The Ridgefield Wolves' bus hummed through the mountain roads, its windows fogged by the crisp Oregon winter air. Snow clung to the edges of the highway, and beyond the tall pines, the early sun painted Hood River in silver and gold.
Connor sat near the back, earbuds in but no music playing. His gaze drifted between the condensation on the glass and the faint reflection of his own face. His breath misted faintly.
They were heading to the Oregon State Winter Volleyball Intensive, ten days of high-level drills, scrimmages, and system training against some of the strongest programs in the region.
A new beginning, Coach Reynolds had called it.
A reset.
"Hey," Dylan nudged his shoulder, breaking the quiet. "You look like you're about to have an existential crisis or something."
Connor blinked, snorted, and pulled one earbud out. "Just thinking."
"About what? Spikes? Sets? Your tragic lack of a social life?"
Connor raised a brow. "You mean our tragic lack of a social life."
"Fair," Dylan said, grinning.
Across the aisle, Noah had his phone out, showing Harper something. She was seated diagonally in front of Connor, notebook already open in her lap.
"I'm not saying I'm photogenic," Noah was saying, "but you could totally use that one for the article headline. 'Varsity Heartthrob Dominates the Court.'"
Harper laughed, shaking her head. "You didn't even play that match."
"Yeah, but my spirit did."
Connor smirked. Typical Noah. Always deflecting with humor.
Behind them, Mason and Elias were quietly discussing practice rotations. Sam, ever the observer, sat by the window with a book open, eyes flicking up occasionally to scan the scenery.
As they neared Hood River, the coach's voice came from the front.
"Alright, Wolves," Coach Reynolds said, turning slightly in his seat. "We've got ten days here. It's not just scrimmages, it's system study, mental conditioning, and leadership work. You'll be training with five other schools, including Cascade, Jefferson, Northgate, Riverside, and Summit."
That name — Cascade Titans — drew a few looks.
Even now, the memory of their final loss at the Bay Invitational stung.
"Use this camp to grow," Reynolds continued. "We're not here to prove something. We're here to learn. You've got potential, every one of you, but potential means nothing without refinement. Understood?"
"Yes, Coach!" came the chorus.
The bus rolled into the campus of the Hood River Training Complex, a sprawling facility tucked between evergreens and icy hills. Four indoor courts gleamed beneath glass roofs; a cluster of cabins surrounded the central gym. The Wolves filed out, cold air biting at their cheeks.
Harper shivered immediately. "It's freezing!"
"Welcome to winter training," Dylan said, tossing his duffel over his shoulder. "Maybe they'll make us run warm-ups in the snow."
Noah groaned. "Don't give them ideas."
They checked in, receiving their room keys and a printed schedule. Connor's cabin would be shared with Dylan, Noah, and Sam — chaos guaranteed.
⸻
🏐 By noon, the teams were gathered in the main gym, banners hanging from the rafters:
WELCOME TO THE 2025 OREGON STATE WINTER VOLLEYBALL INTENSIVE.
Six teams, each in their school jackets, stood in organized rows.
The Cascade Titans were impossible to miss, tall, coordinated, and wearing sharp navy tracksuits with gold stripes. Their captain, Jake Hanley, towered near the center, he carried himself like someone born to win.
Beside him stood Aiden Ross, Cascade's sophomore setter, wiry, sharp-eyed, scanning everything like a hawk.
Connor caught him glancing their way. For a second, their eyes met, quiet, mutual recognition.
Connor broke the stare first.
The Jefferson Eagles gathered to the left, sleek and focused, led by Malik Price, short but radiating confidence. He was talking animatedly to his libero, Ryota Kim, who looked completely unreadable.
Then came the Northgate Bears, a wall of muscle and loud voices, with the towering freshman Eric Donovan laughing as he playfully shoved a senior teammate.
Riverside Phoenix, smaller in stature but moving in unison, almost like they shared one mind, stood quietly behind their coach.
