Chapter 22
Everyone is quiet when I show up to warm-ups on Wednesday. The past two days have been a whirlwind, one that was rewarding but ultimately exhausting. I only went to a few individual workouts, missing many of my teammates in the process.
Jermaine, Daniel, and I have been working with a single-minded focus.
I’ve been on ESPN’s The Jump, Good Morning America, and various podcasts.
Through each interview I have sweat and stammered.
I wasn’t perfect. I wasn’t Jadea, witty and sparkling.
I wasn’t Daniel, polished and easy. But I was myself.
I talked about my fears, why I didn’t play the last two games of the season.
I explained my anxiety and using avoidance as a coping skill.
I talked about how the team suffered under Trenton and how he twisted my words.
I talked about women’s sports, as best as I could.
I missed things. I offended a few people.
But I got through it. I showed people that I wasn’t a ghost in this scandal, I was a living, breathing person.
I had feelings, and maybe they were wrong, but I would put a voice to them.
I didn’t mention my mom or Daniel, as it felt too personal. I didn’t mention that I had already texted my therapist to restart weekly appointments. I tried not to let any anger or bitterness bleed into my words. Overall, I just tried.
So far, the response has been mostly positive. Some mixed reviews about my crocodile tears or the timing of these interviews, but I try to tune them out. This way, I’m not avoiding my problems. I’m not dodging my fears.
Daniel posts several inspiring, heartwarming, and somewhat sappy posts about me. Those bring in the best press, and it’s even more infuriating because he means them. Every word. He’s also started working in earnest on his mental health in sports piece, saying my bravery inspired his own.
He’s a larger-than-life boyfriend.
When Wednesday arrives, I feel more nervous than all the interviews combined. It’s my girls that I’ve been avoiding. We’ve always been a team, and I threw some doubt into that definition. Maybe it wasn’t my fault we lost, maybe it was. We’ll never know, and I have to live with that.
We’re all getting ready, tying our shoes and tying back our hair. So far, everyone’s been pleasant, but distant. Even Olabisi is avoiding my gaze, not one to usually shy away from a confrontation. Coach Rembert is busy talking with her assistants, so Jadea nudges me.
I take another one of those calming breaths.
“Arrows!” I call them to attention, just like Jadea would.
“I need to say a few things.” Immediately, the room quiets.
Coach Rembert turns my way, and the kindness in her gaze is not surprising.
Nor is the eagerness in Taherah’s. Or the knowing smile on Lynn’s face.
“I’m sorry,” I say earnestly. I try to meet everyone’s gaze head-on.
“For leaving and not playing with you the last two games of the season. I don’t know if I could have changed the outcome, but at least I would have been there.
I thought if I played, everyone would be focused on the scandal, and we would be distracted.
I should have known we would have been distracted either way.
I was just too afraid to speak up for myself, to speak up against Trenton.
” I take another deep breath. “I’m trying to be better. ”
“It’s okay,” Taherah offers immediately. “I’m scared all the time.” It’s a kind and easy response, one that I expected. Taherah doesn’t have a mean bone in her body, unless she’s trying to catch a screen and shoot her shot.
Allyson rolls her eyes. “It’s not your fault your family is full of assholes, Annie. Just talk to us next time.”
I bark out a laugh. “Too true, thank you, Allyson.” We’re all laughing a little then, in relief.
That cuts off when Olabisi stands up. Her dark eyes meet mine, serious. “I’m sorry too, Annie. I should have believed you first. I should have considered your side. I’m sorry.”
It’s not a bleeding-heart apology. It’s not wavering or tear-stained. But that’s Olabisi. And if I want people to accept my watery eyes and stammered words, I have to accept her steely demeanor, her cutting gaze.
I walk over and give her a hug. She squeezes me hard, and I know she cares. The room hollers and applauds, and Olabisi flips them the bird as we pull apart.
I’m still grinning when Coach Rembert raises a brow at us all. “Are you ready to play now, Arrows?”
More cheering and Coach Rembert cracks a small smile.
Coach Zak passes her a clipboard and whiteboard marker.
“New York is a trickier match-up for us,” she says honestly, uncapping the marker.
