Chapter One #2
At one point we were friends, before we got sucked into our college rivalry. It’d be easy to say that I was the best of my class, and the best of my generation.
But I also wasn’t a liar.
Brittney had been—and still was—my direct competition, given we played the same position.
Always on my ass. She was just as fast as me.
Always trying to tip the ball out of my hands, literally and figuratively.
For two people who have long figured out we’re the antithesis of each other, there was a certain joy I got from watching her face shift from indifference to rage.
I couldn’t lie, I liked antagonizing her.
I loved to watch her crash out. She’s what my mom described as too sensitive.
Someone who always had to react; who always had to be heard.
Characteristics Olivia told me not to have, and like a good daughter, I listened.
“I can’t believe you lost to her team.” Olive snapped me back into the present.
“You’re telling me…” I trailed off.
“She threw you off your game, you got a tech, which, woah, you should’ve heard mom in the box…”
“Glad I didn’t.”
“And then you shook hands with her like a grown up.”
“It was for the cameras…and Aunt Ra made me.”
“Ugh, she’s so diplomatic.” Olive sneered.
“Tell me about it.”
I was about to open my mouth to mention how it was actually nice to not receive a look of disgust from Brittney, an intrusive thought, when my mom finally emerged from her office.
“Ugh, my girls!” Olivia exclaimed. Her matching set of the day was a red cashmere lounge set that made her rich cocoa skin pop. She hadn’t been a professional player since Olive was born, yet she still looked like she could take you on the court any day and break your ankles.
Olivia’s natural demeanor screamed bad cop and she lived up to that stereotype. Her face was solid as stone, her hair, pulled tight into a ponytail. I could barely get a lie out of my mouth without her being able to sniff it out when I was younger. It’s why I’m honest to a fault now.
“How’s my eldest?” She kissed me on the temple with the three inches she had on me.
“Could be better.” I shrugged. “Could be a championship winner.” I got out before my mom did.
In this family, I learned it was best to just rip the bandaid off. Someone was going to bring up your faults, albeit with kindness, and I’d rather just get the criticism out of the way to enjoy the rest of today’s events.
“You’re damn right, Nola Belle.” My mom leaned on the kitchen countertop to face me.
We don’t have to talk about it is what I wanted to say but it’d fall on deaf ears. Of course we were going to talk about how I cost Chicago a ring. I was even willing to bet money that my flop reel was what kept my mom holed up in the office all morning.
There was no break from basketball; only do it again, but better.
“Maybe we save the game talk for after dessert.” Olive butt in trying to save me. Thirteen years apart, and it was like we shared a brain.
“Is that what you want to do, Nola?”
“What time is Aunt Rashida and Aunt Allison coming over?”
My mom checked the designer watch on her wrist. “Probably an hour from now.”
I weighed the options like there was a better one.
Delay the inevitable, or just get this shit over with.
Rashida and Allison did have a way of making me feel like the world wasn’t ending.
They’d breeze in, interrupt my mom’s coach talk, then wrap me in long, needed hugs.
Their presence would always feel like a warm blanket on a cold night.
“Let’s just do this.” I exhaled and hip-checked my sister to at least say thank you for her attempt.
Getting the hard part out of the way, was, unfortunately, a Young/Williams family motto.
“How did you let Brittney Lee get faster than you?” My mom showed me replay footage on her iPad.
I was at least thankful she didn’t put it on the big screen like she would’ve for her college team.
“You guys used to be neck and neck in skill, though obviously you’re the better player, and yet you’re always a step behind her on the screens.”
I watched the tablet screen like I didn’t remember playing the game myself.
The Jaguar’s rookie, Neveah was driving the ball at the top of the arch.
I remembered guarding Brittney down at the corner, but before I knew it she was moving up to set a screen for Neveah to drive into the paint, then back out, to hit a three on the left side.
