Chapter 12 #2
He’s telling me without saying a word how he feels.
It doesn’t feel romantic exactly. It feels like life.
Daniel said I saved him yesterday at the charity run, and now it feels mutual.
I don’t need to listen to fans, to pundits, to Trenton Smith in his glass office.
I need to punch back and show people who I am.
I need to stop shrinking and start growing.
The referee puts the ball in my hands, and there is a small spark of magic.
It’s difficult to shake off two bad quarters of play, but I feel determined.
This is my team. My life. My game. I have to own it, even when it doesn’t feel like my own.
Indiana expects us to pass to Jadea since she’s our star, which is not a bad gamble, but Coach Rembert had something more brilliantly subtle in mind.
Instead of Jadea getting a screen so she gets open, she gives the screen to Taherah.
Taherah, our shortest player, spins around the screen and comes close to me at the sideline.
I quickly pass it to her, then screen the defender, Lexie Hull, who is chasing.
Taherah is left with a moment of solitude just outside the three-point line.
Just as I push back on Lexie Hull and everyone is turning towards Taherah, she lets loose the three-point shot.
It isn’t perfect, it doesn’t swish, instead it rattles inside the rim, taking its time to go through the hoop.
It feels almost poetic, seeing it fight its way through—just like we’ll have to for the rest of this game.
Despite the fact that we’re losing by so much, the crowd roars at the spectacular basket.
Everyone wants a close game—hopefully, we can give them that.
I look at my girls, surrounding Taherah for a fist bump, and that fighting spirit rises up. Yes, we will. I’ll make sure of it.
The last two minutes of the first half are chaos.
I can’t say we’re playing cleanly yet, but we are pushing back.
We play tougher defense, and I get a steal that has me streaking down the court with Jadea in tow.
Just as my defender is about to catch me, I bounce pass it to Jadea, and she goes up for a showstopper dunk.
SLAM!
The crowd is frenzied now, and Indiana shows their first sign of nerves.
Aaliyah Boston goes up for an easy bucket under the basket and misses.
Lexie Hull shoots two threes and misses both.
Caitlin Clark steals the ball from me, but I stomp after her and snatch it right back.
The look she gives me is almost scandalized.
We go into halftime 48–33. Fifteen down.
It’s still a pretty decent lead on their part, but I feel a shifting of the momentum, both in myself and the game.
We can do this. Daniel’s extremely cute, extremely bold T-shirt is branded into my brain.
I have to think of myself differently. I have to block out the noise.
Larger than Life.
When we get into the locker room for our fifteen-minute halftime, Coach Rembert is angrier than I’ve seen her in months. “Where did the St. Louis Arrows go? Because I don’t see them out there.”
She turns her heated gaze on each of us in turn. Most of my teammates look away or just keep wiping their sweaty faces with towels, but I stare right back. I want her to see that I’m sorry for the way I played and that I intend to bounce back.
Whatever she sees seems to inspire her. “Annie, get up here.” A shiver of nerves trickles down my spine at her words.
I step up next to Coach, and she gestures to me, her tone calmer.
“Annie played an abysmal first half, I think we can all agree. Until those last few minutes, she was oh for four in her shooting, missed two free throws, had six turnovers. We all agree on that, right?”
My teammates rightfully look nervous for me. No one wants to be made an example of. But I try not to fidget. I’m the first one to say, “Right.” My voice hardly wavers.
There are a couple of muttered agreements, but nothing rousing.
Our spirit is currently doused. “But then, she changed,” Coach Rembert continues, tucking her clipboard under her arm.
“The last two minutes, she made two easy baskets, had three steals, and was tougher on defense. Our gap closed a little. We have a chance here, a real one.” Some eyes are looking up at her now, her words resonating. I nod too, listening hopefully.
So, I’m especially surprised when she turns the floor over to me. “Annie, tell them why that happened. Why you started to play better.”
“Oh.” I fidget back and forth, swiping some sweat off my upper lip.
I take a deep breath and shoot for honesty.
“Someone reminded me that even when you’re being labeled, that doesn’t mean you have to listen.
Besides my own current family issues, this team has to contend with labels, too.