“Sabrina Ionescu was MVP the year before Jadea. She’s everything Jadea isn’t: she’s smaller, a better ball handler, and can shoot from everywhere.
Annie, you’ll have to handle her, and we’ll put Olabisi on Natasha Cloud.
” Coach Rembert shoots me a steely gaze, and I swallow.
Sabrina is no joke, on and off the court.
I’ve seen her in multiple commercials this year, including the coveted Nike spot.
She’s one of the league’s biggest stars, and she never quits.
“On the flip side, they have two star centers, though Stewart is still hurt. Jonquel Jones is about the same height as you, Jadea. She’s pretty quick for her size and has good touch around the basket.
We need to keep the rebounds out of her hands.
Natasha Cloud, Betnijah Laney, and Marine Johannes will also be in the mix.
Ionescu and Johannes can shoot from anywhere, and Cloud can drive to the basket from anywhere, so defense will be tough tonight. Do not ease up.”
Coach has named names before, especially during film. We played and won against the Liberty three times this season. They’re a lower seed, and we should beat them. But our team’s been off-kilter, and you can never count Sabrina Ionescu out. Or Jonquel Jones. Or Natasha Cloud.
You get the picture.
Coach stops scribbling plays and puts the whiteboard down.
She sticks her hand out, and we follow suit, piling on top.
Her gaze travels across each of us in turn.
“This is our one shot, Arrows. We have one game left to prove our worth. If we lose this, there’s no next game.
No next round. It’s one and done. Don’t forget it. ”
I can feel the adrenaline pounding through my veins, making me almost dizzy with determination. I exchange fierce looks with Jadea. Coach nods at her. And Jadea, fully herself, shines as she shouts, “Arrows on three!”
“1…2…3…ARROWS!”
*
We warm-up, and it feels good. The ball swishes more than it rattles off the rim, and my lack of practice doesn’t seem to be affecting me too negatively.
I wave to my mom in the stands, sitting next to Jadea’s mom as usual.
I blow a kiss to Daniel, who is wearing my jersey and sitting courtside.
No camera crew tonight, just him. He grins at me, full movie-star.
I notice that the owner’s box looks empty tonight.
No Jack or Trenton. There are rumors that the WNBA’s investigation will be over soon, and the league will be considering possible punishments.
That brings all the mixed feelings you’d expect, so I try to focus.
Feel the ball between my fingers. Feel the space as I jump and shoot. Feel Jadea running on my right.
Warm-ups end and the crowd already feels electric.
We’re the higher seed, so we’re fortunate to play at home.
The crowd is a sea of scarlet, every seat full for once.
If my strange press circuit brought any new fans here, I’m glad.
We need all the help we can get. I see one sign that says, “Annie Cheater for Life!” and my heart skips a beat.
I breathe through it and count three other signs that say, “Larger than Life”.
There’s even one with an explosion of glitter on it, which I vow to hunt down later so I can take a picture with the owner.
I don’t have to be afraid to be called a cheater—because I’m not one.
Jadea and Jonquel Jones go up for the jump ball, and Jadea tips it my way.
I don’t even question it; I just sprint towards our basket.
Jadea is fast, the fastest player out there, so she’s usually out ahead enough to make our triple deceit play work.
This time, though, I see out of the corner of my eye that Jadea has gotten tangled with Betnijah Laney.
I have a split second to decide to pass the ball away or take my momentum and lay the ball up. Sabrina is a half-step behind me.
I’m hardly breathing when the ball kisses off the backboard. Swish.
2–0.
Jadea pushes off of Laney, grinning at me.
Sabrina gets the ball, trying to slow down and control the tempo.
We press her hard, jumping the passing lanes and keeping close.
I’m only inches from Sabrina’s face, arms and legs wide.
Right before the shot clock is about to expire, thus turning the ball over to us, Sabrina passes it off to Johannes.
We lose her in the shuffle, and she shoots a three as time expires.
Swish.
3–2.
The first half passes the same way. For every amazing shot we score, they score one better.
We switch leads too many times to count.
I foul Sabrina three times, which is too many for the first half.
It only takes six to get me on the bench permanently.
Surprisingly, Coach doesn’t ream me out.
“You’re slowing her down, Larger,” she says during a timeout as I guzzle water. “Just a little, but it’s all we need.”