Taylor knew they were in trouble when Brittney arrived to the tournament carrying only a watermelon.
Not sliced watermelon.
Not watermelon in a container.
A watermelon.
An entire one.
She was holding it under one arm like a football while dragging her backpack through the sand with the other.
Taylor stared at her.
“What is that?”
“Breakfast.”
“That’s a watermelon.”
“I know.”
“You brought a watermelon to a beach volleyball tournament?”
Brittney looked down at it.
“Apparently.”
“Do you have a knife?”
Brittney stopped walking.
“No.”
Taylor nodded.
“Excellent.”
It was 7:12 in the morning.
Their first match was at eight.
Brittney had forgotten sunscreen, sunglasses, and apparently every reasonable breakfast food available in Southern California.
But she had remembered a twelve-pound watermelon.
Maya was already at the court stretching.
She looked up.
Brittney dropped the watermelon beside her backpack.
“What?”
“I’m not participating in whatever this is.”
“It’s fruit.”
“It’s a commitment.”
Coach Jordan arrived a few minutes later.
He stopped when he saw it.
“Whose watermelon?”
Everyone pointed at Brittney.
Jordan nodded.
“Of course.”
The tournament began normally.
Then the wind arrived.
Not gentle beach wind.
The kind that makes every umbrella on the beach reconsider its career.
Sand moved sideways.
Hats disappeared.
The paper bracket escaped from the tournament table and headed toward Mexico.
A parent chased it for nearly forty yards before giving up.
Brittney watched it disappear.
“That bracket is free now.”
Taylor ignored her.
Their first match started.
Taylor served.
The ball moved six feet in the air.
“Was that supposed to go there?” Brittney asked.
“No.”
“Good.”
Brittney passed the next serve directly to the endline.
Taylor chased it.
“Nice pass.”
“Wind.”
“That ball went backward.”
“Strong wind huh?”
They somehow won the first set.
During the break, Brittney sat beside the watermelon.
“I’m hungry.”
Taylor looked at her.
“You’ve had an hour to solve this problem.”
“I’ve been playing volleyball.”
Maya walked past eating a banana.
Brittney watched her.
“Can I have that?”
“No.”
“You have two.”
“Correct.”
“Why do you need two bananas?”
“Why do you need an entire watermelon?”
“Fair.”
Their second set began.
At 4–4, a ball from another court rolled underneath their net.
Taylor stopped playing.
Their opponents didn’t.
“That ball was on the court.”
“It wasn’t affecting the play.”
“It almost hit me.”
“It was ten feet away.”
Taylor looked toward Brittney.
Brittney shrugged.
“I’ve been hit by things farther away.”
Nobody knew what that meant.
The point was replayed.
At 9–8, Taylor called the ball out.
Their opponents called it in.
Everyone walked toward the ball mark.
Four players stared at the sand.
There were approximately eight or nine marks.
“That one,” Taylor said.
“No, that one.”
“That’s a footprint.”
“Whose?”
Everyone looked at Brittney.
“What?”
“Your feet are enormous.”
“They’re normal.”
“That’s definitely your footprint.”
“Why am I on trial?”
After two minutes of forensic investigation, nobody knew where the ball had landed.
“Replay?” Brittney suggested.
Everyone agreed.
Taylor looked at her while walking back.
“That was surprisingly mature.”
“I’m evolving.”
The next ball hit Brittney in the face.
She stood completely still.
Taylor tried not to laugh.
“You okay?”
“Did we win the point?”
By noon, they had reached the semifinals.
The watermelon remained untouched.
It had now become part of the team.
Brittney moved it whenever they changed courts.
At one point Jordan found her drawing a face on it with a marker.
“What are you doing?”
“Team morale.”
The watermelon now had two eyes, a crooked smile, and eyebrows.
Taylor walked over.
“Why does it look angry?”
“It’s competitive.”
Maya joined them.
“Does it have a name?”
Brittney thought.
“Wilson.”
Taylor stared at her.
“You named a watermelon Wilson?”
“Do you have a better name?”
“Literally any other name.”
“Wilson stays.”
The semifinal was against a pair Taylor and Brittney had lost to twice that summer.
Good players.
Disciplined.
Focused.
The kind of team that warmed up like they were preparing for the Olympics.
Brittney watched them pepper.
“They look terrifying.”
Taylor nodded.
“Don’t worry.”
“Why?”
“We have Wilson.”
The first set was ugly.
Their opponents served Brittney repeatedly.
