This is a feature article about Whitney's high school experience at volleyball tryouts. She has read and approved the accuracy of this write-up. It demonstrates my creative writing style.
The glossy wooden floor stretched widely from center court to the outer doors of the gym. Sneakers squealed across its surface with each set and pass of the volleyball. Players, returning and new, scattered across the double court to warm up for tryouts. It was a big day.
With a mental scale, Whitney weighed the talent in the room. She watched as the court filled with eager young girls with ponytails and tags poking out of gym shirts, size small. She watched as they bent over toothpick legs to tie their shoes and adjust their spandex. Whitney knew she was better than most of them. She played on the team the year before and could see their mistakes in form and technique. Her confidence was high.
The whistle sounded and Coach Stef called them in like a herd of sheep. They came, scampering toward her voice with anxious steps. Coach Stef gave her usual pep talk about sportsmanship and encouragement then sent them off for drills. Whitney performed well but noticed the huddle of coaches as they watched with their measuring tape eyes, never measuring talent, just waist size.
As tryouts came to a close, Coach Stef called for a private talk with Whitney. She followed her across the court into the poorly lit hallway. The huddle of coaches stood waiting for her. Before Coach Stef said anything, Whitney welled over in tears, already sensing the words of the moment to come. “Whitney, you did not make the team.” She stood there in vulnerable sobs, crushed by the news, but most of all… she was deflated by the true reason why.
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