We’re the best team in the league, and when we don’t play like it, our feelings get hurt.
We’re embarrassed. Angry.” I pause, thinking of the right words.
Jadea is looking at me like she’s never seen me before, and I hope that’s a good thing.
“I think that label, of being the best team in the league, is almost hurting us. We shouldn’t be playing for that label; we should play for ourselves, for our fans, for each other. ”
I rarely make speeches and certainly not in such tense situations. I notice that Lynn is smiling softly, and Allyson gives me a tentative clap. I duck my head and look at Coach for her approval. She seems pleased, as though I said exactly what she wanted and more.
Jadea’s expression has been more shuttered than usual today.
But my words seem to prompt her into action.
I’m never going to be a hype girl who shouts the team into excitement.
So, when Jadea does it, I follow along happily.
“Annie is right!” Jadea works herself up, leaping from her seat on the bench.
“We can’t play like a sword is hanging over our heads.
We’ll fight no matter where we are in the standings.
We’ll play our game no matter what our record is. It’s us. It’s our game.”
She puts her fist out into the air. I’m the first person to touch mine with hers, and then my teammates’ sweaty, warm bodies are closing around us. I love seeing all our fists together, together and bleeding for the game. “Arrows on three!” Jadea is shouting now. “One, two, three!”
“ARROWS!” I let loose that scream inside, and we all dissolve into whoops and cheers.
Allyson grabs my hand on one side and Jadea on the other.
We run back onto the court and shoot a few warm-up buckets.
Some don’t go in, but the attitude has already turned.
Failure is part of the game. And while Jack and Trenton are making my failure feel particularly uncontrollable, I will yank back whatever control I can.
When I see Daniel on the sideline, I do what any heart-full girl would do. I blow him a kiss.
Movie-star smile in return. I can’t even bring myself to care about the fake nature of our relationship. About the ghosting in the hospital. Actions speak louder than words, and his in the present speak volumes.
When the whistle blows for the second half, I get redemption for our first jump ball missed opportunity.
Our triple deception with the tip-off looks better than ever, and my lay-up kisses off the glass cleanly.
48–35. Indiana starts to glare a little more our way, and we glare right back.
I respect every single woman in our sport, but right now, it’s only fire in my veins and the need to win beating a drum in my brain.
The rest of the half feels like a comeback tour. Jadea dunks three times in the third quarter and at the break in between the third and fourth we’re all grinning. It’s 63–57 them. We’re only down by six points, which is an extremely surmountable number when we still have ten minutes of game left.
Coach Rembert calls us to order. “We have one more quarter to prove our worth.” Her words are clear, clean.
I can feel Daniel’s crew hovering a respectful distance away, recording our huddle.
“Annie, I want you cutting more to the basket. They’ve been losing you underneath, and it’s a great opportunity.
Jadea, keep it up in the paint. Watch for your fifth foul, because you could foul out if you’re not careful.
Taherah, catch and shoot from beyond the arc as much as possible.
” Her words are quick, and she’s honestly said some variation of them dozens of times.
There’s something comforting in the familiarity.
She surveys all of us and then gives a grim little smile. “Let’s win this one. Please.”
We head back onto the court for the fourth quarter, and Indiana’s game plan quickly becomes clear.
They begin pushing Jadea as much as possible, trapping her in the corner, double-teaming her on every opportunity, hacking at her arms to strip the ball away.
We’re a few minutes into the quarter, and she gets her fifth foul.
“That’s BS, Ref!” she shouts at the official nearest her. “They’ve been doing the same thing to me all game!”
“Crap,” I mutter. I reach for her and yank, Olabisi doing the same on her other side. She’s straining, trying to talk more to the referees. “Stop it, Jadea! You’ll get a technical. You only have one more foul to give.”
“They’re all over me.” She seethes in frustration. “I can’t get a clear shot anywhere.”
Indiana shoots their two free throws, and the score is 71–63.
I try to recalibrate us and get Jadea back into the game.
I pass her a quick one under the hoop, but to my surprise she passes it back out to a lonely Taherah who has been abandoned by her defender.
An easy swish, and it’s a three-pointer.
Taherah grins, and Jadea points at her. 71–66.