Chapter 14
AVERY
“Still not starting, huh?” Dad asks after we sit down at the restaurant for dinner, the night before the Boston game. The team flew us in after our previous game with Cleveland, so I had a free evening. “What are you going to do about that?”
His black hair is now full of grays, but he otherwise looks young for forty-three.
Even more striking is the way he imposes his attention on you, with an aura of authority that served him well when he played. As his grown child, it’s less effective.
At least to this grown child.
“Paul, yesterday was only her fifth game in the league, and the staff has to respect the veterans. You know how that goes,” Mom says as she hands out menus.
Remy just finished classes for the year, so she’s here with us. Currently, she’s tapping away on her phone, ignoring the table conversation. The local high school is still in session, and Jamie stayed home to study for his finals.
“I’m not worried, Dad. We won against Cleveland, and I’m earning my spot the right way. Plus, Coach’s having me practice with the other starters now sometimes.”
He looks at me for a beat, and then peers down at the menu. We’re at a restaurant we’ve gone to as a family countless times, so he doesn’t really need to check the options.
I’ll take his retreat though.
“That’s fantastic, sweetheart,” Mom says. “You played great too; we watched it all on TV.”
“You did,” Dad agrees. “That one basket with Lakisha Maxwell guarding you like a second skin was clutch.”
He’s not wrong. It pulled us ahead by one point near the end of the game. “Thanks, Dad.”
This is a very typical up and down with him lately. Five years ago, he wouldn’t have backed away like he did a few minutes ago, though. He would’ve kept on hounding me about starting. So that’s progress, I suppose.
“Is everyone getting the usual?” Mom asks.
We all nod, and when the server comes, she recites our orders.
The server looks to be college-aged, and she keeps bringing her eyes to me, even as she’s jotting down my mom’s rapid-fire list of what we want.
Usually when we’ve been here, it’s Dad who folks stare at.
There’s literally four pictures of him on the walls, including one of him cutting down the net after Boston won the championship sixteen years ago.
Even through my high school years, our meals would be constantly interrupted by autograph seekers.
More recently, Dylan’s drawn similar attention.
Four years ago, he led Boston College to the NCAA championships in one of the most-viewed college basketball games of all time. Now, at Tampa Bay, he’s made the All-Stars the last couple of years.
And he has no problem getting commercials, so he’s as well known for being on people’s televisions as he is for anything on the court.
This time, however, it’s me drawing the sneaky looks from the server. Maybe she’s a UConn or WNBA fan?
“Enough talk about the game,” Remy says. “Why aren’t we addressing the elephant in the room? Avery, I need you to drop all the details.”
“About?” Dad asks.
I know what Remy means, but I play dumb. “Yeah, what do you mean?”
Remy throws a look that says she sees right through me. “Your new boyfriend. Rawley Battle.”
My dad says, “Oh that,” as I answer, “What’s to tell? We’re dating.”
“Avery.”
“Yes.”
“Beloved sister.”
“Yes?”
“Do you know how many people have seen that video of you and Rawley?”
“No?”
She clicks on a few buttons and brings the phone up to my line of sight. In front of me is the original @socialscoops post with it and—what?
“There’s almost three and a half million views?”
“And that’s only on this platform.”
“Let me see that,” Mom says, clearly shocked. She looks at it, her eyes wide. “Why do this many people care?”
A good question.
Remy explains, in my direction. “Before you two put out your statement, there was a bunch of online debate interpreting the video. Like whether you were actually together?”
“Okay…”
“And then once you confirmed you were yesterday, another wave of views was to break down the video again. To find those micro-tells that you two are in lovveeee.”
If I wasn’t so stunned, I would tell her to cut it out. We had a lot of fun hanging out at UConn this year, but I swear she reverts to her twelve-year-old self when she has an opening to tease me in front of our family.
I am distracted by the substance of her revelations though. “I can’t believe it’s reached this level.”
“You’re both already well-known, and the sum is bigger than the parts in a story like this.” Remy’s a marketing major, so she’s definitely the best equipped of the four of us to understand.
“He’s a good guy?” Dad asks me. “That’s more important to us.”
“Right.” Mom nods, playing along like she doesn’t know the truth.
All of a sudden this conversation feels very messy, and I try to get it back under control.
“Yes, Dad, he treats me well.” True, so far. “And Remy, you know better than to bring this up in a public place.”
“Yeah, let’s table this conversation for now,” Mom says. “Your sister will catch you up in private, if she wants.”
“You better,” Remy says in a low voice.
“Stop being a pain in the ass then,” I retort, also trying to keep quiet. Apparently, Remy acting twelve has brought me back to my fourteen-year-old self.
“Girls.”
As Mom directs the conversation to new subjects, I digest everything Remy shared about the fact that my “relationship” with Rawley is much bigger internet fodder than I knew.
Nothing you can’t handle, I try to reassure myself. And exactly what we planned.
I can’t shake that this may be more than I bargained for, however.
And when we’re about to leave, the server returns with two pieces of paper and a marker.
“Avery, would you mind signing these for me and my best friend Melanie?”
“Sure.”