I wouldn’t say I was too slow to keep up—my speed was never a problem. It was the fact that somehow throughout the season, Lee was getting faster than me. Someone whose defensive and offensive tells I knew like the back of my hand, had finally one-upped me.
And I didn’t even see it coming.
Brittney and I went way back right before we became college rivals.
We had both gotten selected to represent the United States in an international 3x3 tournament, for girls under 19.
Her selection was a blindside given I spent all my years from middle to high school playing travel basketball.
I knew the top competition within the region and, because of my parents, everyone knew me.
But Brittney’s selection came out of left field and caused a massive upset.
She didn’t come from a high school that broadcasted games on local channels, and didn’t have funding for every sport to have their own separate practice gym, but getting recruited to USC sent many whispers around the community.
It was hard to describe what those eight days felt like.
A fever dream, an underdog story and, in another world, a rom-com maybe.
We ended up taking the gold medal in the tournament, but the quick friendship we built disappeared as soon as we stepped on the court as freshmen.
Our college rivalry caused enough chatter, but between me and the narrative of being the child prodigy, and her being the underdog, college sports media quickly pinned us against each other.
Which naturally followed us into our professional careers.
I did an interview and I said things I shouldn’t have.
Said things I knew would hurt her, severing a distant friendship I would’ve liked to see grow after we graduated.
Outside noise from fans, family and others, fanned the flames and created something bigger.
And the whole time, I knew her animosity toward me was well deserved but I would never admit that out loud. I was truly my father’s daughter.
My aunt being Brittney’s teammate wasn’t even enough for us to put the guns down. We were just always going to be at odds. I would push her, and she would crash out. She’d yell at me, and I’d get in her face. And thus became our routine.
“I don’t know, man. I didn’t have that much of a problem keeping up with her last season. She’s been working on this for sure.”
“Well you need to work harder on it,” Olivia commanded. There was no sweet talk, no gentle parenting. Olivia Young said what she meant and meant what she said, feelings be damned.
“Yes, Coach.”
“And this…” My mom pointed her pencil to the screen, to emphasize the moment Brittney tipped the ball out of my hand causing a turnover. “What the hell was that?”
I was too ashamed and self-aware to admit to my mom I was distracted. I was stalling for time between letting the rest of my team set up a play so I could go for a layup or dwindle the shot clock down to hit a three.
You’re pretty when your mouth’s shut. Brittney’s words echoed around my skull that suddenly felt empty; my head clouded by how thrown I was at my rival’s words.
And how familiar it sounded. Something I tried to make sure I never thought about again. And failed often.
No. I was a smart person and my mom could, under no circumstances, hear me admit I let someone sweet talk me into a turnover. This wasn’t high school.
“That was your worst ball handling in a long time.”
I nodded my head, “You’re right.”
“No, I don’t want to hear ‘you’re right.’ I know that already. I want to know what happened and how it won’t ever happen again.” My mom raised her voice with more bass. She thought I wasn’t paying attention and my bare minimum responses were not saving me.
Brittney Lee flirted with me.
“She was getting me back for the tech I got her in game four.”
“Oh, so you can dish it, but you can’t take it?” My mom rolled her eyes, knowing I went to the Nolan Williams School of Shit Talking to get the mouth I had now.
“I wasn’t expecting it.” I didn’t know what else to say; my own patience was dwindling, and I could smell the key lime pie in the oven.
Olivia opened her mouth but her office door flew open, revealing my Aunt Allison, her tiny frame and curly afro the beacon of light in this hell I had created.
“Olivia, no more, it’s a holiday!”
“No rest for the wicked,” I whispered in my aunt’s ear, grateful there would always be one person in the house who got my musical theater references. “Hi, Auntie!” I squeezed and spun Allison around.
“Hi, Nolly. Go help your Aunt Ra with the dogs. We have all week to talk sports.” She rolled her eyes.
“We’re not done here!” Olivia yelled before I was out the door. The cold mid-Atlantic breeze whipping relief onto my hot and flustered skin.