He’s right, of course, and the quick strategy he came up with before the game starts works to their advantage. Each time their opponent spikes the ball, Megan’s already squatting in front of the net, hands laced together to keep the ball off the sand. She bumps it into the air and Colby steps in, punching it over the net and back onto the opposite side of the court. Their teamwork is flawless—they win both matches mostly by surprise, because even by the final count, the opposition didn’t expect anyone to counter their signature move so easily. When the game is over and they shake hands under the net, Colby’s is almost crushed in a fierce grip by the guy playing the front row. “Jerk,” Colby mutters, glancing back over his shoulder as he follows Megan off the court.
Another step and he runs
