Chapter Four
Bee
Seven years ago
I thought I was doing a good job at hiding the butterfly migration that was currently moving from one side of my stomach to the other. I had spent the last two months mentally preparing for this.
Preparing to compete in my first ever international tournament.
This wasn’t like play-offs in high school, or attempting to win the state championship. This was basketball on a world stage. The only more worldly I could get was the Olympics and, dear God, I think I almost just vomited at that thought.
My high school career was everything I wanted it to be.
Made varsity as a freshman, won state championships twice, and got scouted by one of the best basketball programs in the country.
I should’ve been mentally preparing for my move to California.
But then I’d gotten the call: an invite to play at an under-19 basketball tournament representing the United States of America.
Holy shit.
If USC prospecting me didn’t cause enough of a stir in whatever overbearing parents for basketball group chats existed, getting called up for a tournament in Spain probably caused an earthquake.
I grew up getting shuffled to basketball camp while my siblings got dropped off at band camp or theatre camp or some art intensive off in the mountainside.
I played with my brother’s friends at the park and worked on my skills there.
Plenty of coaches begged my parents to put me on travel teams but those all just went in one ear and out the other.
Lita and Oscar knew I was good, but they didn’t know how good.
Then high school came, and whatever trajectory I was on couldn’t be stopped.
People I never thought of, nor knew, were putting me on lists.
I was getting invited to camps I only thought uber rich prodigies could afford, and yet here I was.
I rode my flight solo since no one else was traveling from Charlotte, but it didn’t take me long to find the group of athletes all waiting by a man in a suit with our home country on his little whiteboard.
“Be yourself, no matter what it could cost.” My mom’s phantom voice said in my ear as if she made the trek with me.
It was something she said to all five of us non-stop, burdened with the pressure of being the only Filipino girl after her parents immigrated to the south.
My mom would be damned if anyone tried to get in her way, and she made sure to instill that same energy in all five of us.
I made my way over, curly hair carefully and artfully parted into space buns on either side of my head, my new post high school look I told my little sisters would look great on TV, “Hi! I’m Brittney Lee.”
The other four girls stared at me like I was the first voice that spoke all day.
I mean, it was only eight in the morning our time back home, so we were long past rise and shine.
I stalked everyone well enough to know there was Lucy Lane, a shooting guard headed to Iowa, Katie Barnes, a center going to Louisiana, Farrah White, another shooting guard coming to USC with me, and the superstar herself, Nola Young.
It was hard to not know who Nola was if you weren’t in basketball.
She didn’t just come from one set of impeccable genes, but two.
I was absolutely above fan-girling people my age, and I was going to stick to that standard.
Nola already probably had a big head and I definitely wasn’t going to fill up with more air.
It was impossible to ignore the way her dark brown hair was pulled into a ponytail that accentuated her cheekbones and angular jaw.
Just from her silence I could tell she thought highly of herself.
I was used to people like her, the cocky players who didn’t come to make friends, but get wins and go on to play at top schools.
They had no life outside of basketball, and Nola’s heritage made her appearance even more untouchable.
But she was beautiful, the type of face that could make you do anything if she asked nicely. But I wasn’t here for that.
I was scared no one was going to bite on my greeting until Farrah stretched out her arm to dap me up. Maybe she pitied my early morning enthusiasm falling short, or she was just glad to have someone here who’d come with her to campus soon after—nevertheless, I was grateful.
The driver counted our heads and announced, “Alright, all five are here, let’s head to the shuttle and get you to your rooms.”
We made our way outside to the mild spring day and headed toward a sprinter van with three rows behind the driver.
As a middle child, there probably wasn’t a second in the day I wasn’t smushed between two other bodies, but as I followed Nola toward the middle row, Lucy and Katie already in the furthest row, Nola put her bag down next to her.
“I have to sit alone,” she said without apology.
“That’s what the front is for,” I stated, because no way was she getting her own entitled way.
“I have to sit alone,” she repeated.
“You don’t sit next to anyone on your way to away games? Elementary school trips? Middle and high school games?” I wasn’t letting up, and why should I? This wasn’t home, and she was going to have to let go of her princess ways.
“No, I can’t.” I watched Nola’s jaw clench as if I was irritating her with my investigation. Good. She was probably used to getting her way, but I wasn’t going to yield.
“It’s okay Brittney, we can just sit in the front row.” Farrah said from behind, her body slightly jostling the truck as she got in and sat in the row in front of Nola.