And finally, the Summit Vipers, loud and brash, especially their opposite hitter, Kyle Cross, whose voice carried across the gym.
"Man, this place is insane," Dylan whispered.
"Feels like we're in a sports movie," Noah said, grinning.
Coach Reynolds stood among the others, chatting with the other staff. The main coordinator, a tall woman in a gray tracksuit — Coach Imani West, from Oregon State University — stepped up with a mic.
"Welcome, athletes," she began. "For the next ten days, you'll live, eat, and breathe volleyball. You'll be tested in every skill, physical, tactical, and mental. We'll pair teams for mixed drills, analyze match footage, and end with a round-robin scrimmage tournament."
She smiled faintly. "You're not here to represent your schools. You're here to represent your growth."
A murmur rippled through the teams.
Connor felt something stir in his chest, nerves, anticipation, maybe both.
⸻
Later that afternoon, the Wolves unpacked in their cabin. Connor claimed the top bunk, tossing his duffel up before collapsing onto the mattress.
Dylan flopped onto the bed below, groaning. "Ten days of this, huh?"
"Ten days of getting better," Sam said simply, folding his jacket neatly into the dresser.
"You're way too calm about this," Noah said, already setting up a small Bluetooth speaker. "This is gonna be brutal. I can feel it."
"Good brutal," Connor said.
Harper knocked on the door a moment later, holding her camera bag. "Coach said we'll have media access for the scrimmages. You guys okay with me shadowing tomorrow's drills?"
"Totally," Dylan said instantly.
"Cool," Harper replied, trying to suppress a grin. "Oh, and Sam, Coach West was asking for volunteers for the morning warm-up demo. I kinda… might've signed you up."
Sam blinked, then sighed. "Of course you did."
Noah laughed. "Smooth move, Harper. You just want him in the spotlight."
Her cheeks flushed slightly. "It's for the article."
"Uh-huh," Noah teased.
Connor smiled faintly, listening to them bicker. Despite the long day, the cabin felt… alive. Balanced.
⸻
🏐 The Wolves' first session was light, dynamic stretches, short serve drills, and controlled passing.
The other teams shared the gym in rotating groups. Connor found himself next to Aiden Ross during a serving accuracy exercise.
The Cascade setter gave him a quick nod. "You're Ridgefield's freshman, right? The one who played in the Bay Invitational?"
"Yeah," Connor said, tossing a ball up. "You're Cascade's setter."
"Second-year," Aiden corrected, serving cleanly to the corner. "You had good tempo last time. Different style from Elias Monroe."
Connor hesitated. "You noticed?"
Aiden shrugged. "Always watch the competition."
It wasn't arrogance, just focus. Still, the words hung in the air. Connor served next, clipping the line.
"Nice," Aiden said, catching his return. "Guess this camp might be fun."
Then he walked off to rejoin his team.
Connor exhaled, pulse quick. The challenge felt electric.
⸻
Later That Night The Wolves gathered in the lounge area, fireplace crackling, steam rising from cups of hot chocolate.
Mason stretched his shoulders, looking at the group. "Tomorrow we get tested, agility, vertical, reaction drills. Sleep well, eat early, and hydrate."
Noah mock-saluted. "Yes, captain, sir."
"Smartass," Mason said, but he was smiling.
Outside, the wind howled softly against the glass.
Connor leaned back on the couch, feeling the low hum of the Match Analysis system in the corner of his awareness, dormant but ready.
[Training Module: Match Analysis — Adaptive Mode]
[Initialization pending: Data from multiple opponents required.]
He closed his eyes, feeling the weight of the upcoming days settle over him like snow.
This wasn't just another training.
This was where everything began to shift, where skill met understanding.
And somewhere across the hall, the Cascade Titans laughed together, confident and loud.
Connor's jaw tightened slightly.
"Tomorrow," he murmured to himself, "we start catching up."
The fire crackled, warm against the winter chill, as the Wolves' first night in Hood River began, quiet, tense, and full of possibility.