Chapter 8
AVERY
“Hey, Mom, you wanted me to call?”
She has me on speaker when she responds. “Yeah, good morning, sweetheart.”
It’s four days after the Sunday Magazine interview, and we have our regular season home opener tonight. Mom texted me earlier to give her a ring.
“Morning. I’m going to put you on speaker too and grab some caffeine.” I shuffle into the kitchen of my townhouse and get an Alani from the fridge.
“I have some news,” she offers. “Tell me when you’ve had a couple sips.”
Mom knows me well. I crack it open and take a drink. “Okay, go ahead.”
“It’s not the best update.” She sighs and my shoulders tighten.
“What’s going on?”
“I heard back from SkyHigh, and they lowballed the contract.”
“How bad?”
The number she gives is scary low. For WNBA players, endorsement contracts are critical to our financial independence and stability. Unlike our NBA counterparts, our team salaries aren’t enough to both live comfortably and set up our financial futures.
The league is going to be negotiating increases for next season but right now I’m stuck with what I have, and who knows how that new number will land.
Several of my teammates have “normal” jobs or are actively planning for a long-term conventional career once basketball is over, because of our low pay.
I’m lucky that I don’t need to have a job because of savings from my college NIL contracts, and worst case, my family. But I want to stand on my own two feet, not rely on Dad’s money.
Not to mention be paid what I’m worth from a billion-dollar brand like SkyHigh.
“What the heck, Mom? I’m the number one pick, from a back-to-back NCAA championship team.” I don’t mention that I’m also a Parker, even though I would think it would help too.
“I know.” She stays unusually quiet.
“Mom, what aren’t you saying.”
“I need—” She takes me off speaker. “Aves, I need to remove my mom hat and put on the manager one.”
“Okay.”
“The feedback SkyHigh gave me was similar to Kayla’s. I hate it, but they said they’d only want to focus on print advertising because—and I’m not saying I agree—your personality might not translate on video.”
“What does that mean?”
“Manager hat still on, okay? I think they mean off the court you’re more stoic and not…perky. So they aren’t convinced your video advertisements will be effective.”
“Mom.” I’m stunned, pissed, and confused at the same time.
“I know, I know. And the frustrating part is we know how funny you can be.”
“Sarcastic funny, maybe.” I’m so irritated. “Not ‘perky’ funny.”
She sighs again. “They still want to do the deal, just make the scope, and the money, less.”
“Why didn’t this come up with my NIL deals?”
“Those were targeted arrangements, and you were the best in your year in the NCAA game. Now we’re talking global endorsement deals with hundreds of top professional athletes across dozens of sports for these companies to pick from.”
I need to think. I never imagined anything but my play impacting my sponsorships, as long as I didn’t get in trouble off court.
“Let me chew on this, Mom. I don’t—I don’t know which direction I want to go yet.”
“I get it, sweetheart. Call me back if you want to talk more. Dad and I will be watching the game today!”
It takes me five minutes to recenter myself. And then I realize there’s someone I should talk to about this.
My big brother Dylan.
He picks up on the second ring, probably at home with Hazel, his four-year-old. While he has a nanny, he tries to spend as much time with her as he can when he doesn’t have basketball duties.
My brother’s a straight-up boss with everyone in his life—except Hazel. He’d be the first to admit she owns him.
She wasn’t planned, and is the result of a one-night stand Dylan had in college. I don’t know the full backstory, but her mom is largely out of the picture, having decided to give my brother full custody.
“Hey, Aves. How’s it going?”
“Basketball is going great. Everything else, not so much.”
“Sounds familiar.”
“How’s my niece?”
“She’s a perfect angel as always.” He chuckles. I swear he only laughs when talking about Hazel. “She starts preschool in the fall, so I’m trying to stay present for the offseason.”
“Nice.”
“I’ll bring her to one of your games soon. Maybe with Remy or Wells when they’re visiting this summer.” Wells is our cousin, the same age as Remy and a sophomore at Duke.
