Page 37 of A Shot at Love
Jadea texts me:#Dannie?
And I check and see that it’s the ninth trending topic in my location for the evening.
A fan with the username@JJonesObsessedretweets the clip with the comment:@AnnieLarger @DanielChan what is happening here???
I should feel ashamed that my fake relationship with Daniel is fooling the world. Instead, there’s a strange mix of pride and confusion. It doesn’t really feel like a fake relationship. He didn’t have to make that gesture. Jadea did not insist on it. He ironed on those letters because he thought I needed it, because he cared about me.
And so, when I respond, I don’t hold back, but I don’t give any information either.
@AnnieLarger: Eat your heart out, St. Louis.
14
The next morning, I wake up anxious. It happens sometimes when I dread my tasks for the day. Getting my oil changed. Filming a team promotional video. Going on a date. Getting a cavity filled. Arguing with someone I love.
Today’s anxiety has to do with my biological father. The conversation with my mom rattled me. We both agree that we avoid our problems, so shouldn’t we try to change? Try to be brave and actually confront our problems head-on?
I don’t ever have to like Jack Smith. But I’d like some information from him. I don’t want to be ambushed again once the WNBA is finished with their investigation. I want Jack to tell me the truth. I want him to explain how he treated my mother and his own family. I want him to explain the risks he took that have ultimately jeopardized both our careers.
I deserve all of those answers and more.
I stare at my phone for a long time, the numerous missed calls from him. Strangely, I haven’t heard anything from him since I talked to Trenton. Did he and his son come to an agreement that we shouldn’t be in contact? Is that another reason why Trenton swooped in and met with me instead of Jack? Maybe he doesn’twant us talking at all. But it’s not against my NDA to talkwithJack. Justabouthim.
Or maybe Jack just got the message that I didn’t want to talk to him unless it was about basketball. I can change that message if I’m the one to reach out.
I take three deep breaths, burrow my feet deeper into my pink fuzzy slippers, and press the call button. I’m buzzing with anxiety as I listen to it ring.
And ring.
And ring.
There’s no answer, and the answering machine lists the number itself, not some damning personal message such as, “This is Jack Smith, meddler in the life of the daughter I never wanted.” When the beep sounds, I hesitate for a moment. Is this his way of telling me he doesn’t want to talk? That Trenton handled everything in his office a few days ago? Does that matter?
Finally, I say as evenly as possible, “Hi Jack, this is AnnieLarger.” Do I put some emphasis on my mother’s surname? I sure mean to. “I’d like to talk if you can find the time. Thank you.”
I sound like someone’s secretary, but I guess it’s better than sounding like his hot mess of a daughter.
I get ready with one ear tilted towards my phone, primed for it to vibrate and Jack’s number to flash across the screen. It never happens. I braid my hair, no call. I put on my combo moisturizer/sunscreen, no call. I put on my favorite slides with the glittery Arrows logo, no call. I swing my backpack over my shoulder, phone clutched in my hand, no call.
I drive to practice, trying to push the whole thing out of my mind. I was brave and tried to reach out; it’s not my fault if he doesn’t respond. Just as I’m about to get out of the car, I see I have a text message. I expect it to be from Jack, but instead it’s from Trenton.
Trenton: Hi, Annie. It’s Trenton. I thought we agreed that you needed to stay out of my family’s life. Please don’t call again, especially if you want that scholarship fund we agreed on.
My heart starts pounding at the vaguely threatening tone of the message. How did Trenton know I called his dad? Are they together and having a big laugh about it? Did Trenton convince his dad to avoid contact with me…forever?
As I exit the car, I slam the door extra hard behind me. All that matters is basketball. Winning the championship. At this point, everything else is a distraction.
*
Practice seems normal when I arrive, at least at first. Maybe a little extra exhausting. Despite our miracle victory against Indiana, Coach Rembert is still putting on a clinic. Even cardio goddesses like Olabisi and Jadea are sweating buckets.
And, of course, for karmic reasons, Daniel is really delving into one-on-one interviews today. Our schedule from Iris reads that he’ll be doing a half hour interview with Olabisi, Lynn, and Allyson today. He rotates through them as we do our early morning individual workouts. I can see him intently questioning each ofthem up in the bleachers—the venue he chose for the interviews. Tomorrow night, we have an away game. The following day, Taherah, Jasmine, and Flo are on the schedule. Jadea and I will be interviewed last, at the end of the week.
I’m chugging my second Gatorade of practice, this one a battery acid yellow, when Jadea practically runs me over in her haste to talk to me. “Jadea!” I yelp as a splash of Gatorade hits the floor. “Where’s the fire?”
“We have a problem,” she says without preamble. “With our…” She leans in to whisper, “Special project.”
I look around the court for Daniel, expecting him toliterallybe on fire or talking fervently on the phone to an aggressive reporter. Practice is just winding down, and his crew is packing up. Heison his phone, but in the casual way most 21st-century Americans are. If there’s anything strange going on, it has to do with my teammates huddled up together across the court from us. No doubt Olabisi is sharing a sordid dating story, or Taherah is showing them a new TikTok dance. “What’s the problem?” I carefully screw the cap on my Gatorade. “We were on People.com this morning. It’s even more mainstream than we could have hoped.”
