Chapter Three

Bust Them Demons

(Harlow)

"Maybe him and the witch girl are going to come and cheerlead for ya."

"I seriously doubt that, Soph. Now shut up, I'm trying to zen."

"Hey Harlow, you're so fine, but forget you, it's paranormal time! Go ghosties, go ghosties, go go - go ghosties!"

I swore under my breath and closed my eyes, trying to block out Sophie and Natalie's peals of laughter. This 'paranormal cheerleading' as they called it had been going on for two days now - I was on the verge of literally grinding my teeth to little nubs. These girls were going to give me a fuckin' brain aneurysm, I swear to God.

Sophie, bless her cold and loveless little heart, had 'accidentally' let slip to some of the girls on our volleyball team about an apparent four year crush Ryan Buell had on me (which I seriously doubted), and our allegedly 'awkward'encounter in the PRS classroom. Both of which (the latter I was sure of, anyways), were completely untrue. Although in the case of sweet but occasionally dim Sophie Kapor, you can't really count on her to differentiate between the truth and a lie. So now, 48 hours after mine and Ryan's little encounter, I was the butt of their jokes. Fan-bloody-tastic.

The other girl (who seemed to also love laughing at my alleged misfortune) is the front center on our team, Natalie Martins. A twenty one year old airhead who just happened to have a good top spin serve and not much else, Nat has been on the team for the past two years. Although most days she has difficulty stringing two complete sentences together, deep down I think her heart is in the right place - she is a good person. A completely shallow, stupefied shell of a human being, this much was true. But a relatively good one nonetheless.

And well, even if she wasn't all that wonderful, she sure as hell had one killer spike. And frankly, that's all I really needed from her.

From the bench opposite of me, I saw her giggle bemusedly and grin that big ol' brainless smile of hers. From my two years of acquaintanceship with her, I knew this could mean one of three things.

Option one, she had thought of something funny and witty to say. (Knowing Nat, very unlikely.)

Option two, she just remembered the name of a guy she made out with at last week's Formal. (Quite probable.)

Or option three, she had just thought about how much she liked cats. (Very likely.)

"No, no, Soph, like .. what about this one," she said enthusiastically, brow furrowed in concentration. "Okay, hum - Harlow you play volleyball and I think that's pretty neat, when you are done with your game, I like ... uhm .. wait ... okay, hey Harlow, you play a wicked game, I think that ghosts are really lame!"

She probably should've just stuck with the third option.

"Yeah, well that was, uh ... keep tryin'," said Sophie, with as much encouragement in her tone as she could muster (after two years it was hard to gather any at all in the case of dim ol' Natalie). "Here, how about this: 'Hey Lo Vincent, keep double teamin', go spike that ball, then we'll bust some demons! Go, go, go Harlow!"

"HAH. Oh my gaww, love it! Wait wait, what about like, this - hey there Harlow, don't think I'm crass, but when yo' done yo game I'm gonna lick yo - "

"ENOUGH," I said loudly, making a mental note to congratulate Nat later on for using a word like crass in the proper context. "Honestly, get a life. Both of you. This has been two days, non fuckin' stop of this shit. Is there really so little good gossip in all of Penn State that you've stooped down to the level of making fun of a paranormal investigator that neither of you have ever even talked to before? Really? I'd expect this from you, Nat, but Jesus Soph, of all people, not you."

They were silent for a moment, a look of vexation on Sophie's pale but beautiful face and a contemplatively confused gaze on Nat's decent but noticeably empty one.

"I don't get it," Nat said blankly after a second, looking between Soph and I. "I expect what?"

Sophie rolled her eyes. "Forget it, Nat. Don't freak out on me, Lo, I'm just playin'. Chill out."

"You chill," I said coolly, feeling a bubble of irritation erupt in my stomach. "We've got something a little more important to deal with right now, Sophie, than finding two words that rhyme with 'ghost-dick'."

"HAHA," tittered Natalie, clapping her hands in amusement and looking joyfully over at Soph. "She said ghost dick!"

"Shut up, Nat."

"Oh, okay."

Perhaps the two of them had forgotten what we were doing here, but I most certainly had not. Right this very second, sarcastic Soph, my irritable little self and the-like,-dumber-version-of-like,-Paris-Hilton (also known as Natalie) were sitting in the girl's locker room in the PSU sports auditorium. In exactly 45 minutes time, these two girls and I (along with our fan-friggin'-tastic team, who were [hopefully] on their way down here) would be facing off against PCC, a small college located about 20 minutes outside of Pennsylvania. Although not the most impressive college in the world and with a modest student count of only around 1000 people, their girls volleyball team was fantastic - they had completely slaughtered us in the first round last year.