“I’d love that.”
“You gelling with your team? Adjusting to the pros okay?”
“So far so good. But I do need your advice on something.”
I explain to him everything that’s happened between Kayla’s message and the SkyHigh deal.
“Shit, Aves.” I can tell he’s digesting.
“Do I just swallow it? Take what I can get? Because I’m not capable of faking who I am, you know that.”
He clicks his tongue before replying. “I’m struggling to believe there aren’t more options here. I mean, image matters in this world, sure. But it seems off that a company couldn’t come up with a compelling campaign for the number one WNBA draft pick.”
I walk to my couch and collapse into the soft pillows. I might as well be physically comfortable during this not-very-enjoyable conversation. “You’re much smarter than me at this side of the business.”
“Just more experienced.”
He pauses, and I let him think for a minute without interrupting.
Finally, he continues. “Are you set on Mom representing you?”
“Yes? I mean, she knows me so well, and who else is going to look out for me like she does?”
“Avery, it might be hard to hear, but I believe she’s out of her depth. There’s so much money at stake, your entire financial future potentially. And there are people who are masters at handling these negotiations.”
Dylan is nothing if not direct, which is familiar and comfortable—we both appreciate that side of each other. And I know he has my best interest at heart, so I try to stay open to what he’s saying.
“Like Aiden?”
“Yes, for one. I’m sure he’d talk to you today if you wanted to pick his brain. Mom could still be part of things too. She doesn’t need to stop being involved.”
“I’ll think about it.”
The last thing I want to do is hurt Mom’s feelings.
But the stakes are as high as they’re going to get.
Can I really afford not to explore my options?
Once in the locker room before our game, I try to shut down the thoughts swirling around my head. Maybe later I can ask Sarah for advice, but now I need to prepare for the task at hand, winning our first regular season bout.
Right before we’re about to hit the court for warmups, I hear my phone buzz and pick it up. Turns out I’ve missed a few texts—from Jack, Remy, and Wells, all separately wishing me good luck. The UConn team chat is also blowing up with excitement.
Running out of time, I text a smiley emoji in response to each message and put my phone away.
A short while later, we step onto the court for warmups. My first official game in the WNBA. Everything I’ve been working for.
And I want to help the Surge win, truly. It’s not just about me.
So far, most of my teammates have been cool, which adds to that feeling.
Having Sarah in my corner has helped a lot on that front. My other teammates seem to have accepted me readily as a friend of hers. It also means I’ve relaxed quicker than I would naturally when meeting new people. Become comfortable faster because she’s around.
I’m not a natural leader. My default focus on personal goals has kept me from assuming that role organically in the past.
One of my AAU coaches gave me a good trick though. Go out of your way to praise one teammate every day. I make it a daily task, like any other, and that way I’ll remember to spread some love.
It worked great in high school and college, and with time, I built real friendships with my old teammates.
Here with the Surge, though, it feels awkward to praise older women who also happen to be pros. So I’ve let the veterans do most of the talking.
“Same starters as the last preseason game,” Coach Anker confirms when we gather back in the locker room after the initial warmups.
That means I’m coming off the bench. Which is fine, I tell myself.
In competitive basketball, there are five people on the court for each side, usually two guards, two forwards, and a center.
With twelve people on a WNBA team roster, players come in off the bench as substitutes, though it’s normal for the standard rotation to be more like seven or eight people total.
There’s been a ton of media coverage discussing whether I’d start today. Such is my life. But if Coach Anker doesn’t think I’ve earned it yet, I’ll suck it up.
The dynamic makes me even more determined to fight for that starting spot. So far, all signs are that I’ll be the first one off the bench each game, so I’ll get decent minutes at least.
A couple of my teammates shoot looks to Katrina Dawes. She’s a fifth-year player whose shooting guard spot I’d take in the starting rotation, and she, for one, has not warmed up to me.