I was simultaneously a younger and older sibling, my position in my family a weapon I wielded when I felt the scales of justice tip out of my favor.
Nola was trying to establish her dominance and isolate herself at the same time.
I wasn’t going to let this go easily, but I was aware everyone was watching.
And whether I liked it or not, we were a team
“The journey alone is always a chilly one,” I quoted, maybe from an old movie I’d watched, a video game from my brother’s stash, or one of my sister’s mediocre poems.
All I knew was that I’d left Nola Young speechless.
The first three days felt like a whirlwind.
We landed. We slept. We were up early for practice.
We ate lunch. Back at it for practice. Then off to recovery before we were done for the night.
The five of us were split into two bedrooms, two beds each, with a connecting door in the middle even though no one really used it.
We didn’t speak much as a group on the first day, but by night two it felt like Lucy and Katie were purposefully excluding me from things.
From trips to the breakfast buffet, to matching t-shirts that didn’t have enough sizes for everyone.
I couldn’t tell if my middle child syndrome was coming out, or if they were just assholes.
Farrah was kind, and Nola was…Nola. Someone who glided through life with the knowledge that everyone knew her parents and thus weren’t allowed to give her shit.
She mostly kept to herself during practice, used breakfast and lunch to review plays, or otherwise was walking away, talking on the phone—probably to her superstar parents—observing everything around her.
We were only here for nine days, and she couldn’t be bothered to devote time to spending time with us.
Farrah developed an alliance with me whether out of pity or loyalty, I wasn’t sure, but the division was starting to feel lopsided on the court.
On the drills I was paired with Lucy and Katie, they generally tried to avoid my presence unless berated by the coach, a legend from a big ten school.
When we were practicing defense on each other, their boney elbows caused bruising along my ribs, my hair buns oh so conveniently whacked when they’re trying to block the ball.
Every occurrence made me want to check the ball at their dumb heads.
I only lost my cool with my family. My temper was hot and sharp, but my words were sharper, designed to cut deep.
I wasn’t an angry person; I just had a short fuse.
My dramatic antics were known by my siblings, and I’d rather not start my college career with rumors or footage of me blacking out on them.
However, my patience was wearing thin. Paper thin, thread thin, razor thin.
It was the last practice before knock out rounds began, and Coach called a time out after Lucy all but poked me in the eye.
“Farrah, I think today’s the day I’m going to lose it,” I mumbled as we sit on the opposite side of the bench from Katie and Lucy. Nola found herself alone in the middle, as per usual.
“That’s what they definitely want, Lee. You can’t let them get to you.” Farrah retied her long, honey blonde hair back into a ponytail that grazed her waist. The motion briefly hypnotized me.
“Well, I kind of feel like giving them a show.” I chugged some water and stood.
I heard a tenor voice rumble. “Don’t.” I dropped my gaze to find Nola looking up at me from the bench.
“And why the fuck not?”
“Because nothing matters off the bench.” Nola’s voice was even, logical, instilling a slight calm in me, but for someone who’d barely spoken for the past three days, the reaction was hard to believe.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Farrah shake her head. “They’re just going to be asses if Lee doesn’t say anything.”
“They don’t like you because you’re unknown.” Nola rose from the bench and stood eye-to-eye with me. “You’re not in any of our circuits, on no one’s radar, then here comes this kid from Charlotte looking to get swept up by one of the best schools in the West.”
“Oh, so you’re familiar with my resume?” I joked to see if Nola would bite.
I ignored the way my stomach did a flip at her suppressed smile.
“What I’m saying is they think you’re a fluke. I’ve played with Lucy, I know girls like Katie. They’re not gonna get off you until you break their ankles, outscore ‘em, shit, something good.”
I nodded, letting Nola’s words fuel me and redirect me from an outburst; something that could label me as, difficult to work with.
If I was honest, I’d cried frustrated tears every morning because I couldn’t understand why.
I didn’t need to be liked by everyone, but damn, I at least wanted people to call me annoying first before writing me off.
At least hate me for being myself, and not because I took their friends’ spot.
“Also… it is the best school on the West Coast.”
The jittery need to speak that had clawed up my throat was ebbing away. The energy translated to adrenaline pumping into my limbs, mirroring how I felt when I played against higher-seeded teams. The unbearable need to be heard and seen. I was just going to do what I do best: give everyone hell.
All thanks to Nola Young.