The Ribbon Above the Net — Under the gym balcony, Junie tied a thin white ribbon around her wrist and rolled a volleyball between her palms. Read the full story →
Under the gym balcony, Junie tied a thin white ribbon around her wrist and rolled a volleyball between her palms. The court smelled like floor polish and rubber soles, and every bounce made a round, patient sound: pom, pom, pom. She was not hurrying for a point. She was waiting for the ball to arrive at the exact height where the ribbon would show.
Her teammates whispered from the benches while shadows from the net made little ladders across the floor. Junie stepped, breathed, and lifted her hand. The ball floated close enough to hear its soft spin. “Now,” she said, not loudly, and tipped it with her fingertips so gently that it seemed to pause above the tape.
From the balcony, the custodian’s old radio crackled the noon chime, and sunlight caught the ribbon. It was not plain after all; tiny silver threads flashed in it, stitched from the retired net her mother had played through years before. The ball crossed, the ribbon shone, and the gym held its breath. Next time you see that raised hand, see if you can spot the quiet thread that waited for its light.
