Love Comes to Taun

Taun stood on the gym floor, staring at the volleyball like it might explode. Coach Liddell’s voice rang through the gym, barking instructions, but she could barely hear him over the pounding in her ears. Everyone else looked like they just got it, like it was completely normal to fling a ball over a net, know where to stand, and when to move. But Taun? She had two left feet and spaghetti arms.

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She hadn’t even touched the ball yet, but somehow, she already knew she was going to mess this up.

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“Taun!” Coach Liddell’s voice cut through her thoughts like a blade. “Get into position! Don’t just stand there!”

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Oh. Right. Position. Whatever that meant.

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She shuffled toward the back row, hoping to disappear behind Samantha, but it didn’t work. Coach Liddell’s eyes locked onto her like a heat-seeking missile. “Taun, you’re on the front line. You’ve got to participate!”

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Now everyone was staring. Great. Just great.

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As she walked to the front, a giggle drifted through the air. Light and quiet, but somehow, it still stung. She didn’t even have to look to know who it was. Emily.

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Leaning over to her friend, Emily whispered something, just loud enough for Taun to hear. “Can’t even hit the ball…”

Taun’s fists clenched at her sides. Of course, she couldn’t. No one had ever taught her. But she couldn’t say that. Because then she’d be the loser making excuses. So she just swallowed the lump in her throat and pretended she hadn’t heard.

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The ball came flying toward her. Her brain screamed, Move! But her feet went the opposite direction. She lunged, arms flailing, but it was like her body wasn’t connected to her mind. Her hands slapped at empty air as the ball soared past her and smacked the gym floor with a loud, echoing thud.

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Coach Liddell sighed loudly, frustration laced in his voice. “Taun! Pay attention! Keep your eye on the ball!”

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As if she wasn’t already trying. As if he had any idea what was going on in her head—how her brain took forever to catch up with what her body was supposed to do, how every time someone yelled at her, it felt like her heart was trying to jump out of her chest.

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The whispers started again. Emily muttered, “So lame.”

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Her friends snickered.

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Taun felt the heat crawling up her neck, prickly and suffocating. It was like she was outside of herself, watching everything happen, knowing she was failing, but powerless to stop it.

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“Come on, girls, get back in line!” Coach clapped his hands, and the game moved on, like nothing had happened. But Taun felt glued to the floor, her chest tight, her hands clammy.

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She drifted back to the far corner of the court, hoping Coach Liddell would just leave her there. At least in the back row, she couldn’t mess up so badly. But it didn’t matter. Even standing still, she felt like a screw-up.

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When the whistle finally blew, Taun grabbed her stuff and rushed off the court. Head down. Moving fast. If she was lucky, Emily’s friend group wouldn’t notice her.

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But luck was never on her side.

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The snickering came first. Then, that awful, voice. “Hey, Taun! Nice moves out there.” Emily’s words echoed through the hallway, loud enough for half the school to hear. “You really nailed it.”

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Her friends giggled, and Taun could feel the heat creeping back up her neck. Her fingers clenched around the strap of her backpack, knuckles turning white. She should walk away. She shouldn’t say anything. But her mouth opened before her brain could stop it.

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“You don’t have to be such a jerk, Emily.” Her voice was steady, but her heart pounded like a drum. “At least I was trying.”

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Emily raised an eyebrow, mocking. “Trying?”  She smirked, arms crossed, like she had already won. “Is that what you call it? You looked like you were flailing around out there. It was hilarious.”

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More giggles. More stares.

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Taun felt like the walls were closing in, like she was too big and too small at the same time. She clenched her fists, face burning, but she had nothing left to say.

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So she turned. And walked away.

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The laughter followed her down the hall like a shadow. At her locker, she slammed the door shut, blinking fast against the stupid tears threatening to spill over.

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Why had she even said anything?

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What did she think was going to happen?

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Emily had her whole crowd, and everything she said was law. Taun knew that. But for some reason, she’d thought that standing up for herself might make a difference.

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She was wrong.

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By the time school ended, the heavy feeling had settled deep in her chest again. She walked outside toward Marie’s car, dreading the inevitable question.

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“How was gym class?”

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She already knew what she’d say. “Fine.”

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Because how was she supposed to explain this?

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How was she supposed to say that she felt like a loser? That every time she tried to stand up for herself, it just got worse? That she felt like she didn’t fit anywhere, and every move she made was just… wrong?

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She couldn’t say that. So she’d just say fine.

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Leaning against the wall, she closed her eyes, letting herself drift back to the one memory that never left her alone.

The flashing lights. The car ride away from everything she had ever known.

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She had kept her head down. She hadn’t asked questions. She had just quietly obeyed. Because it felt like that was all she could do. And now, all these years later, she was still stuck in that feeling.

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Like she didn’t belong anywhere.

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Like she was always one step away from falling apart.

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Taun wished she could tell someone. Tell Marie. Tell Ms. Valdez. Tell anyone.

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But she didn’t know how.

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All she knew was that gym class was just one more reminder that no matter how hard she tried, she still didn’t fit.

And that thought was the worst part.