22. Jordan
CHAPTER 22
JORDAN
W hen I was ten, I got a cavity and had to go to the dentist. They gave me one numbing shot. Then another. But no matter how much lidocaine was injected, it wouldn’t go numb, so they just filled it anyway, and I lay there like a willing victim of torture.
Every time I went to the dentist after that, I couldn’t sleep the entire week leading up.
That’s how I feel this week.
I think if given the choice between my dad’s presence at this very important game and a cavity filling with no numbing, I might actually choose the excruciating physical pain. At least that only hurts me and not the people around me.
This week has been bizarre for another reason besides the overwhelming dread. I’m now a legitimate celebrity on campus. Not just a well-known athlete, but someone people are asking for autographs and pictures. I’ve even seen a few videos pop up online that I had no idea were being taken of me studying and crossing the street.
And if Lucy and I are together? We get mobbed. The online reaction has been nothing short of ludicrous. All it does is make me feel nauseated. And debilitatingly guilty because Lucy should be reveling in this–not that she’s the “reveling in her own fame” type. But this is going to be huge for her future endorsement deals in the WNBA. Her follower count has quadrupled, and national brands are starting to notice.
Unfortunately, so are creepy guys.
But the fact that I’m the one holding her and stroking her back while we read their messages takes away any level of jealousy and replaces it with humor, mixed with a lot of disgust. I’m still appalled at the things this girl has to deal with on a daily basis. Yet even scrolling through these messages with her is weirdly fun.
She’s the only one who can take my mind off the train wreck I know is coming.
When I’m with Lucy, all I see or think about is her.
Her laugh, her smile, her sarcasm–they inevitably bring light when I’m in a dark place.
The problem is that when I’m not with her, my brain is flooded with thoughts of how she might become collateral damage in this whole ordeal. My dad doesn’t know we’re together–although maybe from all the online buzz, he does now.
I don’t know how much he’d be willing to try to use or manipulate Lucy, but I do hope I never have to find out. That’s the discouraging conclusion I keep coming to. If her association with me could hurt her at all, I don’t know if I could live with myself.
I also don’t know if I could live without her anymore.
What do you do when your whole life feels like it’s in black and white and then someone comes along and injects it with color? You hold on to them with everything you have. I desperately want to do that, but what I want more than anything is for Lucy to be happy and have an incredible life.
I think maybe that’s love.
As I stroll to the arena, scrolling through messages from her, I say a silent prayer that her idea of a happy and incredible life is with me. The random facts she sends make me smile. The times she texts me that my butt looks good in my uniform brings heat to my face. The sweet encouragement she gives me makes me believe I can take on the world.
I push open the arena doors and smile as I remember our last conversation.
She was going through flashcards for the LSAT with me. No one else knows, but I’m preparing to apply to law school. My parents are under the impression I’m going to continue playing professionally overseas, but I’ve already come to terms with the inevitable end to my basketball career. I’m ready to step toward a new court–Lucy came up with that terrible pun.
Every time I got a question right, she’d make a comment. Some of my favorites were, “I mean, you’re a genius. That’s all there is to it.” Or, as she threw the cards in the air, “You’re basically Elle Woods. We don’t need these anymore.”
Lucy instills courage in me to take on something I genuinely hadn’t ever dreamed of doing before. Me being a lawyer felt like a long shot until she came along. Once the seed was planted that this is a totally realistic option for me, I couldn’t let go of it.
Guys are starting to trickle into the locker room as I pull on my jersey. It’s a harsh reality check. I was daydreaming about Lucy and all the possibilities while my father is somewhere in this arena right now, ready to watch me play in person for the first time in a long time.
Even though it’s early, I know for a fact that he’s already here because his pregame ritual involves multiple alcoholic drinks. While I stretch and shoot, he pours and chugs. I just hope I can tune him out. He won’t be in his seat until right before game time, though, so at least warmups will be peaceful.
I jog out to the floor and scan the crowd for Lucy. She’s usually here early because she’s a nerd for the game and likes to watch warmups. She says she wants to know who’s shooting well, who seems nervous, and who’s secretly injured. Apparently, it helps her analyze the game better.
I find her halfway up the row of seats behind our bench, and her smile sends a jolt of warmth through my body. She gives me a thumbs-up, then stands and points at the number on her chest.
It’s #10.
My number.
