by Claire Adams
The referee blew the whistle, and shouted out, “Point for China! Team China 23, Team USA 22!”
I glanced across at Wade, who was sitting in the stands. His hands were clasped together in front of his face, and he wore an expression that shouted out worry in loud silence, but he fired me an encouraging smile as soon as his eyes met mine.
“You can do it, Eryn!” he shouted out, his voice ringing out loud and clear over the clamor of the huge crowd.
Our captain asked the referee for a quick timeout. We hurried to get together in a huddle while Team China did the same thing on the other side of the net.
“Listen, girls, this is it,” she said. “We're two games to two, this is the decider right here. We've made it this far – and I know it's been tough. I know that you're all exhausted. Hell, I am, too. But do y'all want to go home with Olympic silver or Olympic gold?!”
“Gold!” we all screamed out in unison.
“That's what I thought!” she shouted in response. “Come on, girls, we can do this; we can do this! Bring home that gold, bring it home!”
The Chinese had been destroying us the last three games with their killer server. We had won the first two games – only just, though – with scores of 25 to 21, and 25 to 20.
Since this new girl had come onto the court, she'd been dropping ace after ace with her unusual serving technique, which seemed to involve putting a crazy amount of backspin on the ball and combining it with a height that wasn't usually used in volleyball.
I'd been studying her technique for the last half hour, and suddenly, an idea hit.
“Harriet,” I said to our team captain, “if we can win this next point, give me the serve.”
She raised an eyebrow, obviously feeling unsure about this. “Are you sure, Eryn?” she asked. “I mean, you're strongest up at the net. That's where we need you most.”
“We're in a tough spot right now, Harriet. I've been watching their server very closely, and I think I've got her technique down. If you give me that ball, we can use the same technique they're using to break us against them.”
She breathed in a deep breath as she considered this. Eventually, she nodded.
“My arm's real tired anyway,” she said. “I don't think I've got it in me to serve another one. All right. If we win the next point, you and I will switch positions.”
I nodded. “We'll get this point; trust me.”
We broke up the huddle and all went back to our respective positions. The referee blew her whistle to indicate that the game was back on, and the Chinese team member took up the ball again to serve. This time, I glanced back over my shoulder and saw our captain, Harriet, subtly moving back; she knew what was coming, and was getting prepared to receive it effectively.
Once again, the ball sailed over the net, and once again, the unusual serve almost tricked us with its height and trajectory, but Harriet made a spectacular dive to save it. Then another teammate set up a perfect spike for me, which I smashed over the net with every ounce of force that remained in my body.
The Chinese players made a valiant effort to block it, but my spike was on target. It smacked the floor of the court with an explosive punch, and triumph blitzed through my veins as the referee blew the whistle.
“Point to Team USA! Team USA 23, Team China 23! Team USA has the serve!”
Harriet nodded to me, then passed me the ball as we swapped positions. I could feel a tingle of nerves as I made my way to the back of the court and prepared to serve. I'd been watching their best server and analyzing her technique for the last half hour, but watching and doing were two entirely different things. Even if I felt totally certain that I knew exactly how to do something. Which I didn’t.
One thing I had noticed was that as she tossed the ball up to serve it, she put a lot of front spin on it, which was very unusual and probably what contributed to the exceptional amount of backspin she was able to get. It wasn't how I usually served, and it wasn't anything I'd ever tried or even thought of trying in a game.
I couldn't help chuckling. What better time to try out a technique that you've never used in a game before than the deciding game of an Olympic final?
Still, it was this or lose. We had to pull some sort of ace out of our sleeve, and it was about the only thing we had left: using their own secret weapon against them.
I breathed in deeply as the referee blew the whistle to give me the go ahead to serve. I focused all my thoughts on the ball and the exact spot I wanted it to land, drowning out everything else around me.
Everything vanished into a blur – the roar of the crowd, the colors of the stands, and the vastness of the indoor stadium. All I could see in this tunnel vision I had induced was the ball and where I wanted it to go. I heard Leena in my head, reminding me how the technique worked.
I tossed it up and, like I'd seen the Chinese girl do, put a lot of front spin on the ball. And then I hit it in the same way I'd seen her hit it, the same way Leena had tried to teach me once before – giving it a ton of backspin.
It worked.
The ball sailed high over the net, and the Chinese girls were totally unprepared for it. They'd expected a standard serve, and this was about as far off standard as you could get. The player nearest to where it dropped made a desperate dive, but just couldn't reach it.
Again, triumph tore through me as I heard the pop of the ball hitting the floor and the shrill blast of the referee's whistle.
“Point to Team USA!” she shouted. “Team USA 24, Team China 23. Game point and match point! Team USA has the serve!”
The crowd was going totally nuts now, and there was so much cheering going on that it felt like I was at a rock concert. This was it. This next moment could be either the greatest triumph of my life, or the biggest disappointment.
I looked up into the stands to where Wade was sitting, and the look in his eyes boosted a last, fiery jolt of energy and strength through my tired limbs. It was a look of pride, pure and intense. I felt like I could do anything with him by my side – like I could actually win Olympic gold.
