and hopped around the court in their hug while their fans cheered.
Jess watched them, hands on hips and trying not to scowl. Tania gave her a brief hug and slapped her butt. “Good game, Button.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Jess grumbled, the cutesy yet pointed nickname Tania had given her last season even more irritating now. “Not from me, anyway.”
“You played great,” Tania said. “We can’t win ’em all.”
“I played like crap. And I’d settle for winning half.” Jess sighed and followed Tania to the net. “Good game,” she said to Chrissy. “Nice serves,” she added, even though the loss rankled.
Chrissy grinned and shook her hand. “Thought you had me on that last block.”
“I had nothing but air, I guess.”
Once the score sheet was signed, Chrissy tugged her hair elastic out. “You guys heading over to Maggie’s?” Her red hair spilled over her shoulders as she scrubbed at it.
Jess’s tastebuds watered at the thought of a nice cold beer. “Can’t. I’m working today.” She didn’t normally work on Sundays but she had picked up a shift after the morning game. With summer approaching, the amusement park was getting busier, so extra hours were usually available if she wanted them.
“Okay, cool. Maybe later, then?”
“Maybe.”
The four of them signed a few autographs for the kids hanging around and Chrissy gave a quote to the local sports reporter, then Jess and Tania stopped to chat with Tania’s mamá, tías, and assorted cousins.
“Come for dinner soon!” Tía Diana said when she hugged Jess. Jess’s first hug from Tía Diana had come after she and Tania won their first match together and now Jess melted into the comforting softness of each one. “It’s been too long, mija.”
“I will, I will.” Jess squeezed her back extra tight. “Just let me know when.”
After a few more hugs for some cousins and promises for a visit, Jess and Tania rinsed off at the outdoor shower near the locker room, then headed in for a proper cleanup. The cool quiet of the locker room was welcoming after the late spring heat and rumble of the crowd in the bleachers. The shower spray on her tired muscles and scent of her lavender shower gel soothed her, but Jess couldn’t stop replaying that last failed block in her mind. If she had just jumped a bit higher … reached a little farther …
Jess wrapped herself in her towel when she was done and was heading back to her locker when a voice cut through the chatter.
That voice. Low and judgmental. Smooth and haughty. “Ugh, who got all this sand everywhere?”
The voice that crawled down Jess’s spine like the most unwelcome of insects. There was no mistaking it.
Jess rounded the corner, clutching her towel, hair dripping, and yup, there she was.
Vivienne Morris. Perfect and petite—for a beach volleyball player anyway, one of the smallest women in the league—with shining black hair, golden tanned skin, and features so tidy and delicate they looked painted on with the tiniest of brushes. Vivienne and her partner, Lee, were locked into the top spot in the league, undefeated so far this season.
Jess hated her. Even more than she hated losing, which was a lot. Everything came easy to Vivienne, and she looked down on people who had to work for it, the ones who showed the effort with mess and imperfection.
And Jess was nothing if not a mess.
Their eyes met as Vivienne looked up, curling her plump lips into their usual condescending grimace. “Oh.” Vivienne raised an immaculately groomed eyebrow, then looked pointedly down at the sandy floor again.
Jess tried to keep the scowl off her face. “That wasn’t me,” she said, aware she sounded like a petulant five-year-old. “I rinsed off.”
“Mmm.” Vivienne shared a look with Lee, who struggled to hide a smirk.
The heat rose in Jess’s cheeks, her chest tightening in anger. She bit back the repeated denial that gathered in her throat and instead breezed past Vivienne to get to her locker.
Vivienne stood and slid her fingers into the bottom of her swimsuit to snap the elastics into place. She and Lee were playing in the next match so were in their new one-shouldered bikinis—black with gold accents. Sleek and expensive-looking—all the glamour of the bad guys in a sports movie … aside from Lee’s old, gross, sweat-stained “lucky visor.”
“How did your match go, Jess?” Vivienne asked with wide eyes.
The absolute bitch. She knew exactly how it had gone. “Fine,” Jess snapped.
“Did you win?” Vivienne’s face was blank and innocent.
Tania joined the crowd at their lockers. “We’ll get ’em next time.” Tania was on the smaller side too, but with prominent curves and still taller than Vivienne. Jess delighted in the way Tania patted Vivienne’s head as she passed by.
