Chapter Nine
GJ
Even though my bed felt empty when Leah left, the post-sex glow lasted for an annoyingly long time.
As days went by, all I could think about was the next time I’d be able to have her in my bed.
When she wasn’t here, I was having dreams about her.
I’d stare at my phone and debate texting her during class, or when I was lying in bed, or after practice.
But I never did it, and I knew it was because I was scared she might tell me she didn’t want to see me again.
The uncertainty was a new feeling I wasn’t sure I liked, but the high of seeing Leah in passing at games outweighed everything else.
It was like my brain and my body physically couldn’t get enough. The sex—and the company—were just that good. It was undeniable; whatever spell Leah had me under was something I’d never experienced before.
But maybe it was just the absence that was making my heart grow fonder, or whatever it was that people said. I just wanted what I couldn’t have.
I stared at my ceiling, willing myself to stop ruminating over this and get my ass out of bed. But I knew I needed some additional assistance. I picked up my phone and immediately FaceTimed the one voice of reason I had in this.
Theo answered almost immediately, her face flashing up on my screen. It looked like she’d just wrapped up a workout—her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and her pale cheeks were flushed pink. “Hey, what’s up?” Her voice was abnormally, forcefully chill.
“Why are you being weird?”
“What?” Theo asked, blinking at me.
“I’ve known you long enough to know that you’re being weird.
What’s going on?” I sat up straighter in bed and glanced at the clock.
I had a morning workout soon—leave it to Theo to keep up a routine that had her up before even the Coyotes practiced in the morning—but I wasn’t going to let this slide.
Gushing about Leah could be put on the back burner for now.
Theo flattened her lips, shaking her head in disagreement. “Nothing’s going on. Why are you calling?”
“You know something. You definitely know something.”
“Is that GJ?” Maya called out from offscreen. Theo moved the camera away from her face, but I caught the tiniest look on her face.
“Dude, you’re stressing me out. What the hell is going on?” I asked.
“Has she seen it?”
“Maya.” Theo groaned.
“I’m sorry! I thought that was why she was calling!”
My heart went into double time. “Okay, now you guys are really freaking me out. What is going on?”
“Wait, why were you calling?” Theo asked, putting the camera back on her face again.
“I was going to talk about a girl, but this is clearly way more important.”
“I’m sorry, GJ. That was my bad—please don’t ask!” Maya called out from off-screen.
“You’re both so bad at this,” I said, but I was doing a terrible job at playing off my nerves.
As casual as I wanted to sound, my palms were sweaty, and my heart was racing.
If they were both still on campus, I’d immediately chalk it up to campus gossip—some girl talking shit at a party, a men’s basketball player who wanted to pick a fight over a comment I made about their weak ass team.
But they weren’t still on campus. For them to know any gossip before me—or someone else on the team—was unlikely. This had to be something big.
“Maybe we should focus on the girl drama. The other stuff isn’t important,” Theo said. “Is this about Mags’s sister?”
“Way to air me the fuck out, dude.” I put the phone down on my bed and threw my shirt on, knowing I didn’t have long until I had to leave.
“Maya knows everything I know. I can’t help it.”
“You’re a fucking simp. Weak willed.”
“Bold coming from the one with a way worse campus reputation than I ever had, but is calling to talk to me about a girl. Usually, it’s pulling teeth to get information. And they never have names. They’re just girl in the blue shirt. Girl visiting from California—”
I snorted. “You’re so fucking annoying. But you’re not distracting me—tell me what’s going on.”
Theo took a long breath. She went over to her fridge and pulled it open, grabbing the ingredients for a smoothie before finally responding. “It’s in Sports Illustrated.”
My stomach dropped. I knew better than to ever think whatever she was talking about was a good thing. “You’re fucking lying.”
“It’s not bad—”
I reached out for my laptop that was haphazardly balancing on my nightstand. Throwing my phone down on the bed so I could focus, I googled my name. There wasn’t a single doubt in my mind when I saw it—it was the first fucking article on the screen.
“Oh my fucking god, dude,” I said. I buried my head in my hands.