I see a little smug smile come on her face, and I turn away.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re back on the court, now with the crowd filing in, music playing, and energy high. It helps to get me into the zone mentally. Starting or not, I want to make a strong impression.
The game begins and I realize I’m going to have to find ways to stay locked in, even while sitting on the bench.
I decide to micro-focus on the shooting guard on the opposing team from Houston. Watching for her tells, her favorite moves, her strengths and weaknesses.
That works. The first few minutes fly by, and when a whistle blows to break my spell, I hear my name.
“Parker, you’re up,” Coach Anker shouts.
As soon as I stand and start taking off my cover shirt, the crowd erupts into cheers. Within three seconds, everyone has caught on and the place is nuts.
Coming in for number six, Katrina Dawes, is number eight, the newest member of the Orlando Surge, our number one draft pick, AVERY PARKER.
Guess the announcer decided to be a little bit extra with my first game.
The crowd gets impossibly louder after he says my name, and cameras are EVERYWHERE. I block them out, grateful for my years of experience at ignoring being filmed.
Welcome to the WNBA. You’ve waited your life to get here, and it’s only the beginning of your dream.
Sarah is grinning as she sees me come onto the court. Wrapping her arm around me as I come next to her, she whispers, “Where you’re meant to be. Now smile and wave to everyone.”
Oh shoot, yeah, I should do that. Before it gets too late, I wave at the crowd, doing a 360-degree turn and setting off another level of cheering.
Eventually a ref blows a whistle, pulling the game back into focus. As I line up to guard my Houston counterpart, the same player I’d been watching earlier, she gives me a wink.
“Let’s see what you got, Parker.”
The play starts and now it’s only about ball. My happy place.
Similar to preseason, the game is much more physical than college. The women are stronger, faster, better.
At the shooting guard position, my primary job is to score points, so I test different ways to get free for clean shots at every chance. It’s so much harder than college, but I start finding little tricks that work, imprinting them for next time.
I’m also getting banged into on every play, and trying to figure out the limits of what I can get away with in return.
But I freaking love it. I have to use everything in my wheelhouse to get space for my shots, defend effectively, and move around the player covering me.
This is part of becoming the best guard ever in the WNBA.
And I can feel that, out of necessity, the non-verbal communication with my teammates is beginning to strengthen.
In the second half, this becomes evident when I cut away from my defender along the perimeter, and on instinct, our starting center, Wendy, whips the ball to me from her position under the basket. I nail a wide-open three-pointer, and Wendy fist bumps me.
A genuine smile appears on my face in return.
I belong here. I’m home.
Now I can push for even more.
I’m in and out all game, and I don’t miss that my minutes are almost as much as Katrina’s.
Most importantly, we crush the Houston team, with Sarah putting on a clinic with her mid-range jump shot and Wendy dominating the boards.
By the time we pour into the locker room after the final buzzer, I’m in too good of a mood to dwell on my endorsement situation. A conversation with Sarah about it can wait.
“Come on, let’s all go out!” Marisa, our other starting forward, says. She and Wendy are in a serious relationship so I’m sure Wendy will join us too.
“I’m in!” says Sarah. A chorus from other ladies indicates that five others want to join, including Amari, our starting point guard.
In the WNBA, we have one or two days off in between games so players can enjoy themselves afterward, within reason. They cluster home and away games too, which helps. We have another home game next.
A handful of the ladies decline, including Katrina. Some have family here, so it makes sense they have to skip it.
“Parker, you better come,” Sarah says. “We need to celebrate your first official game.”
I’m so down. “Definitely. But I only have sweats with me. I can go home and meet you?”
“Nah,” Marisa replies. “I have spare outfits here, and we’re only an inch apart in height. I got you.”
“That’s my little fashionista,” Wendy says affectionately.
“All right, do your worst,” I say with a chuckle.
“Oh, this is going to be the best you’ve ever looked, Avery.”