She got hold of one of my practice jerseys and is wearing it for our game.
Lucy Townes is wearing my jersey.
Seeing that confirms one thing: I definitely love this girl. I love her heart and her beauty and her quirks and everything that makes her amazing.
I want to tell her tonight, even if she doesn’t feel the same way yet. I need her to know.
I start shooting and hit a rhythm. This is a big game, and I need to be locked in. As long as I stay centered and at peace, I’ve got this.
We go through warmups, the anthem, and starting lineups. That’s when my nerves get the worst. But when the ball is tipped, it all melts away. No dad issues, no sponsorships, no pressure.
Just basketball.
And I am balling tonight.
We’re up at half, and most of it is thanks to my twenty-point first half. But as we run out to start the second, I hear a familiar voice call my name. I don’t want to react, yet I can’t help myself. I glance up, and right behind our bench are my parents.
My mom smiles, her hair a little grayer than the last time I saw her, a few more wrinkles around her eyes. But the same quiet, loving mom .
My dad yells something I can’t quite make out. Even from here, I can tell his words are slurred. He tries again, and gets noticeably annoyed when my mom tries to shush him. I glance up again and watch as he spills his drink.
Oh, God. Where’s Lucy? My heart sinks as I imagine her trying to introduce herself to them. I remember how wholesome and warm her family was. How they kindly welcomed me into their idyllic sanctuary of home. I can’t offer anything like that.
I turn back to the huddle, desperate to tune my dad out as he shouts again.
Desperate to return to my locked-in state from the first half.
Desperate to pretend it doesn’t feel like my perfect little world here is crumbling in on itself.
It doesn’t work. The anxiety about what’s unfolding in the stands makes me stiffen up. Every shot is off, every pass is wrong. I feel like I’m moving in slow motion as I try to keep up. Finally, Coach Daniels puts me out of my misery, and I spend the rest of the game on the bench.
I can’t even blame him.
We pull off the win, but barely. The team needs me, but I don’t deliver.
His postgame talk is about looking forward. I feel his eyes on me as he harps on moving on from mistakes and being smart this next week leading up to the conference tournament. He wraps it up just as I hear a commotion start outside.
I close my eyes.
Please, no.
Please don’t let it be him.
But then I hear his low, distinct voice saying my name, and I know that history is repeating itself.
Shoving past a few teammates, I push open the door and see my dad being blocked by our arena security guards. He’s yelling something about needing to come back here, that he’s my dad and should have clearance. When he sees me, I try to smile. But then the tirade starts.
“What the hell was that second half? I mean, come on. You embarrassed yourself. No one is giving you any more deals after that display.”
My face is burning, but I don’t have time to worry about embarrassment. I need to get him out of here. Where is my mom? She’s usually at least another set of hands and a calming voice to get him to move.
With my arm over my dad’s shoulder, I start to steer toward the nearest exit. Fortunately it’s close. Then right at the same moment, Coach Daniels comes out of the locker room, and my mom and Lucy come around the hallway corner, chatting.
Everyone falls silent when they witness the scene before them: me, still in my jersey, forcefully guiding my sweaty, beer-stained, drunken father toward the exit. The silence only gives him room to further express his belligerent thoughts.
“Coach, don’t you ever go benching my son again. This team is trash without him, and you know it. I can’t stomach the fact that–”
I cut him off. “Enough, Dad. Sorry, Coach. We were just leaving.”
Coach Daniels doesn’t react. He just nods and steps out of the way. Unfortunately, this gives Lucy and my mom a better view of what’s happening. My dad is slow to react to me cutting him off, but once he realizes what happened, he’s pissed.
“You think a new car makes you better than me? I gave you everything. I’m the reason you’re here, and you tried to hide rewards from me. Too good for the old man, huh? You ungrateful–”
We’re still staggering toward the door as he hurls slurred insults.
At this moment, I look up .
I see Lucy’s face, heartbroken and sad. I’ve never seen her face that way, and I can’t bear the thought that I’m the cause.
Then I look at my mom’s face, and she’s wearing the same expression.
The exact same one.
It’s like I’m seeing Lucy’s future.
Or what her future would be like if I stayed in her life.
Now my own heart is shattering. I can’t do this to her. I refuse to hurt her. The inevitable suffering she would experience would never be worth it for my happiness.
It’s crystal clear now that Lucy deserves better than this.
She deserves better than me.