Harriet tossed the ball to me, and all of the players' eyes were on me.
“Come on, Eryn,” she said, and my teammates all echoed her words with their own phrases of enthusiasm and encouragement.
“Let's go, Eryn!”
“Kill 'em, Eryn, kill 'em!”
“One more ace, girl, one more ace!”
“You got this, Eryn! You got it! Make us proud.”
I looked once more at Wade, and the words he mouthed at me meant more than any words of encouragement from my team mates.
“I love you.”
That simple phrase was enough. I felt like I was ready to take on the world.
The Chinese team now knew what was coming, and realized that I had discovered the secret of their star server, and they moved into position accordingly. Once again, I drew in a deep, long breath, doing my best to focus completely and cut out every distraction from around me.
I focused again on the ball, and exactly where I wanted it to go, and with that I breathed in one final breath, tossed it up in the air with plenty of front spin, and then served.
It was a bad serve.
It veered right, looking like it was heading out of bounds, but thankfully the amount of backspin I'd put on it kept it in – only just though. It also made it very easy for the Chinese team to block and attack, and they sent it back over the net with speed. We defended well, and sent it back to them.
The crowd was roaring madly with each volley that we sent over, the tension was becoming unbearable. And then, I saw with horror, Harriet sending the ball over the net with a fumble, setting up a perfect spiking opportunity for the Chinese.
I didn't even think, or wait for them to do it. I just reacted, praying that I could make it in time.
I sprinted forward and dove through the air, aiming for the spot that I knew they'd spike it toward – an empty patch to the right of our court that had been left open after one of our players had just dove t
o save the ball.
It was a perfect spike, and the ball rocketed toward the ground. I was already airborne, but didn't know if I could make it. I hit the ground hard, and a sharp pain blasted through my shoulder, but my hand hit the ground a millisecond before the ball did, and I saved it.
The crowd cheered madly – it was a spectacular save, even if I said so myself. The ball bounced off my hand, and Harriet made up for her earlier error my smashing it back over the net with a precise spike.
The ball hit the ground in the very back corner of the Chinese court, and the whistle blew.
“Point USA! Game USA, match USA! Team USA wins the gold!”
The crowd erupted into a crazy roar. My teammates piled onto me, screaming with delight. I just laughed, and then cried – it was all too overwhelming.
“Oh my God, we did it! You did it!” shouted Harriet as she hugged me, with tears of joy streaming down her face. “We did it! We just won Olympic gold!”
After a lot more hugging and crying, we went to the side of the court, where our coach also gave us hugs and handshakes. My mom, Anne, and her husband were in the stands with Wade, and they hurried down to hug me and congratulate me. All of them also had tears of joy glistening in their eyes.
Wade was the first to reach me. He jumped out of the stands onto the court – and I jumped straight into his arms. He held me so tight that I never wanted him to let go, and I could feel just how proud he was of me and just how much he loved me. The warmth and love just radiated from him.
“You were amazing out there, Eryn, just amazing!” he exclaimed, before planting his lips on mine and giving me a deep and passionate kiss that left me breathless. “How does it feel to be an Olympic gold medalist?”
“It...it really doesn't feel real yet. It hasn't sunk in properly. I still can't believe it just happened.”
“You'll believe it when they hang that gold medal around your neck in a few minutes, trust me!” he said. We both laughed, and Wade hugged me again.
“Remember the house we looked at before we flew out here to the Olympics?” he said suddenly.
“In San Diego?”
“Yeah.”
“Guess who the proud new owners are?”
I beamed a huge smile at him. “No way...you bought it?!”
He nodded, smiling. “And, of course, there's the detached area of the house that your mom can live in.”
“It'll be perfect – and Anne will only be three blocks away.”
“And with the university just a 10-minute walk away, it'll be great for me for work. Are you happy?”
“Thrilled,” I replied, looking around, wondering why Mom and Anne hadn’t made their way to me yet. Anne was still standing at the edge of the stands, videoing everything with her camera. She smiled at me and waved. I smiled back. She’d always been the shutterbug in the family.
Suddenly, an altogether different look came into Wade’s eyes – one of extreme seriousness.
“There's something else I have to ask you, right now,” he said. “It can't wait any longer.”
“All right,” I said, feeling suddenly worried. “You know you can ask me anything.”
He dropped down onto one knee, reached into his pocket and pulled out a little, black box. My jaw dropped with shock, disbelief – and, of course, pure joy and ecstasy and jubilation. I looked up and saw that the TV cameraman had focused his camera on us, and we were currently on the huge screen at the center of the stadium.
“Eryn Barnett,” Wade said as he stared up into my eyes, “you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. Would you make me the happiest man alive and do me the honor of marrying me?”
I didn't hesitate, not even for half a second.
“Yes, Wade! Oh my God, YES!”
He slipped the ring over my finger, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me passionately – and once again, the crowd went wild.
Click here to continue to my next book.