Truthfully, there was no way in hell I was going to let them do that again. The two dimwits in front of me right now might not remember it, but I can recall that loss vividly. It had been my second year as volleyball captain, but my first as the PSU coach.

It stuck to my brain like gum stuck to a shoe - I wasn't ready to relive the embarrassment. While Sophie and naive little Natalie cracked jokes all day, I had been coming up with gameplans every minute since I'd woken up, running through every tactic I knew and every play I could think of. While they tried desperately to think of a relevant word that rhymed with hump, I tried desperately to figure out a place to put Kimmy where she could use her floater technique effectively, whether or not I should bench Ainslee in the first or second set and what to do about Mickenzie's lack of focus. And while they giggled about all the boys they thought harboured deep, dark secret crushes on me, I ravaged every nook and cranny in my brain that could hold some secret volleyball weapon that would help us bring home the championship.

I knew that somewhere in those relaxed and seemingly tension free bodies, they really were suppressing terrible nerves and solicitude about this game. But my frustration was beginning to radiate off my skin like heat waves off of asphalt - their more than obvious lack of outward concern this far along in the season was rubbing me the wrong way, and I swear, one more joke about Ryan Buell or ghosts or 'paranormal porn', and I was going to tear both of them a new asshole.

Sophie - whose callousness and impervious attitude nearly always got the best of her - seemed to sense my irritation, and in very un-Sophielike fashion, she dropped the jokes. Grudgingly, might I add, but she dropped them in record time.

"I know, Lo. I was just joking around, trying to lighten the mood a bit," she said levelly. "You know me. Instead of shitting my pants over my anxieties, I just tear the piss out of everyone around me."

"Well it's gotta stop," I said resentfully. "Look at it from my perspective, Soph, try and be a little empathetic."

"I wish I could, but I don't know what that word means," she said with a sigh, those icy blue eyes twinkling. "I was born with no emotions or empathy, Harlow, you know that. There is no warmth or kind nature underneath this skin, there is only angry, scorned bitch. You can blame that ice cold whore that calls herself my mother for that one. As far as emotions go, I'm void of em so don't look for sympathy here."

I smiled in spite of myself - she was crude and blunt and frigid, this much was true. But my anger with her never really did last more than 5 minutes - and on a day like today, I needed her more than ever.

"Come on, lets go get the white board - we'll make some gameplans. It'll make you and I both feel a lot better, bud," she said, with an astute little grin.

I nodded, feeling the irritation ease up inside of me. "You're such a kiss ass, Kapor. But I think I really do love you. Somehow, in some way. I do."

Sophie grinned back at me, and wrapped a pale, thin arm around my neck. "Your ass is the only ass I will ever kiss, my sweet potato pancake lovey dovey muffin puffin poo poo face."

She and I both laughed, as Natalie's face lit up brilliantly in front of us.

"OH, I have another one! Harlow and Randall, sitting on a ghost, K - I - S - I - N - S ... oh, wait ..."

"It's Ryan Nat, not Randall and ... fuck, forget it. Don't hurt yourself, Champ."

"... I like cats."

(Heather)

"So homework tonight, I want one paper on some sort of Parapsychology phenomena. It can be anything you choose - telepathy, precognition, psychokinesis - whatever you want. Just gimme somethin', guys. Remember, we've got a guest speaker all of next week, Chip Coffey - I'll see ya'll Monday."

The students all around me begin to filter out of the room. The keeners of the group already had their books and highlighters out, while the dopes that were only in this to stare at Ryan's ass the entire class were dragging their own asses around the front of the classroom. Dying to strike up a conversation with poor Ryan, no doubt. I shot a sly glance over at Katrina, who grinned back over at me. This was the highlight of our PRS nights - watching Ryan ineffectively fend off the 'LGLBC'.

The Lonely Girls Love Buell Club, bahaha!

All class, Ryan (who was usually so focused on teaching his lesson it would take a freakin' Molotov Cocktail to take him away from his lecture) was noticeably inattentive. He kept taking these weird, subtly quick glances up at the clock or he'd look shiftily out the window over to the PSU Sports Auditorium or he'd keep taking quick peeks at his watch. Everyone in class just thought he was a little edgy. Kat, Sergey and I?

Well we all knew better.

"That was an awesome lecture today, Ryyyyy," a girl named Bri said wistfully up at the front.

