Chapter Seventeen
Nola
Six years ago
Final Four
I didn’t realize I had an internal clock silently ticking as the days turned into weeks, which turned into months until I saw her again.
It had been eight months since I saw Brittney Lee.
Eight months since I should’ve asked for her number, but now it was too late. At this point, it would look too weird—I would look like I was a weird lesbian crushing over a girl when I didn’t even know which way she swung.
Brittney kept appearing in the deepest parts of my subconscious.
I wanted to send her more annoying college sports takes, more lists that had me as the one to watch and not, possibly more deservedly, her.
I wanted to find more ways to talk to her—but the rational part of my brain won whenever I was close to sending a DM asking for her number if our conversations went on longer than usual.
But it was like she had wanted to talk to me, too.
However, none of that mattered now that March Madness had turned me into a basketball-playing robot.
I only thought when the ball was in my hand, I only laughed when we pulled out a win, and I only talked to my teammates.
If it wasn’t for Daya living in our on-campus apartment, she wouldn’t see me for practically the whole month.
I was grateful that the final four and national championship gave us three days in the same city, and that our school could afford for us to fly in instead of taking the bus route.
I’d do anything in order for my team to not see me turn green from motion sickness, no matter how quickly I closed my eyes and tried to sleep.
Tomorrow we faced off against Syracuse while USC went head to head with South Carolina. Brittney already corrected me on who the real USC was not too long after we began DMing after Spain, so unfortunately, my blatant ignorance no longer worked on her.
I kept track of the separate schedules all four teams operated, and as if fate were to blame, Notre Dame and USC had completely opposite schedules.
We were barely on the same side of the hotel or arena when either of us were in practices or media rooms for press conferences.
Any hope of seeing Brittney or Farrah flew out the window the moment we were sent our practice schedules and media commitments.
But for some reason, hope kept my head on a swivel.
I had a strict ten o’clock bedtime the night before every game, but my dad convinced me to grab frozen yogurt for dessert. And of course, I exited the elevator of our team’s hotel to find a small group of boys getting his autograph.
I sighed deeply as I approached the group, knowing that even though I was having a stellar, undefeated season, I would barely get a glance from the group of teenagers.
“Y’all have a good night now.” My dad broke away when he spotted me, his dazzling smile so white it definitely hypnotized the group.
“It’s like you’re allergic to a hat and sunglasses,” I complained. He definitely knew I’d prefer if he went incognito where I was involved.
“Oh, come on Junior, you know I like the attention too much.” He winked.
I didn’t have many nicknames except for Nolly, bequeathed to me by my seven year old sister, so unfortunately Junior had taken root and stuck around.
I’m not the son my dad always wanted, but at least I played like one, his words, not mine.
“Did you and Mom fly in together?”
“Nah, she was too salty over her loss.”
“Was she salty, or did she know you’d talk shit?”
He looked down at me, humor on his face, “‘Aight, you got me there.”
The frozen yogurt shop was around the corner from the hotel, and surprisingly had two people inside. The evident emptiness on such a busy few days here only meant one thing.
“Did you call and ask for an extra hour, or did you clear the shop out?” I stopped in front of the door, the bright white light from inside beating down on one half of our bodies.
It was not that I hated that my parents—especially my dad—were famous and rich enough to get their way, it was just that they didn’t think about the cost to normal human beings.
Was there another father and daughter excited for late night dessert during the most exciting three days of their lives just to see the shop had closed early?
What if the employees were excited to call it a night before mega superstar Nolan Williams called up and asked for a favor, and was willing to pay the price?
We were just living in his world.
Nolan shrugged, like it was easy work, when I was willing to bet his assistant, Gabe, had done all the planning. “Just an extra hour for a thousand-dollar tip per employee.”
“Right.”
We stepped into the shop, and I ordered a lactose-free cookies and cream cup because I was too hypersensitive to spiral over what dairy could do to my body right before the second-biggest game of my freshman career.
My dad ordered cookie butter and we sat in a corner booth, my dad facing away from the window and me looking out into the street.
I wonder what flavor Brittney would order.
Before I thought logically, I pulled out my phone and shot over a DM asking her favorite flavor. If fate wouldn’t let us run into each other, I guessed I’d just have to hang the moon myself.
“You ready for tomorrow?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.” I tried to be nonchalant because that’s how I’d been raised.
On the inside, every massive opportunity threw my world off kilter.
I wanted to say it’s so crazy that we were undefeated, let alone had made it to the final four, but my parents would tell me that’s expected.
They created and supported my career and helped me believe I could be the best when I pushed and applied myself.
In the words of my mother, the countless coaches and summers spent in college gyms was all for this moment. To show up and perform well.
So while I was freaking out on the inside, on the outside I was cool as a cucumber. Somewhere between my senior night and getting selected for the U-19 tournament, cool had become my default.