Get Each of My Newly Released Books for 99 Cents By Clicking Here
Click here to get my book Swipe for free
BILLIONAIRE AND THE AMISH GIRL
By Claire Adams
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2016 Claire Adams
Chapter One
Grace
When I walked out of the front door of my apartment building, I realized that this morning was one of those perfect, Chicago summer mornings. The temperature was warm, the humidity was low, and the whole city was awash in the lush greenery that made slogging through the cold, wet winters totally worth it. I smiled as I smoothed my new, red sheath dress and bent to wipe a bit of dirt off of the matching pumps I'd bought on my last trip to my favorite boutiques on Michigan Avenue. I dug into my bag, looking for my sunglasses, and quickly found them, then checked to make sure I had the presentation I was drafting for next month's meeting. When I was certain that everything was where it was supposed to be, I turned and headed toward the L, breathing deeply and feeling cheerfully optimistic.
A half an hour later, I stepped inside the large, glass and steel office building where I worked as a CPA for a large tech company. I stopped for a moment and thought about how far I'd come and how different my life was from my rural upbringing in northern Indiana. When I was a child, I couldn't have imagined living in this city or working at a job like the one I had now. The only thing that I had known back then was scripture and dutiful service to the community.
I shook my head, trying to let go of the memories that hovered in the recesses of my mind as I waved at Gertie, the security guard who sat watching the front desk, and headed for the bank of elevators that would take me up to the 37th floor.
I punched the up button and thought about how I loved my family and missed them all terribly, but from the time I was a young child, I knew that following the traditions of the Amish had never felt right to me. Thankfully my parents had been accepting of my differences and had supported me when I announced that, after my rumpspringa, I'd chosen not to be baptized, but instead would be applying to the University of Chicago so that I could pursue a degree in finance.
The car arrived and I stepped into it, holding the door for a man who was consulting a piece of paper before choosing a floor. I smiled and recalled how the next spring, against all odds, I'd received a letter of acceptance from UC and an award from the Amish Descendant Scholarship Fund covering the cost of tuition and room and board for all four years. That summer, my sister Faith got engaged to Samuel Yoder and I spent the entire time before I left for college helping plant celery and get the house ready for the October nuptials. I felt sad that I'd be missing out on such a happy celebration, but Mamm reassured me that there would be others and that I would always be welcome in our family home.
We stopped on the 25th floor and the man got out. I recalled how tensions rose in the community when word got back to the bishop of our district who also happened to be my father's older brother. He'd warned Dat and Mamm that if I left, I'd not be welcome back in the church unless I agreed to be baptized. Dat had stood firm against the edict and told his brother that all of his children, baptized or not, were welcome in their own home at any time. My uncle didn't take the news well and it made things tense when I'd return home for a visit.
The elevator dinged as I reached the 27th floor, and when the doors opened, I found myself standing face to face with my boss, Mike Killian.
"Good morning, Mike!" I said as I waved and headed toward my office.
"Morning, kid," Mike grunted as he sipped from a Styrofoam coffee cup and scanned the screen of his phone. "Oh, hey, Grace, I need to talk to you about the New York presentation. Come by around ten, will you?"
"Sure thing, Mike," I said as I pushed open the glass doors th
at led to the front lobby of Riser Tech. "I'll drop my things off and come down to your office." Mike simply nodded before disappearing into the elevator.
I said good morning to the front desk staff and then headed back to my own office, tucked away in the back of the accounting department. The year before I had been promoted and made assistant to the director of auditing. Our department examined potential new client accounts and reconciled the books before Riser Tech did any business with them, and then advised them on what technology they'd need to adopt in order to complete a seamless transition with the Riser Tech team who would manage their IT needs. Riser Tech had suffered a major blow the year before when it took on a client who was not entirely solvent. The company then went bankrupt after we'd signed all the contracts. Now that Riser was poised to merge with Mija-Walco, the CEO and executives who all worked on the 28th floor had made it a priority to avoid repetition of the mistake and had spent time formulating a plan to prevent it from ever happening again. I was now part of a six-member team whose sole focus was vetting clients and laying out their options.
I spent the better part of the morning reading and responding to email as well as dealing with questions from the accounting staff that ran reports for our team. I had just finished putting together a presentation that I was scheduled to make later in the week when the alarm on my computer went off letting me know it was time to get down to Mike's office. I saved the file I was working on and grabbed the file on the Mija Oil account and headed out.
"Mike?" I said tapping lightly on his door as I peered into his office. He was on the phone and waved me in pointing toward one of the chairs across from his long desk. I crossed the room and took a seat facing the floor to ceiling glass windows that overlooked the Chicago River. No matter how many meetings I attended in Mike's office, I never lost the sense of awe and wonder I felt the first time I looked out those windows and saw the sunlight sparkling on the water. Mike joked about how they'd put him in this office because it was out of hearing range of anyone who mattered, but the reality was that he worked harder than anyone else at the company and spent more time at the office than he did at home. This office, and every piece of uniquely crafted furniture and artwork in it, was Mike's reward for a job well done.