Chapter Twenty-One
Nola
My face hurt from smiling all day. My public persona skills had trained me for long days like this, but with Marcello always within arm’s distance with his camera recording, I was “on” longer than I would like to be.
Every hallway, every t-shirt, my new uniform, was a reminder of where I wasn’t anymore. The home I used to have, the friends I used to trust more than anything. Every step deeper into the arena locked my stomach up and reminded me that I was starting over. Unwillingly.
I checked my phone before I headed onto the practice courts, messages from my closest friends on the Violets,, my little sister, and my parents. I ignored all except Olive, who’d simply said, Maybe dunking on her will make you feel better.
Now that made me smile.
During our rookie year, when I knew the vitriol Brittney had for me wasn’t going anywhere, I started turning my hesitance to animosity.
I had decided that if she wanted to make me a villain, then that was what I was going to be.
I whispered in her ear, untucked her shirt—which was against league rules—and persisted in a way that she called, “a pesky rash,” in one of her press interviews.
In the last game to determine if the Jaguars could scrape by to clutch a play-off spot, I dunked on Brittney.
It technically shouldn’t have been possible.
I’m not six foot five inches, or a center who could easily have the momentum to get up that high.
But after I tipped the ball away from Brittney, taking the turnover back to our half of the court, I only saw white, only heard the roar of the crowd in home territory.
I leaped.
And let’s just say she might not have gotten over that one.
When I stepped onto the courts, I noticed there weren’t many active members playing, just me, Brittney, Farrah, and the Waves star center, Erica Prep.
I tried to calm the nerves that were buzzing through my body; an anxious feeling I hadn’t felt since my last college championship game.
It had taken me a while to name what I was feeling.
That anytime I played in front of a new team, a bigger crowd, important people, the self doubt would start.
I was weighed down by what everyone thought when they saw me as a professional player: that I was only here due to nepotism.
It was an annoying itch I couldn’t scratch, a permanent ringing in my ears no matter how much I showed the world I was my own person. I had skills even Olivia and Nolan hadn’t managed in their primes.
I had perfected my own arch when I shot threes, my elbows tight, my wrists languid.
Compared to my mom’s playing days—she’d had wild elbows and a crooked frame that seemed to work every time.
I was faster than my dad, and my defense blocks were cleaner than his.
I made it my mission to not only play better than my folks, but different too.
Nothing a commentator could chalk up to genetics and lived experience.
I tried to keep this in mind as Tashi commanded our attention. “I want to see what we got going on here.” She flicked her fingers between the four of us. “No one’s contractually obligated to be here so, White and Prep, thanks for coming.”
Farrah and Erica nodded their heads with all the respect Tashi deserved.
“I’ll have White draw the ball up and Prep under the net. Young and Lee, I want to see where you guys naturally go.” She clapped her hands to commence the end of her instruction and walked off to the side.
Brittney’s face was stoic. I could never guess what she was thinking.
Half her hair was up in a bun, while the lower half barely brushed her shoulders.
The turquoise Waves penny we both wore fit looser on her frame, the wide holes giving a clear view of a white sports bra and lean, defined muscle.
It was almost second nature for me to block her, but I remembered we were on the same team.
With only four of us on the court, Brittney and I were forced to cover the bottom corners of the arc while the practice squad set up a stance for defense.
At the blow of a whistle, it was instinctual for me to run up to the shooting guard, my speed creating enough space to get away from my defender, and get the ball from Farrah.
On the roster, I was technically a guard/forward. A skill not many players were confident in saying they could do, considering we were mostly trained for one position our whole careers, and hope we learned more skills along the way.
Maybe, just this once, I’d acknowledge genetics, because I had my mom’s shooting precision and the strength a forward needs in the paint—my dad’s position.
I could see it all clearly in my head. Farrah would step back, create space, then pass me the ball so I can hit a three.
And then my body collided with straight muscle.
The collision was enough to throw me off, my bottom angling forty-five degrees, painfully close to heading toward the floor.
But then I felt strong hands on my waist, pulling me back from the ground I was about to meet, a counteract to gravity doing its job.
The feeling wasn’t foreign, I was used to being touched all the time in a game. It was just who was keeping me steady.
I didn’t know how, but I just felt it. A hot sensation. And it wasn’t Farrah.
Before I could pinpoint the exact placement of Brittney’s hands on me, they were gone. And I heard Tashi’s voice ricochet around the gym.
“What the hell was that!” she shouted.
Yes. Right. Basketball.
“I was coming up to get the ball from White, then crossing over to the other side.” Brittney announced. Stealing the exact words I was going to use.
We had the same plan. Our bodies collided because we were doing the same thing.
Running to fill the second guard position.
I didn’t have favorites when I was playing, but it was pretty clear guards had the shiniest job. They were meant to be fast and have a pose ready for when we hit the three—the perfect eye for getting the net to swish from anywhere on the arch. I guessed both Brittney and I wanted that shiny spot.
“Let’s work on, I don’t know, reading the room? Communicating to our teammates? Erica didn’t even move three feet before you idiots collided.”
I expected Brittney to complain. Not in the name of disrespecting elders, but in the way she needed to get her side out.
Probably find a way to yell at me, or mock me for the same mistake she made.