"It was reaaaaally interesting," said another girl eagerly (I'm pretty sure her name was Denise). "I just loooved when you talked about Parapsychology!"

"That was the whole lesson, Denise," snapped another girl, whose name I wasn't quite sure of.

"Well yeah that's what I meant!" said Denise, her voice tinged with annoyance. "The whole lesson was just awesome. Duh."

"Well, thanks ladies," said Ryan distractedly, shuffling around a bunch of papers on his desk. "I'm glad it was informative ... I have to get going, though, sorry to have to dash out - "

"Where are you going?" asked Bri quickly. "Do you want us to walk you there?"

"Do you need me to call a taxi?" asked the nameless girl persistently. "I have my cellphone right here - "

"Nevermind a taxi," snapped Denise. "My cars just right outside!"

"No, no, it's alright," said Ryan uneasily, eyes darting from left to right as he looked for a clear path to the hallway. I couldn't help but laugh. "I've got plans, but thanks anyways .."

Slipping out of their grasp (how he did it, I'm still not sure - sly bugger!), Ryan made a beeline to mine and Sergey's table. "Lend me a hand, my favourite PRS'rs in the entire world," he muttered, taking a glance back to the front of the class. The three girls were eyeing him dreamily. "I'm scared Denise is going to clock me over the head with her bag if we're alone in the hall."

I snickered. "Don't lie, it's what you've been waiting for all semester, Ryan."

"Heather, now is not the time to make fun of Ryan for his dirty fantasies," said Sergey evenly. "There will come a time to talk to him about his and Denise's future babies and hours of sweaty, dirty, raunchy, smelly and hot se- "

"No more, no more, no more," moaned Ryan, slapping a hand over his face as Serge and I kicked off. "Pass me a friggin' bone, you guys - "

"Ryan are you sureeee you don't need a lift? Bri and I are both carpooling with Denise, we'd be thrilled to give you a lift back to your house. Or a bar, or whatever you want? Yoo-hooo!"

"Oh sweet Jesus, sweet sweet Jesus," he whined, looking with great terror between Serg and I. Grinning, I looked at Sergey.

"Well I guess he is our friend, Serge ... you're s'posed to help out friends, that's what I was taught."

Sergey sighed, and waved a hand dismissively. "I got this, Heth. Don't worry. You and Kat take him and run like deers. I will handle the future Mrs. Buell. And the other future Mrs. Buell. And the other one. And the other one. And the other one."

"Just because you're saving my ass, I'll let the Mrs. Buell thing slide," mumbled Ryan, as I grabbed his arm and motioned for Katrina to follow. She grabbed her bag and rose swiftly from her chair, hurrying with Ryan and I out the door of the classroom.

"Oh nooo, where is he going?! Ryan! Ry! RYAN! OH RYAN, WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"

"Urgent, family affair, gotta run," I heard Sergey say quickly. "Great auntie's soul in mortal peril or something, some kind of parakeet possessed, who knows. He's a man on a mission, what can I say."

Katrina and I roared with laughter as we pulled Ryan down the hallway. He toddled along behind us like a little baby, eyes darting nervously at every passing door and passageway. Katrina shot a glance at me, and I smiled in return - if he thought he was getting our help for free, he was so freakin' wrong.

"Now, where exactly are you in such a rush to get to, Ryan?" asked Katrina, innocently as she could. "You just seemed sooo distracted all lecture ... "

"And it wasn't the usual 'oh-sweet-Jesus-Denise-is-staring-at-my-crotch-and-drooling' distracted, it was something else," I said, thoughtfully as I could manage.

"I don't know what you're - wait, what? She was staring at my crotch?"

"Avidly, yes. But nevermind her bi-weekly Buell crotch-watch," I said impassively. "Where are we whisking you off to so kindly and efficiently, bossman?"

Still looking deeply disturbed at news of his manly bits' newest fan club member, Ryan wobbled along behind us, muttering to himself like some sort of lunatic.

"Nowhere, I just .. just wanted to get out, I was - nothing planned, really, I just ... well, you know - "

"Fine, don't bother telling us," said Katrina in annoyance, shooting him a dirty look. "We're already headed towards the volleyball game, you Harlow-creepin' whacko. It'd be nice if you'd instill some faith in us, though. You know, actually tell us where you're going instead of lying about it."

He flushed with embarrassment. "Sorry."

I rolled my eyes. "Next time, don't try and pretend like you didn't have anywhere to go. We're chicks. We can sense when you're lying to us, it's like ... bred into all women everywhere."

