Brittney missed the same serve six times.
The first one landed long.
The second hit the tape.
The third went long again.
By the sixth serve, the moment her hand contacted the ball, she didn’t even bother watching where it landed.
She turned toward the ball bag.
“Again.”
Coach Jordan shook his head.
“No.”
Brittney stopped.
“What?”
“You’re done serving.”
“I have ten minutes left. So give me another ball.”
“No.”
Brittney laughed.
She thought he was joking.
Jordan started walking toward another court.
“Coach.”
He kept walking.
“Jordan.”
He turned.
“What?”
Brittney looked at the volleyball in her hands.
“What do you call this?”
“Being angry near a service line.”
A few athletes laughed.
Brittney didn’t.
“Give me another ball.”
Jordan walked back toward her.
“What are you trying to do?”
“Serve.”
“Where?”
Brittney pointed toward the opposite court.
“Over there.”
“Where over there?”
She stared at him.
“You know what I mean.”
“That’s the problem.”
Brittney threw the ball into the bag.
“Fine.”
She walked away.
Maya watched from the neighboring court.
She knew that walk.
Everyone did.
Fast enough to make it obvious you’re angry.
Slow enough to make sure everybody notices.
Practice continued.
But Brittney barely spoke.
When Jordan corrected her defensive positioning later, she nodded without looking at him.
When he asked whether she understood, she said, “Yep.”
She didn’t.
After practice, Taylor found Brittney sitting on the retaining wall.
“That was mature.”
Brittney looked at her.
“Go away.”
Taylor sat beside her.
“Okay.”
Neither spoke.
A minute passed.
Then Brittney said, “He embarrassed me.”
“In front of everyone.”
“Yep.”
“He could’ve just told me what I was doing wrong.”
Taylor looked toward the beach.
“He tried.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“He asked where you were serving.”
“That’s not coaching.”
“What did you want him to say?”
Brittney answered immediately.
“Fix my toss. Open my shoulder. Contact higher. Something useful.”
Taylor nodded.
“What if none of those were the problem?”
Brittney looked at her.
“Then what was?”
“You didn’t know where you were serving.”
“I knew.”
“Where?”
Brittney opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Taylor smiled.
“Annoying, isn’t it?”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
The next morning, Brittney arrived early.
Jordan was already there.
She walked directly toward him.
“You were right.”
Jordan looked surprised.
“Can you say that again? I wasn’t recording.”
“Don’t ruin it.”
He smiled.
“Okay.”
“I wasn’t picking a target.”
“I know.”
“I was just trying to serve harder because I kept missing.”
“I know.”
Brittney waited.
Jordan picked up a volleyball.
She stared at him.
“You are the worst coach.”
“Pick a target.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s today’s problem.”
Brittney pointed toward the deep corner.
“There.”
“Too big.”
“What?”
“Pick something smaller.”
She looked around.
A water bottle sat several feet outside the court.
“That.”
Jordan placed a small marker in the sand near the corner instead.
Brittney served.
Long again.
The next one went into the net.
On the third serve the ball landed three feet from the marker.
Brittney smiled.
“Again.”
Jordan tossed her another ball.
For twenty minutes, she served at the same spot.
Some were close.
Some weren’t.
Jordan said almost nothing.
Eventually Brittney stopped.
“Why aren’t you correcting me?”
“Do you need me to?”
She thought about it.
“No.”
“Then why would I?”
That answer bothered her for the rest of the day.
Not because she disagreed.
Because she had always believed good coaching meant getting answers.
Jordan seemed determined to give her questions.
Two weeks later, Brittney played badly in a tournament.
Not normal badly.
Spectacularly bad.
She missed serves.
Got aced.
Swung directly into the block.
Misread shots she normally dug.
By the middle of the second game, frustration had become embarrassment.
She looked toward Jordan between points.
Brittney wanted something.
A technical correction.
A tactical adjustment.
Anything.
At 9–14, she finally yelled for a timeout
“Can you help me?”
Jordan looked surprised.
“With what?”
Brittney almost screamed.
“Volleyball!”
Her partner Maya turned away to hide a smile.