“I’m sure you will.” Vivienne glared at Tania and smoothed her hair, not that she needed to. Vivienne always had the most impossibly perfect ponytail. It hardly even budged after a long match. Her fingernails were gold this week. Most of the athletes in the league didn’t wear nail polish, but Vivienne always had her nails done—short, but glossy and immaculate.
“Good luck today,” Tania said cheerfully. She dropped her towel and started pulling on her underwear.
Jess followed suit. “Yeah, good luck. Being undefeated must be a lot of pressure, hey?”
Vivienne’s placid expression wavered. “No, I wouldn’t say it’s a lot of pressure.”
“No? I mean, you’ve got to lose one day, right? Might be today!”
Vivienne pressed her lips together. “If I need advice on how to deal with losing, I’ll be sure to ask you.”
Lee snickered, and the other pair getting ready smothered their giggles.
“Oh, just teasing,” Vivienne said in a sugary sweet purr.
So sweet it made Jess sick.
* * *
“Vivienne Morris is such a bitch,” Jess spat to Tania on their way out. “God, I can’t stand her.”
“I know,” Tania said.
“Those new uniforms of theirs, like, please. Black? Who wants to wear black in the sun?”
“They look good, though.”
“Not really,” Jess grumbled, even though they both knew that Vivienne and Lee looked amazing.
They were passing by the courts when Jess noticed the Sunside Cable cameras. “They’re televising this one?” Not many games in their league were shown on TV. Aside from winning the state championship and getting an invite to join the pros, a televised game was as good as it got.
“Looks like it,” Tania said wistfully.
Vivienne and Lee were on the court warming up like clockwork—dig, set, hit, dig, set, hit … almost boring in its efficiency. That was the way Vivienne played. Straight-faced, little emotion, smooth and steady. The exact opposite of Jess.
“You want to watch for a bit?” Tania asked.
“Gotta get to work.” Technically speaking, Jess had a few minutes to spare, but she was not in the mood.
“Oh, right. Maggie’s after then?”
“I’ll see how I feel.”
“I know ‘I’ll see’ usually means no, so consider this my formal request for you to please come.”
Jess hugged her, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “Okay. Fine. I’ll come.”
Tania squeezed her back. “Love you.”
The amusement park was not far down the boardwalk from the volleyball pavilion. Jess enjoyed the walk, flip-flops slapping on the sandy slats while gulls wheeled overhead, their cries mingling with the steady roar of the surf. The sun on her shoulders and smell of the salt in the air was a balm to her wounded ego. She could almost forget about losing … almost.
From the employee entrance she made her way to the staff locker room—a cramped space with an aroma of stale popcorn and disinfectant with a slight undernote of sour sweat. Sometimes it seemed like she spent half her waking hours in locker rooms, and they all smelled bad. Jess pulled out her uniform—although “uniform” was an insult to all other uniforms. It was a neon-green T-shirt with an orange vest and bow tie sewn onto it. Clearly, whoever had designed it had a sick sense of humor, or maybe some sort of early-childhood cotton-candy trauma that they enjoyed taking out on amusement park employees.
Jess had recently earned the title of “manager” for the midway games, but so far that meant only a bit more money and a lot more problems to solve. It wasn’t a long-term career plan, but as long as she was playing in the Southern California Beach Volleyball League from April to October, it was perfect. Only steps apart, she could schedule her shifts around her games, and nothing on the midway was too taxing, mentally or physically. And maybe one day … maybe … she could leave it all behind for the pros.
During a lull in the line, she leaned on the ring toss counter, thoughts drifting back to that last losing point. In her mind, she stuffed the ball back in Chrissy’s face. The crowd roared. Scouts from the pro league happened to be there, nodding and making notes on their clipboards. That hardly ever actually happened, of course. Scouts weren’t in the habit of plucking players from the obscurity of the SoCal VL and bringing them up to the Pacific Beach League. The only sure way to earn a spot in the pro circuit was to win the state championship. She and Tania had almost made it to the finals their first season together, Jess new to the league and the two of them fast friends, but finished near the bottom last year. Vivienne and Lee, meanwhile, were a new team last season and had come so close to earning the pro invite when they won the SoCal league, but had fallen just short in the state final.