Katrina nodded. "You can't play us, Buell. So don't even try."

Ryan's face brightened a bit. "Oh I could if I wanted to, you know. I just don't want to make ya'll feel bad or anything."

"Don't even start," Katrina said wearily. "Because if you do, I can guarantee you Denise will be receiving your home phone number in the next 24 hours. Guaran-frickin'-teed."

He grimaced, and Katrina and I just had to laugh at our poor, sweet, loveable bossman as we all made our way down to the PSU vs. PCC volleyball tournament.

(Harlow)

"This is not fucking working. Fuck, fuck, fuck. FUCK."

I shook my head furiously. "It's like it doesn't matter how good we get ... they're just always a little bit better."

The whistle blew, and the ref raised his arm towards the PCC side of the court. The surrounding audience - about 1,000 PSU students - booed. I swore under my breath, looking over my team intently. We had been practicing for months and months, and our first game - in our home court, nonetheless - and we were being beaten. Not badly, mind you, but losing is losing.

"Fuck this," muttered Sophie, arms crossed tightly in front of her chest. "We gotta reassemble."

I nodded, and raised a hand in the air towards the ref. "Time out! Time!"

The referee blew his whistle, and the girls on my team dragged themselves wearily over to where Sophie and I were standing. The girls sitting on the bench walked miserably towards us as well, undoubtedly preparing themselves for some sort of lecture.

I swear, these girls did not give us enough credit - we didn't lecture. We just bitched.

"We suck," Ashlee Klumper (one of our three new girls on the team) muttered. "We're getting completely slaughtered out there."

"No, you're not," I said steadily, frowning at the PCC team. "We're halfway into the set and we're only behind a couple of points."

"They're too good," whined Natalie, eyes narrowed on that dim face I longed so badly to punch. "Look at them! It's like they're ... like ..."

"They're fuckin' giants, okay. I am aware that we are officially facing off against disgusting, manly beasts that identify themselves as women," I said, getting a little laugh out of the girls. "Frankly, I think this is unfair, making us play against these ... these - "

"Gorillas?" offered Sophie.

"That would be insulting to gorillas," I muttered, casting a dark look at the PCC coach. A small, wirey old man with coke-bottle glasses, he glared over at me and tapped his watch obnoxiously. "And that coach is going to get a swift kick to the nuts if he doesn't stop tapping his fuckin' watch."

The team laughed, and Sophie and I exchanged knowing glances - one thing we had learned in the three years we had been captains: you get the girls to start laughing, and you're good to go. Get the moods up, their confidence goes up, and everyone's outlook on the game goes up with it. Rule number one for all volleyball coaches in the world:

A happy team, is a winning team.

"Alright, I think we have a plan," Sophie said evenly, raising an eyebrow in my direction.

"You know it," I said, my face set with determination.

"What do we have to do?" asked Lindsey Thomas, an older player on our team. "Whatever it is, we've got it, Boss, you know it."

"The problem isn't us, you guys, okay?" I said encouragingly, looking at each and everyone one of our girls. "We're absolutely fantastic, got it? We are the best fuckin' volleyball team PSU has had in decades. We are a group of talented, athletic, dead friggin' sexy bitches who can win this game easy."

Some of the girls exchanged smirks, while some of the others giggled in amusement.

"DON'T LOOK AT ME YOU BUSHY HAIRED FUCK," bellowed Sophie, glaring at the PCC Coach. "YEAH, YOU, DON'T YOU - "

"Sophie," I snapped, over the teams laughter. "Stop it."

"Sorry," she mumbled. "That assbone keeps tapping his watch."

"I know," I said irritably. "Just ignore him. On to our gameplan."

Sophie nodded. "You heard Harlow, girls. We've got this, we're the best team this side of the USA. All we need to do, is - "

"Oh look Harlow, it's that guy you like!"

The entire volleyball team, myself and Sophie looked over to where Natalie was pointing. Walking quickly into the gym, followed by Katrina Weidman and the other sweet girl whose name I wasn't entirely sure of, was Ryan. I felt my heart give a peculiar little flutter in my chest, which I tried (ineffectively, might I add) to brush off. My heart pounded nervously against my chest.

This little disruption brings us to rule number two for volleyball coaches (something Sophie and I had learned the hard way):

Keep the team focused, cause once the focus is gone it's almost impossible to bring the fuck back.

"You like that guy, Lo?" asked Lindsay in surprise.

"Are you guys like dating or something? You didn't tell us you had a boyfriend, Lo!" our front setter Kimmy Morris said indignantly.