Jordan walked closer to the sideline during the timeout.
“What do you need?”
“I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
“That’s why I’m asking you.”
Jordan nodded.
“What feels wrong?”
“Everything.”
“Pick one.”
“My passing.”
“What about it?”
“I’m not watching the ball all the way to my platform.”
“Why?”
Brittney paused.
The timeout was almost over.
Then she saw it.
“I’m watching the server instead of the ball.”
Jordan smiled.
“There you go.”
“That’s all you’re giving me?”
“Apparently that’s all you needed.”
Brittney rolled her eyes.
They lost the match anyway.
Afterward, she was furious.
She kicked at the sand near her bag.
Maya sat beside her.
They sat quietly.
Five minutes later Brittney spoke.
“Okay.”
“What?”
“I want advice.”
Maya smiled.
“About volleyball?”
“No.”
“Jordan?”
“Yes.”
Maya waited.
Brittney looked toward where Jordan was talking with another athlete.
“I feel like he makes me figure everything out.”
“He does.”
“Isn’t he supposed to coach me?”
“He is coaching you.”
“It doesn’t feel like it.”
Maya thought for a moment.
“My first coach fixed everything.”
“Sounds amazing.”
“It was.”
Maya smiled.
“Until I played without him.”
Brittney looked over.
“What happened?”
“I had no idea what to do.”
Maya picked up some sand and let it fall through her fingers.
“I knew how to follow instructions.”
“I didn’t know how to solve volleyball.”
Brittney watched Jordan.
“So I’m supposed to be grateful he’s annoying?”
“No, you can be annoyed and still learn.”
Brittney laughed.
That became their joke.
Whenever Jordan asked a question Brittney didn’t want to answer, she’d say:
“I’m learning and annoyed.”
Jordan would nod.
“Excellent.”
Sometimes the answer came quickly.
Sometimes it didn’t.
Nobody gave her the answer.
When she discovered it, she owned it.
That was the difference.
Months later, a younger athlete joined their practice.
Her name was Emma.
She was talented and impatient.
Brittney liked her immediately.
During serving, Emma missed four balls long.
She looked toward Brittney.
Brittney almost answered.
Instead she asked:
“Where are you trying to serve?”
Emma pointed to the deep corner.
Then served long.
Then long again.
The third ball was in.
Emma frowned.
“My toss is too far in front.”
Brittney smiled.
“You think?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you want to change?”
Emma adjusted.
The next serve landed on the metal ring that connects the endlines to the sidelines
She immediately turned toward Brittney.
“You knew what was wrong, didn’t you?”
“Yep.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Brittney looked across the beach.
Jordan was working with another group.
She finally understood why his questions had irritated her so much.
Getting the answers from coaches was always faster and easier.
While answering their questions required attention, patience, and imagination.
The willingness to be wrong before discovering something better.
Years later, Brittney received a scholarship to play college ball.
During one of the preseason matches her coach called timeout
They were losing badly.
The coach gathered the pair.
“What’s happening?”
Brittney’s partner immediately began listing problems.
“The wind.”
“The short serve.”
“The blocker.”
The coach looked at Brittney.
“What do you see?”
Brittney looked across the net.
For several seconds she said nothing.
“Line is open.”
Her partner looked.
“Oh.”
The coach stepped away.
“Good luck.”
Brittney laughed.
“That’s it?”
The coach shrugged.
“You already solved it.”
They didn’t win that match.
But Brittney remembered that moment till the end of her college career.
Not because she’d found the correct shot but because nobody had needed to give the answer to her.
After graduating Brittney became a coach herself.
One afternoon she found herself standing beside an athlete who had missed the same serve six times.
The athlete turned toward her.
“What’s wrong?”
Brittney knew.
She could see it immediately.
She almost answered.
Instead she smiled.
“Where are you trying to serve?”
The athlete groaned.
“Can you please just tell me what to do?”
Brittney laughed.
For a second she could hear Jordan.
She could feel the frustration of being sixteen again, wanting someone older and more experienced to save her from having to struggle.
She picked up another volleyball and they tried again.
Leave a comment