Page 66 of On Merit Alone
“Six!” I called from my spot on the line. She looked up immediately. I’m not sure if it was my voice or the nickname, but she located me in an instant and it was deeply satisfying. I tried not to preen as I waved her over.
In a surprisingly gentle movement, she touched her teammate’s shoulder and tipped her head in our direction. Low Brow Girl seemed to melt toward her captain, her face relaxing a little from her otherwise clear apprehension. She calmed to Merit’s soft but steady guidance, following her closely as they both made their way over to us.
I hummed curiously at the scene.
Such a small gesture, but so big too. I know it was sort of shitty of me, but I was wondering how Merit had been named captain with that stern,eat the world before it eats you,mentality she had going on. Don’t get me wrong, she was a great player, and anyone could learn from her determination, grit, and technique. But she didn’tstrike me as the warm and fuzzy, guide the rookies type of person. If anything, I would think she’d get annoyed at mistakes and setbacks like she so easily did with herself.
But that single gesture, that slip of softness that I’d only ever seen off the court, said it all. It was arrogant of me to think she only ever showed that softness with me. This was who she was, I was learning. Even with the hardest shell built around her, the other side of her peeked through. I just had to figure out why she’d built that shell so tough in the first place.
When the girls got to our little group, Merit’s teammate immediately started stretching and doing the random warmup exercises every athlete did while waiting for something to start. Merit didn’t join her. She came right over to stand by me, shoulder to shoulder as we looked out towards the doors watching for the other team to show up.
“Coach after all, huh?” she asked after long moments of just standing there.
“Looks like it,” I said with a nod. We both knew I wouldn’t be playing on my knee when there was a chance I could potentially hurt it for a game that wasn’t even real.
“How’s it feeling?”
“Better,” I said, not sure why my tone went clipped or why I didn’t want to talk about it. Probably because we’d just lost because of the stupid thing.
She flipped a look up at me, her neck craning back as she looked right up at my face. “How areyoufeeling?”
Returning her gaze, I found something I liked—that same gentle strength I’d been enviously witnessing passed on to me. The same soft strength she’d lent me in my living room when I was all but falling apart. I leaned into it, feeling surprisingly safe and seen.
“I feel like shit. Like I let everyone down,” I admitted. With anyone else, I’d be positive. I’d joke around and say that I feelconfident we can get them next year and be grateful for the ride. But with her, I knew she got it. I missed an opportunity. Shit luck or not, it sucked.
A soft hand wrapped around my forearm, squeezing as she nodded. “Yeah.”
“Will it get better?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she nodded again. “It will. You know it will. You just need to get over the hump.”
I turned my head to the ceiling, not wanting to look at her when my entire neck burned with anger. Anger that I knew I shouldn’t be feeling. Not with the life I had. Not with the privilege I had, especially standing here getting ready to practice for a charity game. But I couldn’t help feeling upended. Like all the things I worked so hard to get, all the things that were well in my grasp, had just shattered an inch away from me achieving them.
I swallowed. “How, Mer?”
That hand moved up and down, rubbing gently as she comforted me. “You put your head in the freezer. Cool your helpless thoughts. Replace them with good thoughts. Then get back to work.”
I shook my head, knowing she was right but not seeing how I could possibly keep going afterthis.
That soft hand squeezed my flesh. So strong, this girl. And here was me soaking up not having to be the strong one on the team. Not having to have it together right then with her having it together for me. Damn. What was this?
“I’ll help,” she whispered, moving closer to me. “Instead of thinking about the bad stuff, think about that hook shot you do when you’re toying with people. How many times did you have to practice that one to make it what it is today?”
A laugh bubbled up in my chest, because she knew I didn’t bring out the hook unless I was feeling confident and maybe a little cocky. “A lot.”
“A hell of a lot, I bet,” she said, a smile in her voice but hidden on her lips. Thinking for a second, she added, “Or think about that unreal shooting average you’ve racked up. Or the fact that you’re running dangerously close to the most shots made in league history.”
I grunted, agreeing begrudgingly. While those were all good things, they didn’t make me feel better. They were all stats. All achievements I’d worked hard for, that I was proud of, but they weren’t everything. They weren’t me. And I didn’t know how to express to her that I wanted more than that. To be more than that. More than my average or my achievements.
Of course I was upset that we lost the championship,it was the championship. Every basketball player’s dream. But I think I was more upset that I’d played a hand in letting my team down. I was no longer a rookie. I wasn’t eager to prove myself or fight for respect in the org. As a vet, I was someone my team looked up to. Someone expected to lead them to greatness—to be there for them and to mentor the upcoming generation. I’d almost done that. I’d almost succeeded in taking one of the most fulfilling seasons as captain and as someone my team counted on for more than just my skills with a ball, all the way.
And then I lost. I lost it for them. And that’s why I felt like shit. I’d failed in showing that I was more than just hands and muscles and motions that made up a game. I’d failed at being more.
It was sort of humiliating.
Beside me Merit picked up on my negative shift. The whole time I threw my internal pity party, she studied me.
“You can think about your team,” she suggested, her voice going down into a softer whisper. “I know you said they would drown out there without you. And they did sort of, but that’s because you’re like air when you’re out there, Ira. Like wind. Not many can touch you, and that’s not their fault.But…”