"That's cute ... I thought he was bangin' that weird Elf girl though," added Ashlee. "Did he dump her or something? Cause I mean, he'd be stupid not to ..."

"I'm not dating him, you guys," I said exasperatedly. "I've met him once, but that's beside the point - "

"Oh thank God," our left side hitter Jen Comeau said with obvious relief. "You don't even wanna get involved in that, Harlow. Paranormal creeps like him."

Two or three of the girls nodded in agreement, and I felt my face burn with embarrassment.

"Anyone that's into that kind of thing has most definitely got a couple of screws loose," added Ainslee Peloquin, our spiker.

"Yeah, and have you seen the people in that class? Losers, just about all of them ... Denise Howells is in that class. Gross. Who are those girls with him?" asked Mickenzie Moeglen, a server and right side hitter.

"Two minutes!" the ref called from his post.

"Shit! GIRLS, stop!" I said sharply, my anxiety rising painfully. "Nevermind him, or those girls or anything, that is not exactly the pressin' issue here!"

One or two of the girls looked back over at Sophie and I, while the majority of the other ones eyes flitted back and forth between Ryan, his two friends and me.

"Pay attention!" I snapped irritably. "For the love of fuck, girls, come on!"

But the anxiety and annoyance in my voice didn't seem to register with any of them.

"That one girl is kinda cute," said Emma Carson, our middle blocker, blandly. "Weird clothes though ... but relatively pretty face, don't you think?"

"Katrina always seemed so nice too," said Meagan Vella (one of our setters) sadly. "You just never know ... you never know."

"He's not bad looking though," said Mickenzie fairly, eyeing Ryan shrewdly. "Just must be a little fucked up in the head. Who deals with ghosts for a living?"

"Who would like, want to?" said Nat in disgust.

"Nice face though," said Ashlee. "Not bad at all."

"Wonder if he's a good in the sack," said Kimmy thoughtfully.

I slapped my hands over my face and swore very loudly, and very angrily.

"HEY YOU FUCKIN' MORONS," roared Sophie from right beside me. "YOUR CAPTAIN IS TRYING TO TALK TO YOU. HONEST TO JESUS, SHUT YOUR HOLES AND LOOK AT'ER OR YOU'RE ALL KICKED OFF OF THIS GOD FORSAKEN TEAM, FUCK."

Rule number three for captains:

There is no better assistant in the world than one that has a voice louder than a blowhorn.

"Oh sorry," said Emma guiltily, averting her eyes from the three of them. "What were you saying?"

"I was trying to tell you giggly, psychopathic assholes how we are going to win this game. Regardless of the hole we've dug ourselves into," I said furiously, ignoring their looks of embarrassment. "Now if you don't mind, and if we can ignore Ryan and his friends for two very short, very important seconds, we might have a chance at winning this thing. So listen the fuck up."

They shot guilty looks at one another, before focusing completely - well, as completely as this group possibly could - on Sophie and I. Rule number four:

99.9 percent of the time, swearing angrily and pointing fingers will not get you anywhere. But that other 0.01 percent, it will be your best and most useful weapon.

"Alright, finally," I said. "Soph and I have about 45 seconds here, so listen carefully. We've got 12 excellent girls on this team, but we need six out there for this last half of the set. Kenzie, Ainslee, Meagan, Kimmy, Ash and Jenn, you're sittin' this round out. You've played beautifully, but we've got five minutes left up there and five points to score just so we even can catch up to PCC. Soph and I are going in - we're going to be your liberos."

A look of understanding passed through the group. In volleyball, the two players with the best reaction times and best passing skills are called the liberos. They dealt with the oncoming attacks, whether it be the serves, the spikes - whatever. The entire team knew Soph and I were the at the top of the team (why else would we have been captains?) - and the other team knew it was serious business when the head players came onto the court. Maybe now the stupid, wispy haired coach Assnut wouldn't be so smarmy.

"Nat, you're serving this round, stay in the back, right hand corner. You're our right hitter. Linds, you're our setter so don't let us down, we all know you got this, girly."

Lindsey and Natalie both nodded, a look of set determination on Linds' face and a vacant but possibly intent look on Nat's.

"Em, you're our middle blocker," said Sophie roughly, looking darkly out of those cold eyes. "You stay close to Lindsey, don't let her or the ball out of your sight. Got it?"

"You know it," she said, unflinching.

"And you, Jess," I said, looking at the silent and short, mousy-haired girl to my right. "You're my back row spiker."

