Chapter 22 #3
My teammates and I race to get back on defense.
We’re quick enough that Sabrina is forced to slow down, to hesitate at the top of the key.
The clock is winding down. What should I do?
If I foul her, she’ll shoot free throws, and we’ll really be dead in the water.
But if I ease up, she might score anyway.
0:08 seconds left.
Thankfully, New York looks just as confused, and their coach, Sandy Brondello, calls a timeout.
Coach Rembert opens her mouth, but Jadea beats her to it. “Annie, you have to steal the ball.”
I rear back, surprised. “I haven’t stolen it off Ionescu all night.”
Jadea’s face is scary intense. “Don’t foul her, or you’ll foul out and she’ll make her free throws. You just need to steal the ball and go.”
Coach Rembert huffs. “Jadea, that’s a risky plan. We’ll intentionally foul Sabrina, and it makes sense for Annie to do it. There are only eight seconds left. We have to hope that Sabrina only makes one of her free throws and we’ll have a chance at a three-point shot.”
Coach is right. That’s the safe plan. But it also has a slim chance of success.
We only have eight seconds left, and New York would happily whittle that away and win by two.
They’ll know the intentional foul is coming.
And Sabrina has been a flawless eight out of eight at the free throw line.
She could waste five seconds and make both free throws, leaving us an impossible four points behind.
The whistle blows, and I stare at the eight seconds on the clock with growing dread. Safe or risky? What’s the right call?
Johannes stands on the sideline, preparing to throw in the ball.
Ionescu is already looking at me suspiciously, ready to evade my intentional foul.
Everything fades away as Johannes throws it in.
Sabrina makes a sweeping arc, trying to run right into the pass and evade me on the way.
She catches the ball, turning back to face the basket.
I plant myself right in her way. She slows down, dribbling the ball back on her right hip.
The clock ticks and ticks behind me.
I reach in, and I don’t even know what I’m going for, the intentional foul or the steal.
It doesn’t matter because my fingers graze the ball.
Sabrina’s grasp on it loosens just a touch, her dribble unsteady, and I see my chance.
Praying I don’t foul, I lunge for the ball, and I time it perfectly.
The ball bounces right into my hands, without me even touching Sabrina.
I’m out in the free court, running towards our basket. The time must be close to expiring. Every step feels heavy; I’m slow.
Through the buzzing in my ears, I swear I hear, “RUN!” From Jadea, of course. The crowd is screaming. There’s a flash of Daniel saying to me in the locker room, “Lightning in a bottle.”
Sabrina is only a step behind me. She’s trying to run around me, to block my path cleanly. She wants me to shoot free throws, to not even get close to the basket. I slam into her, pain blossoming above my eyebrow. I just manage to toss the ball up.
We crash down together, huddled under the basket, a tangle of limbs. I watch my ill-timed shot hit high on the glass and rattle the front rim. Bounce to the back.
And then, swish right through. The clock buzzer roars.
0:00 seconds left.
The crowd is shouting, and there are whistles from the officials. Foul on Sabrina; she didn’t get set enough for a charge. She threw herself in front of me, thinking the shot would never go in. But it did.
I can’t believe it.
112–112. Tie game.
As Jadea helps me up, I notice she doesn’t look as happy as I expect.
That’s when I notice my face is wet, and for once, it’s not tears.
Blood, blood everywhere. Sabrina’s desperate attempt split the wound back open.
I hurry over to the free throw line, before the blood gets out of control.
I’m surprised they haven’t dragged me to the sideline already.
The ball feels perfect in my hands, despite my sticky face and sweat-soaked uniform. A very small part of me wishes it was Jadea up here, Jadea shooting the game-winning shot, Jadea taking the risk.
Then—she grins at me from across the lane. I look over at the sideline, and there’s Daniel, his competition face on. He looks aglow with victory, as though I’ve already won it. I glance up, and there are the moms, throwing their pom-poms and worriedly gesturing to my face.
I turn to the basket. Dribble. Dribble. Breathe.
It rattles, but it makes it. I make it.
113–112.
The explosion of love from the crowd is the best sound I’ve ever heard. My girls run over, jumping on me and screaming. I’m crying now too, tears mixing with the blood. Jadea whips off her jersey, presses it to my cut, proudly showing off her six-pack abs and sports bra.
“We did it.” I’m bawling and smiling at Jadea. “After everything.”
Jadea bares her teeth. “On to the next.”
It’s a stark reminder that this journey isn’t over. This was the first obstacle of many, and yet it feels important. It feels like I’m so close to being who I want to be. Sometimes a sidekick, sometimes a hero. That’s life.
When Holly Rowe sticks the microphone out to me, I’m crying and holding Jadea’s crumpled jersey to my forehead.
“That was incredible, Annie. How does it feel?” Holly gushes, and she seems genuinely excited to hear what I have to say.
I’m still not one for speeches, but I manage to gasp out, “This wouldn’t have been possible without all the incredible women in the league. Sabrina Ionescu challenging me. My teammates supporting me. Jadea boosting me up. My mom growing with me. And Daniel for loving me. I’m lucky. So lucky.”
The words are a broken mess, but Holly seems to understand. “And what about the scandal? You’ve finally opened up about it recently. Is there anything you’d like to add?”
I laugh a little. “Honestly, now isn’t the time. This is for St. Louis. For our fans!” The crowd cheers. “I want to put the scandal behind me, but before I can, I have one last thing to say. Watch Our World Through Sports this Sunday. I promise you won’t be disappointed.”
Afterwards, I turn and run into Daniel’s arms. I’m clutching his—actually my—jersey, and laughing into his neck as he swings me around and then worriedly cups my face.
“You okay?” He lifts Jadea’s wadded jersey up a bit, glancing at the cut.
“It’s definitely a bleeder. But it shouldn’t need more than a few stitches. ”
He sounds relieved. I laugh again, giddy. “I can’t even feel it.” Too much adrenaline, too much joy.
Sabrina comes over, trying not to interrupt. She looks her usual fierce, MVP self, but also a bit nervous. It takes me a minute to remember that she accidentally caused my bleeder.
Before she can say anything, I blurt out, “That was the best game ever, don’t you think?”
It’s a ridiculous thing to say, because she lost. Her team lost. I try to backtrack and feel Daniel stifling a laugh behind me, but I’m surprised to see Sabrina crack a small smile. “Sorry about the elbow, Larger. I promise it wasn’t intentional.”
It might be the adrenaline, or the joy, but it goes to my head a little. I grin at Sabrina Ionescu and say, “This was a battle, Ionescu. We all have a few war wounds.”
Sabrina laughs at that, and we hug briefly before she leaves to commiserate with her teammates. The moment of this win is about to slip through my fingertips, so I raise up Jadea’s jersey to the crowd and hear them roar one more time.
One moment of bravery down, one to go.