“Please don’t talk about volleyball on the way home,” Maya said.
Her father was watching the last point on his phone.
“I wanted to show you something.”
“I know.”
She put her bag in the trunk and got into the car.
They had lost in the quarterfinals. Maya had missed two serves in the final set. She had already talked with Brittney and their coach. Now she wanted to eat and go home.
Her father drove past the playground and up the hill.
“You two played well most of the day.”
“Thanks.”
“You just need to get those serves in when it’s close.”
Maya looked out the window.
“What?”
“I asked you not to talk about it.”
“I’m not upset with you.”
“I know. But I’m upset, and I don’t want to explain the match again.”
He turned off the radio.
“I’m trying to help.”
“Then can we stop for lunch?”
They drove quietly until they reached a sandwich shop.
While they waited for their order, her father opened the video again. Maya saw him, and he put the phone away.
“I didn’t realize how much I was doing that,” he said.
“You do it after every tournament.”
“Even when you win?”
“Especially when we win. You want to show me everything we did right.”
“I thought you liked that.”
“Sometimes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did. In the parking lot.”
He nodded.
“You did.”
Their food arrived. He asked about a class she had mentioned earlier in the week. Maya told him about a presentation she was worried about.
For the rest of lunch, they didn’t discuss volleyball.
Back in the car, Maya took out her phone.
“Brittney wants to practice Friday.”
“Do you need a ride?”
“Probably.”
“Okay.”
She read another message.
“Can you send her the match video?”
“Sure.”
“And send it to me.”
He looked over before starting the car.
“You want to watch it?”
“With her. We’re going to look at it before practice.”
He sent the file without adding a note about the serves.
Maya put her phone away.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“You’re welcome.”
She reached for the radio.
This time, he left it on.
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