I saw a look of mingled surprise pass through every girl on the team, but not one of them (not even Natalie) were stupid enough to speak out.

Jess, the youngest girl on the team, was chosen last of all players on the current lineup. She was our most controversial decision, but in the end, I chose her over three other very talented (and very tall) girls - there was something in that young, heart-shaped face that I knew I wanted on the team. So against Sophie and the other girls wishes, Jess was added to our team. And this brings us to our fifth and final (and perhaps the most important) rule for captains:

Trust your instinct, no matter how crazy people think it may be.

"Harlow, maybe ... maybe Ainslee should," said Jess softly. "I've only just started this year, I don't - "

"You're as good as anyone," said Sophie fiercely, casting her a dark look. "She wouldn't have put you on spiker if she didn't have faith that you'd do your job, so don't bitch and just do it."

I glanced at Sophie with a faint smile; most times she made her dislike for Jess awkwardly apparent, but I appreciated her support, however unrefined it may have been. With two captains backing her, not one girl would argue with the somewhat questionable decision.

"Okay," said Jess softly, avoiding eye contact with the rest of the team. "I can do it."

"Damn right you can," I said with a tad more optimism than I was feeling. "We all can. Let's show them who the hell we are and just what the fuck we can do!"

They gave a cheer, and the four of our current lineup ran back out onto the court, while the other six edged back to our benches quietly. The stands around us erupted with cheers, loud and exuberant.

"You ready to do this, Lo?" asked Sophie, her voice loud and happy - she lived for this kind of rush.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I said softly, adrenaline pumping through every vein in my body.

As Soph and I walked onto the court, I could hear in the back of my mind the cheers of hundreds of fellow students. I could see the stands, filled with people. See the bright lights. See my beautiful Sophie, my wonderful team, the short and fat referee. I could see the other team, shocked, nervous, apprehensive - determined. I saw it all.

But it was his bright smile, friendly wave and shy little thumbs up that really stood out.

I grinned back at that ridiculously sweet Ryan, hoping to God that;

a), I didn't look as gross, grubby and sweaty as I felt.

b), That the churning in my stomach was purely game related and not Ryan Buell related.

And c), that these shorts weren't riding too noticeably up my ass.

(Ryan)

"God, her ass looks good in those shorts."

"They have 45 seconds left in their game and a point they need to score if they want to even tie, and you're focused on her ass. Really, Buell. Really."

I grinned sheepishly. "I was just observing."

"Try and observe above the panty line, ya Perv," Katrina said flatly, but with a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

I didn't know if that was even remotely possible, but I sure would try.

In all fairness, the game really was quite fascinating. We had walked into the auditorium with five minutes left on the clock - the stands were packed, but we managed to find three seats in the very front of the bleachers. There was absolute minimum one thousand people packed into the arena, nearly all of them Penn State supporters. The only time I'd seen more people come out to support a sports team was when we had football games.

Harlow and her blonde, cruel looking friend had been giving their team a talk when we arrived. Harlow's face was tough but kind, her friend's - Sophie, I think her name was - hard and forbidding. We snuck in as quietly as we could, and scrambled to find some seats in the sea of students before us.

The ref had blown his whistle, and six of the girls had made their way back to the bench while four (a redhead, a darker Spanish looking girl, a dirty blonde and a small, mousey looking one) of the players walked back onto the court. A second later, Sophie and Harlow followed to raucous cheering from every seat in the house.

"Look at the guys face, he knows he's fucked!" an excitable guy had shouted from behind me.

"Oh, we've got this, we've got it!" bellowed another one joyously.

"HARLOW, YOU'RE SO FUCKIN' HOT," screamed another voice.

That was ten minutes ago - now, with 45 seconds left on the clock, Harlow and her team needed to score just two more points and they would win the game. I didn't know a lot about volleyball, that much I could admit - but even I was pretty sure the odds of scoring two points in less than a minute weren't very probable. Regardless of mine and seemingly the rest of the stands concern, Harlow and the rest of her team seemed determined.

The whistle blew, and the redheaded girl on the PSU team threw the ball up into the air. With a running start - SMACK - the ball soared over the net and into the opposing team's court. A girl in the back - who's face was uncanny to that of a silverback gorilla - bumped it high into the air, the other members on her team rushing to meet it.

"They're not gonna do it," murmured Katrina, looking sharply at Harlow and her team. "Look at those PCC girls, they're effin' giants ..."

"They've gotten it every time since we started watchin', Kat," whispered Heather, eyes wide with excitement. "They're gonna - oop!"