“It’s fine. People always have something to say. You saw some of the stuff people were saying about me online while I was playing. They’re still talking about me, and it’s the offseason.”
“It’s different when you were named Rookie of the Year. I’ve been playing like shit, which means this article is right.”
I didn’t know what to do with myself. I rubbed my palms against my shirt, clenched my jaw, rubbed at the back of my neck. I didn’t know where to put my nervous energy.
“I have to go,” I said.
“GJ—”
I hung up the call and jumped up from my bed, jumping up and down and shaking out my arms. The article headline flashed over and over in my mind. Pro basketball scouts talk season standouts so far, express concern over the Coyotes season led by GJ Mitchell.
This wasn’t the first time I’d made it into Sports Illustrated—Theo was never afraid to name-drop us directly in interviews because she knew how much it meant for our careers—but it was the first genuinely negative press I’d gotten.
Me. Directly. By name. And not just in an article somewhere but in the headline.
I grabbed a pillow from my bed and screamed into it.
No one said anything to me during morning workout, but I could feel my teammates periodically glancing over at me.
I knew Coach Darlene had to have seen it and the rest of the coaching staff, too.
Our team was way too high profile for anything to slip by.
And as much as we were told to ignore what people had to say online and focus on playing ball, Sports Illustrated wasn’t exactly some guy on the internet.
As the day went on, I couldn’t bring myself to read the entire article.
The only thing I could do was continuously refresh various social media apps, curious if people were reposting it and what they were saying.
A couple of fans were stepping in to defend the team and me, which I was grateful for.
But mostly, it was people acknowledging that we weren’t the same team that had beaten Point Brook last year during the regular season.
We lacked the chemistry, the excitement, the fun that we used to have.
And most resoundingly of all was how many people were commenting on me not being able to match Theo. I was never going to replace her, never going to fill her shoes. Naturally, anyone who had any hope for us emphasized Anna as what we had left for keeping the team’s record afloat.
I spent all day in a state of heightened anxiety.
It swirled around in my chest and made the day feel impossibly long, and my body feel heavy.
I felt like everyone was looking at me, which was typically the case; people tended to stare when they realized I was the person from the giant poster on campus.
But this time, it didn’t feel like they were looking because they were fans.
It didn’t help that we had afternoon practice, so I wasn’t going to be free of basketball until later in the evening.
I spent all day waiting to be called into Coach Darlene’s office like she was a school principal and I was a kid who’d done something wrong.
Even though the article wasn’t inherently my fault, it definitely reflected badly on us.
And as captain, everything kind of felt like my fault.
If people were suddenly doubting our team and the only thing that really changed was Theo graduating and me taking over, there was no one else to blame.
My teammates still not saying anything into the evening also made me feel worse and even more anxious. The group chat had been active, but with people sharing random life updates or asking about practice today.
I needed someone to talk to me about it, or I was going to explode.
We huddled on the court around Coach Darlene, and I glanced around to see if anyone looked upset with me.
I didn’t necessarily fear authority—I was too much of a self-aware class clown and an idiot to take what they said personally—but I was learning now that I could definitely experience fear when it came to the general fate of my basketball career.
But there was nothing. As if it were any normal day, Coach Darlene ran through positions for us in a 3v3.
“GJ, let’s see you as a shooting guard for this one,” Coach Darlene said, glancing down at her clipboard and then back up at us. I squeezed my hands tight and then let them go, not wanting to make a scene.
Her tone and expression were so neutral, like she didn’t just say the most casually infuriating thing she could’ve said. The fear that had been balled up in my chest instantly turned into annoyance. That felt like all the confirmation I needed to know she’d seen the article.
I shot a glare over in Anna’s direction and ignored the smug look from Mags nearby.
Mags was typically our starting shooting guard, but she was—annoyingly—built to be good in just about any position.
She was as versatile as a basketball player could be, which was part of the reason she had such a massive ego.
She saw being trusted in a different position as a point of pride and an acknowledgment of her skills, not as a demotion.
But as someone who’d been pretty much always a point guard since I was in middle school, I wasn’t interested in doing this.