Brittney struggled.
At 6–11, she shanked another pass.
Taylor chased it but couldn’t reach it.
Brittney looked toward the sideline.
Wilson stared back.
She started laughing.
Taylor looked at her.
“What?”
“I just got disappointed in front of a watermelon.”
Taylor tried not to laugh but failed.
The opponents looked confused.
Something changed.
Not tactically.
They simply stopped being afraid.
Taylor missed a serve and laughed.
Brittney got roofed and complimented the block.
Their opponents made a ridiculous dig, and Brittney yelled, “That’s disgusting!”
The player laughed.
The match loosened.
So did they.
They lost the first set.
Won the second.
It was 13–13 in the third set.
Taylor served.
Long rally.
Brittney made a perfect hand dig from a hard-driven ball attacked directly at her face.
Then Taylor set and Brittney swung.
Blocked.
The ball came back over.
Taylor covered.
Brittney set.
Taylor attacked the recycled ball deep.
Dig.
Another rally.
Then another swing.
Finally, the opponent hit a shot toward the sideline.
Brittney dove.
Missed.
13–14.
Match point.
Brittney stayed face down in the sand.
Taylor walked over.
“You alive?”
“No.”
“Get up.”
“Tell Wilson I tried.”
Taylor started laughing.
“Get up.”
Brittney stood.
The next rally was a first ball side out.
14–14.
Brittney looked at Taylor.
“All that drama for that?”
“Apparently.”
They won 17–15.
Brittney immediately picked up the watermelon and carried it toward the final.
“Wilson believes.”
Taylor followed.
“Wilson is produce.”
“Don’t talk about him like that.”
The final started twenty minutes later.
They lost.
Badly.
21–12.
21–14.
No comeback.
No miracle.
No inspirational movie ending.
At match point, Brittney served six feet long.
She watched the ball land.
Taylor laughed.
They shook hands.
Second place.
Brittney sat beside Wilson.
“Sorry, buddy.”
Maya walked over.
“Are we finally eating that thing?”
Everyone looked at Brittney.
Brittney looked at the watermelon.
“No.”
Taylor’s mouth dropped open.
“What do you mean, no?”
“We can’t eat Wilson.”
“You carried a watermelon around for eight hours because you were hungry.”
“That was before he had a face.”
Jordan walked over.
“Absolutely not.”
He picked up the watermelon.
Brittney gasped.
“What are you doing?”
“Finding a knife.”
“Coach!”
“You need help.”
Ten minutes later, someone produced a plastic picnic knife that was nowhere near strong enough for the job.
Jordan attempted the first cut.
The knife bent.
Maya laughed so hard she had to sit down.
Taylor tried next.
Nothing.
Brittney stood with her arms crossed.
“Wilson is fighting back.”
Eventually, a parent returned from a nearby store with an actual knife.
The watermelon was cut.
Brittney insisted nobody eat the piece containing the face.
Nobody argued.
They sat in the sand eating warm watermelon.
It wasn’t particularly good.
It didn’t matter.
The team they had lost to in the final wandered over.
“Can we have some?”
Brittney looked at Taylor.
Taylor looked at Maya.
Maya looked at Jordan.
“Apparently we’re hosting.”
Soon both teams were sitting together.
Someone brought chips.
Another family had oranges.
A parent appeared with cookies.
The tournament director walked over and somehow ended up with watermelon.
Twenty minutes earlier, they had been opponents.
Now everyone was arguing about whether Wilson had technically been murdered.
Brittney insisted it was more of a ceremonial sacrifice.
Jordan asked everyone to stop talking.
Nobody did.
Years later, Taylor remembered almost nothing about that tournament.
She couldn’t remember the score of the semifinal.
She couldn’t remember who they played in pool.
She couldn’t remember which college coaches were there.
She remembered the wind.
She remembered Brittney getting hit in the face.
She remembered the opposing team looking confused when they started laughing in the semifinal.
And she remembered Wilson.
Especially Wilson.
Because somewhere between wanting desperately to win and eating warm watermelon with the people who had just beaten them, Taylor learned something she’d forgotten.
Volleyball was supposed to be fun.
Not easy.
Not meaningless.
Fun.
You could work incredibly hard and still laugh.
You could want to win badly and still appreciate the people trying to beat you.
You could be disappointed without making everyone around you miserable.
You could lose a final and still have one of the best days of your summer.
But somewhere in Taylor’s heart, Wilson was still undefeated.
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