Chapter Eight
I felt energized as we headed back toward our teammates. They were sitting near Coach Kayla, but she wasn’t talking to them. She was on the phone again.
“We need a new coach,” I whispered to Bella.
“Why?” she said. “Coach is doing all she can.”
I turned to ask her what she meant, but the ref blew the whistle to signal the start of the second set.
As we tromped onto the court, I turned to the team with a smile. “Great effort last set!” I said. “Let’s keep it up!”
“What’s gotten into you?” asked Zac. “I’ve never seen you smile before.”
“It’s because we’re winning,” Scott said.
My smile dropped to my usual frown. “That’s not —” I started.
“Stay positive!” interrupted Bella. “Let’s grind the Hornets into the sand!”
But our momentum was gone. Even though we scored on the first rally, the Hornets blocked every attack we made for the next three rallies.
“Pay attention!” I growled to the team as we started the fifth rally.
“Work together!” said Bella.
The Hornets served the ball and Scott sent it back to them for an easy kill.
But the Hornets came back full force, knocking out three points. We managed to score four more, but before we knew it, they’d gotten fifteen.
We slogged toward Coach, exhausted.
But Coach didn’t look exhausted. She didn’t even look concerned. She had a bright smile on her face and was waving excitedly. “Ramona!” she called.
I noticed she was standing next to a man in a gray suit. Who would wear a suit to a beach volleyball match?
I walked toward them.
“So you’re the one who’s causing all the trouble,” the man said to me.
I looked worriedly at Coach, then back to the man.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“I got your letter,” he explained.
“What letter?” I asked.
Coach stepped forward. “Ramona, this is Matt Matterhorn,” she said. “He’s the owner of Matterhorn Plastics.”
“Oh,” I said. “But you must be mistaken. I didn’t write a letter to you.”
Mr. Matterhorn laughed. “No, you addressed it to the city commission. But it wound up in my mailbox.”
But the letter was in my wastebasket at home. I hadn’t mailed it. Unless . . .
I turned and saw Jack lingering nearby. He raised his eyebrows.
“Sorry, Ramona. I had to send it,” he said. “It was too important to just throw it away.”
“I agree! You have some big dreams,” Mr. Matterhorn said. “The Olympics, even! But it’s good to dream big. That’s how I’ve achieved everything I have.”
And by stealing people’s parks, I thought.
“Your coach has been making some phone calls,” Mr. Matterhorn went on.
“A lot of phone calls,” Coach corrected.
“And she’s convinced us to hold off construction until fall,” Mr. Matterhorn explained.
Now it was starting to make sense why Coach was always on the phone.
“So we can finish the season!” I exclaimed. “But what about next year?”
Mr. Matterhorn shrugged. “My company is going to donate the money to build another park,” he said. “People need a place to play volleyball, and you need to practice if you’re going to make it to the Olympics.”
“And for now, we have a volleyball match to win,” Coach said, steering me toward our team.
“Good luck,” said Mr. Matterhorn. “I’ll be cheering for you.”