Another girl on the PCC team, also very apelike in features and swagger, jumped, and her hand met the ball with a deafening crack. The ball soared over the net, full speed.

"It's too fast - "

Pop!

With a reaction time like none I'd ever seen before, Harlow dropped to her knees and hit the ball back up into the air - and the crowd roared it's loudest yet. Sophie met Harlow's bump with a quick, easy volley and from out of nowhere -

BAM!

The small, unassuming girl I'd seen amble slowly out onto the court before met the volleyball with a thunderous fist - it flew fast and hard over the net, and hit the ground on the opposite side with a plunk.

"Holy mother of God," I heard a voice yell behind me. "DIDJA SEE NUMBER 17?! SHIT SON!"

"Good, fuckin' good!" I heard Sophie cry out from the court. "That's exactly what we needed, Jess, GOOD!"

"Twenty seconds," I heard Harlow say intently. "That's just enough time - don't hit to rally, hit to score, you got that!"

"Got it!" the team said back to her.

The redhead girl caught the ball, and the crowd fell silent. You could've heard a pin drop - no one was breathing. One, two, three steps and - BAM - the volleyball was in motion. The opposite team bumped it, pushed it, slammed it - Sophie met it with arms out, the Spanish girl volleyed it up and the plain little pixie in the back met it with her fist and a reverberating smash. To the other team - bump, volley, spike - and back to our team with another bump, volley and spike. It went back, then back again, then back, then back one more time -

"Five ... four ... three - "

"Go, Jess, go now!"

Harlow's voice resounded off every wall in the gym, but died the moment little 17's palm met the volleyball with the loudest crash I'd heard yet. It soared, soared, fell, fell and with a gut-wrenching smack -

it hit the floor dead on.

The buzzer sounded, was met by silence, and then ...

Screams, cheers and the roaring of a crowd louder than five jet engines. The girls sitting on the edge of the benches screamed, ran to meet their teammates in a group hug, the hug encircling the petite little 17 completely. No one seemed to notice PCC's cries of loss and fury. Beside me, Heather and Katrina screamed along with the rest of the crowd, caught up completely in the game.

On the court, Harlow had broken away from the rest of the team's giant bear hug and had made her way over to the opposite side of the net. She walked, straight backed and eyes focused calmly at the small, puffy haired coach of the PCC girls. She slowed and stood in front of him. He looked her over shrewdly, before nodding slightly and meeting her outstretched hand with his own. She smiled at him, said something I couldn't decipher, and nodded gamely at the rest of the PCC team.

I could feel every bone in my body aching to run over to her - I'd spoken with her once and only once, but I felt like I already knew her better than anyone. Everything in me longed to pick her up and hug her, never let go. Touch that smooth, toned skin. Feel the soft, silky chestnut brown hair on my face. Smell that sweet, vanilla coconut smell that radiated off her. Look into those big green eyes, meet those soft, pink lips with my own - everything in me burned to be with her.

"THEY WON, THEY WON, THEY WON," Heather and Katrina screamed in unison beside me, shocking me out of my ridiculously farfetched daydream.

"They won!" I cried, jumping up along with the rest of the crowd (a little late, but no one seemed to notice). "They won, they won!"

"I don't know how they did it," said Heather joyously. "But they did it! Sweet Jesus, they did it!"

"Did you see that little one?!" exclaimed Katrina. "She was amazing! Who'd have thought - tiny little thing, but shit can she ever hit!"

"Did you see the blonde girl, though!" said Heather wondrously. "She smoked that thing!"

"Harlow was amazing," I said, a bit more dreamily than I could help. "Never seen anything like her."

"Awe, shucks," came a voice from behind me. "You're far too kind, bud!"

That sleek, alluring voice I'd been dreaming of for days now sent shivers down my spine, and I whirled around. In front of me and my more than likely beet red face, was Harlow - flushed, seemingly worn out but beaming.

"Oh! Yeah, no - jeeze, no problem," I mumbled.

God help me. I really had to work on this 'complete sentences, no drooling or gawking at boobies around women' thing. I was terrible at it.

"I'm so glad you guys could make it!" she said cheerfully, looking zestfully at Heather and Kat. "Class cut short?"

"Naw," said Katrina easily (I'd have to get some tips from Mrs. Smooth over here). "We finished about 8:00 - just enough time to come and see you guys whoop some serious ass!"

Harlow laughed. "Barely! I didn't think we were gonna win that one."

"But you did," said Heather excitedly. "As a rule, I freakin' hate sports, but that was a killer game!"

