Page 12 of A Shot at Love
He nods, swallowing nervously. “Right. Well, that’s not really the whole story. I actually noticed you for the first time junior year. For one of my broadcasting classes, we had to write an op-ed about a sport on campus and argue why it was the best one. As a diehard runner, I intended to write about track. However, one of my friends told me I’d be an idiot not to write about the women’s basketball team, which was undefeated and just starting March Madness. He told me Jadea Jones was the future of basketball.” Weirdly, my heart begins pounding, imagining a younger Daniel,myDaniel, tentatively entering our packed college stadium. “When I went to see you guys, you were playing Gonzaga. I camein late to the game, rushing from practice. I missed the team’s introduction, but it didn’t matter. You were on fire that game. You had…”
“Twenty-one points and twelve assists,” I fill in without thinking. That Gonzaga game was the best in my collegiate career. It was the second round of March Madness and Jadea had been dealing with a hamstring strain and unexpectedly had to sit out the game. Feeling the pressure, I pushed my team to try to find a way without her. We did, winning by a basket.
“You stood out so much, with your red hair and red uniform. I thought you were Jadea the first few plays. To my surprise, it was your name they said each time you scored or stole the ball away. I’ve never seen a more exciting basketball game, to this day.” My leg twitches, as if to stand up and reach for him again. I resist the impulse, keeping my eyes on him instead. “You were lightning in a bottle that game. I think about it whenever sports get me down. I remember you scoring at the buzzer and your teammates piling on top of you. The clip they showed on the jumbotron of Jadea tearing up on the sidelines. It was a perfect game, and it was you I couldn’t stop staring at. IaskedJustin to introduce us. I guess I never told you because it seemed a little embarrassing.”
He shrugged bashfully. “So, that’s how I became a big fan. I’ve watched a few of your WNBA games when I can catch them. Even after our relationship…ended, I never stopped rooting for you. You’re still one of my favorite athletes.”
“Daniel…” I trail off, off-kilter. “You never told me that story before.” He shrugs a little, avoiding my gaze. There’s a little color on his cheeks. To imagine that I played some small part in his passion for sports is mind-boggling. That he thought I was Jadea. That he remembers that buzzer-beater jump shot I took. That he remembers the celebration afterwards and Jadea hugging me with tears in her eyes.
That game motivated him to talk to me senior year.
Even as I resent Daniel and want to rail at him for the way he lit our relationship on fire, I agree with him. That game was one of the best days of my life. Every word he says, that’s how I feel about those moments too. It’s basketball to me. It captures everything I love about sports.
I look at him, dry-eyed, but a lump in my throat. “Thank you.”
He reaches down to help me up, pulling me so we’re only a foot apart. I’m still just a hair taller than he is, my eyes roving over that tiny, white scar above his eye. He doesn’t let go of my hand, and for a moment, I have a flashback of him wrapping his hands around my waist and pulling me closer.
The door to the locker room bursts opens and bursts the memory. I blink twice and step away from Daniel, dropping his hand. “Daniel!” Jadea swings into the room. “You said five minutes, and it’s been close to ten!”
She pauses a moment, taking us in, but Daniel only salutes her and backs out of the room. Jadea reaches for me immediately, engulfing me in a hug. She smells ofsweat and her jasmine perfume. When she pulls back, she puts both hands on my cheeks. “Have you been crying?”
I’m surprised at the strength in my voice when I say, “No, no I haven’t been.” While I haven’t been crying, I do feel a little strange. This Daniel seems like the old one I loved so much. Our conversation felt so inspiring, so invigorating.
Yet, somewhere in him is that version of Daniel that left me on a whim. That broke my heart and didn’t come back for five years. If I’m not careful, I’ll let him swoop back into my life and rip it apart. Again.
Lightning in a bottle, he said.He doesn’t lie.
Or he didn’t, back when I really knew him.
7
The next morning’s practice is surprisingly normal. Considering my propensity for crying, something that is now immortalized on the internet forever, I’ve been trying to toughen up a bit. Straighten my spine, grit my teeth, maybe act like Jadea or Olabisi. Badass women who take no shit. It’s not my natural disposition, but it seems worth attempting.