Speaking of Vivienne … Jess swiveled her gaze to the lifeguard station that was visible not far down the beach. Vivienne wasn’t there, of course, she was playing right now, but Jess had grown used to seeing her perched high on her chair, looking down at the world, much like the way she looked down on Jess and just about everyone else.
The second time they ever spoke, Jess had been wandering along the shore, head down, collecting a pocketful of seashells. She had just uncovered a particularly beautiful one—the inside shimmering pearlescent in the fading evening sun—when Vivienne’s snooty voice floated down from the lifeguard chair. “You’re not supposed to take seashells.”
Jess blinked at her, recognizing Vivienne instantly, but needing a second to figure out why she was eight feet up in the air. “Excuse me?”
Vivienne had lifted her sunglasses and was examining Jess intently. “I’m just telling you. It’s illegal.”
Jess’s hackles went up. “Why do you care?”
“I don’t, really. But beach patrol would love to give you a big fat ticket.” Vivienne crossed one gleaming leg over the other.
Jess clenched her fist around the shell, Vivienne’s haughty tone making her want to throw the shell right at her head. “I’m not worried about it.”
Vivienne shrugged and leaned back, flicking her sunglasses into place. “Suit yourself.”
“‘Suit yourself,’” Jess had muttered, stomping away. “How about ‘go fuck yourself’?”
Jess sighed. Vivienne hadn’t changed a bit in the year since.
After an uneventful shift—not so busy that she felt discombobulated, but not so slow that she had to resort to counting the minutes until her escape—Jess trudged to the locker room and changed out of her hideous uniform and back into her gray tank top. She tried to do something with her limp brown hair but it proved futile so she left it down, lifeless and flat. Her gaze rested on the magazine page she had taped up in her locker.… Bianca Collazo, star of the professional Pacific Beach League. Bianca had played in the SoCal VL four years ago and won the state title, and was now a bona fide celebrity—endorsement deals with major brands, guest appearances on sitcoms … Bianca had it all. And she had been right where Jess was today.
So Jess dreamed.
* * *
Maggie’s wasn’t too packed, since peak tourist season had yet to arrive. The old bar’s entrance was off the boardwalk, with the other side open to the beach, a faded deck extending onto the sand, usually humming with live music and women who liked women. The name came from the owner’s love of Dame Maggie Smith, and photographs of Maggie in her most iconic roles were featured throughout, mixed with portraits of the VL stars who had made it to the pros, like Bianca. Right next to the volleyball pavilion, the bar was the main hangout for the athletes in the league. Anytime Jess popped in, she was sure to recognize some friends … or foes.
Like Vivienne Morris, sitting at Jess’s favorite table with Lee, Chrissy, and a few other players.
Jess let out what could only be described as a growl.
“To our winning streak!” Lee shouted as Jess approached, raising a shot glass.
Vivienne toasted her partner.
Lee swallowed her shot and pointed at Vivienne. “See, my lucky visor is working. You wanted me to get a new one to match our uniforms but I told you, it has magical powers.”
Vivienne shook her head and smiled at her teammate.
And the smile turned her into a dazzling beauty. Which made Jess hate her even more. Jess had always considered herself plain-looking. And while her height and broad shoulders were advantageous on the volleyball court, they were not so useful growing up, and certainly didn’t help her meet conventional beauty standards now. But Vivienne was effortlessly beautiful, as she was effortlessly everything else.
Jess slumped into a chair at the other end of the table.
Chrissy saw her and leaned over to greet her above the hubbub of the bar. “Hey, how was work?”
“Fine.”
“Did you catch any of the game? Viv and Lee crushed it. Viv actually—”
Jess lurched back to her feet. “Sorry, you know what? Hold that thought. I really need a drink.” She abandoned Chrissy and her fawning and made her way to the bar.
A bachelorette party was in the way. A cluster of partygoers blocked her path, screeching and passing shots around. They were obviously not from Southern California—most of them clearly hadn’t seen the sun in months. The bride-to-be wore a wedding veil and a glittering pink bachelorette sash labeled BRIDE #1, but it was the woman next to her in a pale yellow sundress who caught Jess’s attention. Sultry and curvy, flowing dark brown hair, wide eyes, and an alluring vibe that pulled Jess in.
Copyright © 2026 by Jennifer Moffatt