I was familiar with how defensive she could be.
Instead she nodded her head like a cadet at drill camp.
“You got it, Coach.”
Tashi didn’t even need an affirmative from me before she blew the whistle. Meanwhile, I was still shocked.
Brittney knew when to admit a fault? She could actually keep her mouth shut and take it on the chin?
I knew for a fact Rashida had let Brittney run the show, considering she was the unspoken captain the last two seasons. But from my experience, I knew the people who tended to be in control were the ones who didn’t think their shit stunk. Maybe I was wrong.
I got back to my position on the left side.
My eyes trained on Farrah as she brought the ball up and looked for her chance.
This time I eyed Brittney who was already making her way up to meet Farrah.
Instead of running to the top, I shot across to the other side of the court.
My practice defender gave me enough space while he eyed what the other practice players were doing.
Either Brittney and Farrah would shoot from the top, and he could grab the rebound if the ball missed the rim.
Farrah was able to successfully pass the ball to Brittney and we locked eyes, my body knowing where she thought I should go before she had to say it.
I sprinted to get closer to Brittney. Ready to set a screen for her defender to get tangled in, giving her the necessary space to shoot an uncontested three. I ran up, set my feet, and watched.
Her defined calves pivoted quickly, her eyes trained on the net as she let the ball go with an immaculate arch. The net didn’t even swish with how smooth the ball went in.
“Hell yeah!” Farrah clapped from my old spot down in the corner. I glanced at Tashi, my eyes hoping to get an ounce of validation from someone I knew was just as stoic as my mother. Her long box braids moved slowly as she nodded her head at our performance. My stomach settled ever so slightly.
Turns out Brittney and I were only capable of one win a day. I didn’t know if our capability was a fluke, or if one of us had let the moment go to our heads, but the minute Tashi asked us to flip roles we might as well have been running with two left feet, blindfolded.
We were always rushing in the same direction, constantly fighting for Farrah’s attention, trying to be the one to relieve the pressure off of her and set up the shot.
We were two dominant people whose worlds were finally colliding.
There weren’t many people in the league who were comfortable enough to take on the role of a guard and forward.
It was a skill that took years for me to dominate. A role I took very seriously.
And so did Brittney Lee.
This was why we always had been in the same conversation since we went to college. There was no one who could think in both positions like I could. No one who was an equal threat in the post and at the top of the key.
I refused to acknowledge her presence on the same side. On the same court.
It didn’t matter how often Tashi let our failures ring when we fucked up yet another run. She just clapped her hands then twirled her finger in the air.
Again.
I was usually more mature than this, more pliable to whatever role I had to play.
My brain said to communicate with Brittney, but my body did the opposite.
I heard her, but I wasn’t hearing her. Sweat dripped down our bodies and my legs begged for a break, but it was like I was actively choosing to keep this horrible practice going.
The whistle blew a final time, a hard-won reprieve as Tashi approached us at a slow, methodical pace. Her face was scrunched as if she was finding the right words to say. Maybe biting her tongue to prevent voicing how regretful she was on signing both me and Brittney to the roster.
“You’re lucky I’ve seen worse,” she started. My eyes darted across to Brittney, her eyes already on me, but her face was blank. The smallest hint that she was stressed in the way she worried the inside of her bottom lip.
I was raised to let elders finish speaking—whoever had the most authority in the room lived off long pauses, holding tension, whether good or bad. For the longest time, I didn’t know what that meant. My previous coaches believed in getting to the point as soon as possible.
“I would say you guys should fight it out, but I learned a while back your generation doesn’t…
respond well to violence?” she questioned like an assistant coach had told her this before.
“Instead, you guys will do one-on-ones, next week. Whatever this shit is…it’s gotta go.
Or figure it out. Leave it on the floor and play like you actually know what to do with a team. ”
She shook her head as she made her way off the practice court and back into her office, her words trailing behind her.
The sweat on my body felt useless. What was usually an indication of a hard day’s work felt pointless today when I couldn’t deliver.
“Okay, so she could’ve said worse.” Farrah barely had time to finish her sentence before Brittney blew out a long breath that was more like an agitated growl.
“Noted,” she mumbled then pivoted on her heel and headed toward the locker room. I wasn’t in the mood to have company, and I bet neither was my roommate.
“You can be real with me, Farrah.” I opened up because even if I didn’t want to be here, there was always a name or two I was living up to.
“You guys need to play like y’all are on the same team. You know…because you are now?”
“I’m trying!”
“You’re definitely not,” she replied matter-of-factly. “I dare you to go home tonight and ask Bee what she thought. The only two people who can fix it are y’all, which means, oh, I don’t know. Listening to each other.”
I didn’t know Brittney let people call her Bee. Huh.
“Right. Is Tashi serious about one-on-ones?”
Farrah nodded “She did the same thing after we finished the expansion draft last year. It’s like her version of survival of the fittest, king of the court, you know. And we both know how good Bee is at man-on-man.”
My mind flashed to eighteen-year-old Brittney, hair in space buns, face serious as she took on our tournament team. If Brittney and I were the equals—andI knew we were—next week would feel like playing against myself.
The trick would just be how to get in Brittney’s head and think like her.