“I’m excited though. I’ve always seen basketball through you and mom’s eyes. So it’s cool just making it because of me and the team.”
“You know what’s one of my favorite things about you?”
“That I have your name?”
My dad laughed, making the freckles dotted under his eyes dance. “You’re not self-absorbed like I am.”
I practically snorted out my ice cream. “No way you actually admitted that.”
“It’s true! You’re not selfish with the ball, you know everyone’s names on your team…”
“You didn’t?” Honestly, that was on brand for Nolan.
“I didn’t care to. I was only worried about myself and what I was doing on the court. It’s why I chose to enter the draft so early. I knew I was gonna be good either way.”
Even if the women’s league didn’t have a rule about domestic players needing to be twenty-two years old to enter the draft, finishing college and getting my degree was a no-brainer. Plus, I wanted an as-typical-as-possible college experience I could get.
“Thanks…I guess?”
“You look exactly like your mom when you make that face.”
“Guess it’s genetic.”
I checked my phone and saw I was quickly approaching my bedtime. I also saw that Brittney had responded to my question.
Mango.
“We should wrap up here, but I need to get something to go first.”
“Sounds good, junior.”
It turned out Brittney had been rooming in the room directly above mine.
I followed her instructions to meet her by the vending and ice machines on her floor, fighting a smile that wanted to sprout and expose all my secrets on the journey over.
The night in Spain played over and over in my mind, her breaking down my walls, stealing sips from my ginger ale while I stole pieces of candy.
It was all I’d been able to think about, and I felt like a pathetic loser.
But I also loved the feeling of having a crush.
Not that I’d ever admit that to anyone.
I heard Brittney before I saw her, a small snicker that meant she was trying not to be heard, but the girl’s whisper was as loud as an announcement through a megaphone. I crept up behind her and peered over her shoulder.
“What’s so funny?” I whispered in her ear.
“Jesus!” She yelped.
“Nope, just Nola.” I smirked as she turned to fully face me.
Her hair was down, a break from the space buns she preferred to wear for every game.
I saw her eyes drop to the stud in my nose at the same time I investigated her face.
I smiled as I looked at her and the matching piercing.
Evidence that I still existed. Like those eight days had left a lasting impression on her like it had on me.
“Young.”
“Lee.”
“I would say it’s good to see you, but I won’t mean that when it’s us in the natty.”
“Likewise.”
“Naturally, I’m obligated to ask if you poisoned my fro-yo before eating it.”
“Sorry, I’m above sabotage. I believe in beating you the old fashioned way.”
“I’m not above sabotage, but for you, I’ll behave and do the same. For the record, I prefer my beatings by way of a twenty point lead.” She smiled.
“I like buzzer beaters more.” I grinned and handed her the bag. I let my fingers linger as Brittney touched my hand. We both stood there, smiling like idiots, and not two competitors who had a high chance of facing off in two days.
“Were you going to eat out here? Do you want a hallway snack buddy?” I braved asking.
Brittney opened her mouth, her eyes brightened before suddenly dimming. She bit her lip. “I shouldn’t. We have an early practice tomorrow.”
I cooled my face, a habit I was practically raised to do, and nodded. Yes, we were not here for each other. I shouldn’t be looking to make friends with my competition, let alone not be able to get her out of my head.
“No, right, that makes sense. We have opposite schedules.”
“You memorized USC’s schedule?” she wondered, lingering in the hallway that we were both supposed to leave.
“Well, not like, for you specifically. Like for all of us, ya know.”
This time she didn’t bother hiding her smile or her obnoxious and cute laugh. “Sure, Nola.”
“Whatever, Lee. You’re welcome by the way.”
“You didn’t give a girl a chance! Here’s a token of my appreciation.” She pulled a sour watermelon candy and a ginger ale from the deep pockets of the sweatpants she wore.
She’d thought of me.
“It hasn’t even been a year, but I figured you still liked these.” Her eyes flicked between her hands and my face, as if she didn’t want to watch for my reaction but couldn’t resist.
Now I was the one suppressing a smile, floating when our hands touched again.
“Thanks, Lee,” I mumbled, not trusting my voice to be any louder than it was right now.
“Always.”
We were back to lingering again, our hands filled with tokens of our…friendship? Mutual respect?
“Let’s do this again next year.” Brittney said, like she was reading my thoughts, my deepest desires I was too scared to release.
I liked the idea too much to not agree. “Absolutely.”
As opponents who didn’t share a conference, we wouldn’t play against each other until the national tournament in March.
Brittney took the first step back, to what I assumed was the direction of her room while I headed to the elevators.
“See you on the court, Young.” Brittney reminded me of our identical conversation from eight months ago.
“Let’s see who balls harder, Lee.” I declared.