The first Monday after midterms arrived far too quickly.Connor woke to the gray-blue winter light slipping through his curtains, the kind of light that felt both calm and heavy, like the world was still waking up along with him. His backpack waited near the door, already packed with half-graded quizzes, two textbooks he wasn't sure he actually needed today, and his water bottle that still smelled faintly of lemon detergent.
His six-year-old sister sat cross-legged on her chair, wearing a bright yellow pajama set covered in cartoon bees, swinging her feet hard enough to thump the wood rhythmically. A small mountain of cereal floated precariously in a pool of milk in front of her. When she saw Connor, she beamed with a mouthful of marshmallows.
"Connooor," she mumbled, waving her spoon dangerously. "Mommy said you have big-kid tests today."
Connor laughed despite the nerves fluttering in his stomach. "Had big-kid tests," he corrected gently. "Now I just get the results."
Sophie gasped dramatically, as if this were a much more serious situation. "What if you get, like… ALL THE QUESTIONS WRONG?" Her eyes went huge, hands flying up like she was reenacting a disaster movie.
His mom shot her a look. "Sophie, sweetheart, that's not helpful."
Sophie deflated with a tiny pout, then perked back up. "Okay then—what if you got, like… ALL OF THEM RIGHT??" She said it with such genuine awe that Connor had to grin.
"That's more helpful," he said, ruffling her hair on the way to his chair.
His mom slid a plate of scrambled eggs toward him, then placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Ignore your sister's dramatics. You worked hard. You're ready."
His dad closed the laptop long enough to look at him. "Grades aren't the test of who you are. Just do your best today."
⸻
At school The hallways were buzzing the moment he arrived.Students flipped through exam scores like they were lottery tickets, some whooping, others groaning, and a few burying their faces in lockers. Connor made his way to homeroom, where the familiar cluster of his friend had already assembled around Sam's desk.
Sam looked smugly relaxed. "I told you guys," he announced without shame. "Nailed every science section. Honors chem was a joke."
Noah, terminally anxious, did not look relaxed. He was hunched over a crumpled paper, squinting like it might spontaneously give him a better grade.
"I passed algebra," he said weakly, "but barely. I swear the last two pages weren't even English."
Dylan clapped him on the shoulder. "You passed. That's what matters. Coach said only passing counts for Winter Training."
Connor blinked. "Wait—coach already said that?"
"Not officially," Caleb corrected. "Rumor from the seniors."
As if summoned, Elias and Mason stepped into the classroom, even when they both didnt have that class anymore, both carrying thermoses and expressions far too calm for the first day post-midterms.
"Coach is calling a meeting during lunch," Elias said. "He wants the whole roster there."
"About the Winter Intensive?" Marcus asked.
Mason nodded. "Yeah. Apparently there are details we don't know yet."
Connor felt a tiny spark of excitement flare in his chest. Not fear. Something better.
⸻
They met during lunch in the auxiliary gym, where the bleachers were cold and the air smelled faintly of sweat and pine cleaning solution. Coach Reynolds stood in front of them with a clipboard in hand, looking more animated than Connor had seen him in weeks.
"Alright," he began, "first—congratulations. Every single one of you passed midterms."
A small wave of relief washed through the team.
"Second, yes—it's official. Ridgefield has been selected for the Oregon State Winter Volleyball Intensive. Ten days of training with five other high-performance schools. Cascade will be there too."
A few groans, a few laughs, a few curses under the breath.
Coach continued, pacing slowly. "This isn't a vacation. It's structured, rigorous, and monitored by state-level evaluators. You'll be practicing twice a day, attending team-analysis sessions, and participating in interschool scrimmages at the end."
Caleb whispered, "So basically volleyball boot camp."
"Exactly," the coach said without missing a beat.
"In order to participate, you'll need parental authorization forms. Those go out tonight. Bring them back signed by Friday. If they're late, you don't go."
Sam raised a hand. "Travel?"
"We'll take a charter bus to Corvallis. Lodging is in dorm-style housing. Boys one hall, girls another."
Connor's heart thumped harder. Ten days. Live-in volleyball. No downtime. Constant evaluation.
Then the coach added, more lightly, "And one more thing—attendance is not mandatory. If any of you feel overwhelmed after midterms or want to rest over break, you can decline. No shame in that."
But the entire team stayed silent.
None of them would decline.
⸻
That evening at home, Connor sat at the dining table with both parents, the Winter Intensive packet spread out like an application to another world. His dad read every line twice. His mom read more along the margins than the center, circling phrases like "monitoring," "evaluation," and "overnight."
"I trust your coach," she said finally, "but I want you to tell me if anything feels too heavy, alright? Ten days is a lot. You've been working hard. With midterms, the tournament, everything… I don't want you burning out."
"I won't," Connor said quietly. "I actually… think this might help."
His dad nodded. "If it's good for your development, I'm all for it."
"And you'll still attend your therapy sessions once a week during school, right?" his mom added softly. "We can adjust the schedule around winter training if you need to."
Connor felt heat rise in his face, not embarrassment, just the odd mix of support and vulnerability that these conversations always brought.
"Yeah," he said. "I'll keep going. It helps. I know it helps."
They both seemed relieved.
His dad signed first.His mom signed second.And just like that, the door to the next stage cracked open.
Later that night, as Connor placed the signed packet into his backpack, the System flickered gently in the corner of his vision, almost as if checking in on his emotional state.
[Stress Levels: Mild, Stable]
[Focus State: Preparing]Winter Training Authorization Received.
Progress Toward Mission 04: Enabled.
Connor closed the backpack and exhaled slowly, letting the reality settle.
Ten days.Five rival schools.Scrimmages, drills, analysis…And a chance to grow into the role he wanted, not the role he was told to wait for.
He turned off his lamp, slid under the covers, and stared at the ceiling one last moment before sleep.
Winter was coming.And this time—he'd walk into it ready.