I was outnumbered six to one... at least that's how it felt. My supposed teammates stood by uselessly as the volleyball hurtled over the net and whopped me in the shoulder. The beautiful Brooke Harris high fived the boy beside her before switching corners. It didn't matter if she served from the right or the left. The ball flew at me - again. I ground my teeth together and tried to pelt the ball back, but launched it into the net instead. God, I sucked at team sports. "Come on, Aurora!" Clayton Wilcox snapped beside me. I grimaced. A junior the size of Napoleon shouldn't be speaking to a senior that way, but that was just my opinion. One of my teammates bent down for the ball and tossed it back to Brooke, who smiled as though auditioning for a teeth whitening ad. Brooke served again, and the volleyball sailed over the net once more - toward me, of course. Clayton's patience had apparently worn out. He stepped in and bumped into me, but managed to smack the ball back. Fine. Whatever. My teammates should get in the game. Behind Brooke and her team of Olympians the bleacher crowd slouched against the benches like sloths while the rest of us got wrist burns. I'd tried everything from flu symptoms to a twisted ankle to get out of participating, but Mr. Mooney saw me as an active member of the student body,