"You're one hell of a coach," I said, this time miraculously managing not to stutter over every syllable, turn cherry red or accidentally peer down Ms. Vincent's top. Oh joy!

"Awe, thanks! It's not me, though, the girls on the team are just fantastic - I'm lucky I've got such a steller team this year," Harlow said demurely, running a thin hand through her hair.

"Harlow!" called a voice from the center court - a cute Korean girl with the number '8' jersey waved Harlow down. "They need you for press! Stop chattin', Boss, get your butt over here!"

"Oh fuck, right ... I forgot. I'm comin'," she called back.

She turned back to us apologetically. "I'm sorry, I gotta run ... this is the worst part of winning," she grumbled. "But really, thanks for coming down, guys! On behalf of myself and the rest of my team, we appreciate the support."

"Our pleasure," said Katrina.

"Keep us updated, let us know when your next game is," said Heather.

"I'll let you know as soon as I do," promised Harlow. "Before I go, I initially came over here because I wanted to know if you guys are busy tonight? We're throwing a party to celebrate our first win of the season, it's in the old Science building. Nothing big or exciting, just a bunch of volleyball nerds gettin' plastered. You guys should come!"

I didn't hear the rest of the conversation between Harlow and the girls. My mind had just exploded.

Well no, not really. But within a two day span, I had not only talked to Harlow "ass-looks-good-in-short-shorts" Vincent, but I had been invited to a party by her. I was completely, utterly, horrifically overwhelmed.

But at the same time, I don't think I could remember a time in recent memory when I had been this friggin' excited.

"You'll come, Ryan?"

I looked, slightly alarmed at the sound of my name, and met Harlow's gaze. She smiled brilliantly, bright green eyes glimmering.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," I managed to choke out.

"Excellent!" she said, clasping her hands together happily. "I'll see you guys tonight!"

She waved a dainty little hand at us, turned and jogged back to the circle of her teammates and the surrounding local press. The blonde co-captain, who I have decided to call Sophie regardless of if that's her name or not, shot me a hard, searching look, but turned her back a moment later.

"You know it's a shame, Ryan," Katrina said sadly, and I jumped at the sound of her voice. She gave me a dirty look and I flushed guiltily.

"What's a shame?" I asked innocently.

"The victory party starts in two hours and that's not gonna be nearly enough time for Heather and I to teach you how to talk to a woman without shitting yourself and blubbering like a baby."

I sighed, admittedly I totally deserved that jab.

"You're right. Not enough to teach me everything," I said fairly. "But it'll at least give you some time to gimme some pointers on how not to be blatantly obvious when I stare at a chest. Or you know, how not to choke on my own tongue everytime I try and compliment someone. You can at least teach me that much, can't you?"

Katrina looked sadly at Heather, then back over to me. "I'll try, Buell. I'll try."

Author's Note:

OH HAI. Sorry for the longish time between updates! In all honesty, I'm having immense difficulties with this freakin' story, it's driving me nutso. This chapter turned out decently, I think, but it literally took me three days of tweaking, editing and pulling my hair out before I thought it was publishable, haha! SO. SurriB, kcollins and ashleymaria. Did you three know that I ADORE you and your reviews? Everytime I got discouraged typing this up, I would get an alert on my beloved Blackberry about some sweet, kind, wonderful review you guys gave and I would be inspired to write again! OH JOY, how I love you all!

kcollins:

No Facebook for me! I'm actually a computer dinosaur ... believe it or not, HA. I can barely log myself onto this site, nevermind try and figure out you youngin's darn fangled Facebooker thinger! It would be funnier if I was actually old and said that ... the sad thing is, I'm only 18. Sigh.

AS FOR THE REST OF YOU. Y'know. All nine of you that've put me on story alerts and all six of you that have me on story favorites. OH, HAI. I can see you, sneaky snakes! And I would love your input on this little ol' story of mine. I need your lovely inspiration, so please stop hidin' and gimme some suga! Don't make me call you out! As for the next chapter, I have it all planned out in my head, so here's hoping it doesn't take me too long to type it all out. I make no promises, though. I type at snails pace. Poo.

SO. Please! Read, review, and enjoy! Thanks for all your lovely comments (you make me feel needed and loved and all the fluffy goodness) and I will update ASAP. Have a good week, guys and girls and everything inbetween! (L)

Love; Ellah!

Pee Ess!

I should also mention that the language in this story will only get more and more foul as the chapters progress. I'm considering bumping it up to an 'M' rating, but we'll see! Just a warning :)