That attitude works well most of the morning. Jadea and I practice some cutting and dunking plays that have us both excited. We don’t have a game until Thursday, two days from now, so we have a nice mid-week break. I do have to field several calls from reporters, answering with a meek, “No comment.” I also declined two more calls from Jack and four more from my mom. I promised Jadea we’d make up, but the idea that she was keeping more potential secrets for Jack, or at least hiding suspicions she had, makes me furious. She might have thought she was protecting me, but what about now? It would have been nice to know about this potential disaster ahead of time. Jermaine calls again before I leave for practice and reassures me that lying low is still the best strategy. Angry women are frequently ridiculed. Crying women are even worse.
Daniel has his whole film crew with him this time, and I watch them out of the corner of my eye. Most of thefilming doesn’t feature Daniel; it’s just footage for him to cut to during his on-air discussion. I wonder what parts of practice have any merit. What complaints will people have? Will this piece make any impact at all, or will people just see another women’s team that they find less interesting than the men’s?
Jadea must see the anger and frustration through my steel-spine facade because she tries to distract me. We stand on the sideline, hydrating after our last scrimmage. I did well, sinking two threes and assisting Jadea on two dunks. Allyson, Lynn, and Olabisi cheered, and the reserves grumbled good-naturedly. Lots of men, and some women, believe women’s basketball isn’t as fast paced or athletic. Dunking is their number one example. Women can’t dunk, so naturally, the whole game suffers in comparison (gag me). And while many incredible WNBA players could dunk, such as Brittany Griner, Jadea forced it into her gameplay. She throws it in the misogynistic pundits’ faces, and everyone on the team loves it. Mostly.
Jadea’s face lights up with what promises to be a troubling idea. “I know! We should go dancing tonight! We only have film tomorrow, and then we’re on the road.” Our next game is a day game against Indiana, which is two days away. We rarely do a full practice on the same day we’re traveling.
I groan immediately, but several of my teammates perk up. Olabisi throws her hands up in the air. “Yes, thank God! It has been adragaround here recently.”
I toss her a look, and she blows me a kiss. I roll my eyes. “I hate going out.” I look at Jadea pathetically, hoping it will work. As someone who prefers to linger in the shadows and sip on a beer all night, clubbing has never really been my scene. It’s difficult to fade into the background when you and your friends are all over six feet tall.
Jadea puts her hands on her hips, eyeing me sternly. “Oh, stop pouting, Annie. You need to blow off some steam, and preferably in a place where you can’t hear yourself think.” Allyson nods enthusiastically, high-fiving Jadea. I’m about to open my mouth and complain that Jermaine said to “lay low” not “blow off some steam”, when she says the few magic words that usually convince me to leave my apartment. “You can get dressed up.”
I try not to let my face show any excitement, but it’s difficult. Jadea knows just what to say. Throughout middle school and high school, I struggled to find clothes that I liked and that fit me. I was six feet tall and not without a little curve and had bright red hair. Just going to Target wasn’t going to cut it. Fortunately, my mom loved vintage fashion and DIY. We would go shopping together, hunting for that magical item that fit perfectly or just needed a little editing. I was always attracted to the different eras of fashion, the patterns and cuts and how they changed over time. It helped that my mom always wore whatever she wanted. A necklace made of pearls and soda tabs. A jean jacket with a mouthembroidered on the back. Overalls with rainbow paint splatters.
When I’m not playing basketball, I’m shopping online or in vintage stores. I can even sew and design a bit, thanks to my independent study major at Stanford that emphasized fashion design and renewable fashion business models.
I must not have a good poker face because Jadea claps and shouts, “We’re going out tonight, Arrows!”
I have to laugh at her antics and catch Daniel looking at me curiously. He and his crew are packing up for the day. Jadea notices too and gets a scheming expression on her face. Ever since she caught me and Daniel talking in the locker room, she’s been obsessed with pushing us together. If only she wanted to pull us apart. I widen my eyes at her, shaking my head.
She chooses to ignore me and calls in Daniel’s direction. The curiosity grows on his face as he walks over. He looks between Jadea and me. “What’s up?”
I refuse to speak, narrowing my eyes at Jadea.