“My name is Dana,” she says. “We’re both big Avley fans.”
I’m confused. Did she mean Avery? I sign the papers and hand them back, giving her a smile.
But Remy explains after she leaves.
“Have you heard? That’s your ship-name.”
WTF.
Back at the team hotel, I crash on the bed as soon as I take off my sneakers. Trying not to let my mind wander through all the info my sister just dropped on me.
Which is made a little easier by the fact that, while it’s only ten thirty, I don’t yet have the stamina for these road trips. I’m beat, and I need to be sharp tomorrow for the game.
So I don’t fight it as my eyes start to droop, until a buzz from my phone catches my attention.
REMY: I’m sorry I was a brat tonight. Something about being with Mom and Dad makes me regress, I swear.
REMY: Plus the whole team keeps asking me about it. And I don’t know anything, which feels weird.
I get that.
AVERY: It’s okay. They keep texting me too, and now I understand better why.
AVERY: Rawley is great but it’s so new. So there’s not a ton to share. He’s funny and hot and we’re seeing where it goes.
REMY: And you’re happy?
AVERY: I am.
REMY: Okay, good. Don’t think I won’t be asking more questions, but I’ll chill for now.
REMY: You did look really good in the Cleveland game. Like you slotted right into the pros without missing a beat.
AVERY: You will too.
REMY: I hope so.
We talk a little bit longer about her summer plans before we sign off.
And I finally drift off to sleep.
“Sorry, Parker, I know playing in Boston is special to you, but I’m not putting you in as a starter.”
It’s the morning of the game, and I’ve come to the arena early to take some shots before everything gets hectic. A couple of Boston players are doing the same on the other end.
The public isn’t allowed in yet, so the seats are empty, though staff mills in and out of various parts of the stands.
I guess wanting to deliver this message privately, Coach Anker has tracked me down.
Masking my irritation as much as I can, I say the right thing. “It’s okay. I understand.”
“Not going to lie, I’m getting some pressure to move you to the starting five.
But, in my opinion, it’s not in your or the team’s best interest. It’s not that you’re incapable of handling it, but we want there to be no doubt you earned it.
To protect the dynamics of the team, and shield you from any media crap. ”
I appreciate having an explanation, finally. “What will it take?”
She smiles at me. “I’ll know it when I see it. You just keep doing you and getting adjusted to everything.”
Not exactly a clear answer. Ugh.
The fact is I’m beginning to get a little frustrated at myself, not just the situation. Sure, I’m averaging over eleven points and almost four assists, but those are hardly superstar numbers.
I know, I know—it’s only my sixth game, to echo my mom from last night.
But that feels like an excuse, not a reason, when I let myself feel the full weight of my ambition.
I need to step it up to satisfy myself as much as Coach Anker’s vague standards.
But that doesn’t happen tonight, unfortunately.
I do fine. Thirteen points and a beauty of steal that helps us win the game. Our record is 4-2, so that’s solid as well.
Still, it’s not a breakthrough game for me. And in front of my dad, that would have been extra sweet.
He gets his Boston legend moment, of course. Sitting courtside with the rest of my family, the announcer acknowledges him early on, prompting him to stand as the crowd cheers on.
To his credit, when I’m giving my family hugs goodbye after the game, he doesn’t say anything about not starting again. If anything, it’s the opposite.
“Great job, Avery,” he says as he gives me a kiss on the cheek. “You were impressive. So surreal to see you out there on that court.”
Huh…
Maybe Mom gave him his marching orders on what to say?
While we’re on the bus to the airport though, Remy texts me more context.
REMY: You won’t believe this, but Dad had tears in his eyes when you first hit the court.
What? Could he be mellowing out in his old age?
I make a note to ask Mom if something is up the next time we speak.
After the game, we fly back to Orlando, and when I walk into the townhouse at two in the morning, it’s never been so appealing. Rented furniture and all.
The toll of my first six games has fully caught up to me. I fall asleep in about three seconds once I’m ready for bed.
When I wake up at nine, I don’t feel fully rested, not surprising since it isn’t enough hours really. But being in my own bed and not needing to rush anywhere is nice.
With the downtime, my mind meanders to the topic I avoided after the family dinner in Boston.
It’s now go time for this whole fake arrangement, with Rawley going to my next home game.
I wonder if he’s conscious of how big this situation has gotten?
Not that it matters. We’re all in, for better or worse.
Taylor’s set up a text chat with just the three of us to nail down the details of all our joint appearances.
And once I finally force myself out of bed, that same text chat fills with some logistical updates for Rawley’s attendance at my game, like she can read my mind.
“You guys got this,” she reassures us after she’s outlined everything.
RAWLEY: We do, it’ll be cool.
AVERY: I don’t know about cool, but we’ll get it done.
AVERY: Taylor, did you hear that we’ve been given a ‘ship’ name? Avley? Is that real?
RAWLEY: What? Not Rawlery?
AVERY: That sounds terrible, but not the point.
TAYLOR: I did hear. And that reminds me, if you two can brainstorm cute nicknames for each other, that’s an easy topic to draw buzz for days.
AVERY:
RAWLEY: Oooo, this is going to be fun.