Page 58 of A Shot at Love
That cuts off when Olabisi stands up. Her dark eyes meet mine, serious. “I’m sorry too, Annie. I should have believed you first. I should have considered your side. I’m sorry.”
It’s not a bleeding-heart apology. It’s not wavering or tear-stained. But that’s Olabisi. And if I want people to accept my watery eyes and stammered words, I have to accept her steely demeanor, her cutting gaze.
I walk over and give her a hug. She squeezes me hard, and I know she cares. The room hollers and applauds, and Olabisi flips them the bird as we pull apart.
I’m still grinning when Coach Rembert raises a brow at us all. “Are you ready to play now, Arrows?”
More cheering and Coach Rembert cracks a small smile. Coach Zak passes her a clipboard and whiteboard marker. “New York is a trickier match-up for us,” she says honestly, uncapping the marker. “Sabrina Ionescu was MVP the year before Jadea. She’s everything Jadea isn’t: she’s smaller, a better ball handler, and can shoot from everywhere. Annie, you’ll have to handle her, and we’ll put Olabisi on Natasha Cloud.” Coach Rembert shoots me a steely gaze, and I swallow. Sabrina is no joke, on and off the court. I’ve seen her in multiple commercials this year, including the coveted Nike spot. She’s one of the league’s biggest stars, and sheneverquits.
“On the flip side, they have two star centers, though Stewart is still hurt. Jonquel Jones is about the same height as you, Jadea. She’s pretty quick for her size and has good touch around the basket. We need to keep the rebounds out of her hands. Natasha Cloud, Betnijah Laney, and Marine Johannes will also be in the mix. Ionescu and Johannes can shoot from anywhere, and Cloud can drive to the basket from anywhere, so defense will be tough tonight. Do not ease up.”
Coach has named names before, especially during film. We played and won against the Liberty three times this season. They’re a lower seed, and weshouldbeat them. But our team’s been off-kilter, and you can never count Sabrina Ionescu out.Or Jonquel Jones. Or Natasha Cloud.
You get the picture.
Coach stops scribbling plays and puts the whiteboard down. She sticks her hand out, and we follow suit, piling on top. Her gaze travels across each of us in turn. “This is our one shot, Arrows. We have one game left to prove our worth. If we lose this, there’s no next game. No next round. It’s one and done. Don’t forget it.”
I can feel the adrenaline pounding through my veins, making me almost dizzy with determination. I exchange fierce looks with Jadea. Coach nods at her. And Jadea, fully herself, shines as she shouts, “Arrows on three!”
“1…2…3…ARROWS!”
*
We warm-up, and it feels good. The ball swishes more than it rattles off the rim, and my lack of practice doesn’t seem to be affecting me too negatively. I wave to my mom in the stands, sitting next to Jadea’s mom as usual. I blow a kiss to Daniel, who is wearing my jersey and sitting courtside. No camera crew tonight, just him. He grins at me, full movie-star.
I notice that the owner’s box looks empty tonight. No Jack or Trenton. There are rumors that the WNBA’s investigation will be over soon, and the league will be considering possible punishments. That brings all the mixed feelings you’d expect, so I try to focus. Feel the ball between my fingers. Feel the space as I jump and shoot. Feel Jadea running on my right.
Warm-ups end and the crowd already feels electric. We’re the higher seed, so we’re fortunate to play at home. The crowd is a sea of scarlet, every seat full for once. If my strange press circuit brought any new fanshere, I’m glad. We need all the help we can get. I see one sign that says, “Annie Cheater for Life!” and my heart skips a beat. I breathe through it and count three other signs that say, “Larger than Life”. There’s even one with an explosion of glitter on it, which I vow to hunt down later so I can take a picture with the owner. I don’t have to be afraid to be called a cheater—because I’m not one.
Jadea and Jonquel Jones go up for the jump ball, and Jadea tips it my way. I don’t even question it; I just sprint towards our basket. Jadea is fast, the fastest player out there, so she’s usually out ahead enough to make our triple deceit play work. This time, though, I see out of the corner of my eye that Jadea has gotten tangled with Betnijah Laney. I have a split second to decide to pass the ball away or take my momentum and lay the ball up. Sabrina is a half-step behind me.
I’m hardly breathing when the ball kisses off the backboard. Swish.
2–0.
Jadea pushes off of Laney, grinning at me. Sabrina gets the ball, trying to slow down and control the tempo. We press her hard, jumping the passing lanes and keeping close. I’m only inches from Sabrina’s face, arms and legs wide. Right before the shot clock is about to expire, thus turning the ball over to us, Sabrina passes it off to Johannes. We lose her in the shuffle, and she shoots a three as time expires.
Swish.
3–2.
The first half passes the same way. For every amazing shot we score, they score one better. We switch leads too many times to count. I foul Sabrina three times, which is too many for the first half. It only takes six to get me on the bench permanently. Surprisingly, Coach doesn’t ream me out. “You’re slowing her down, Larger,” she says during a timeout as I guzzle water. “Just a little, but it’s all we need.”
Sabrina is fighting just as hard for her team as I am. The New York Liberty have been on the cusp of greatness for a couple of seasons now, but after winning a championship, they are officially a super team, even with one of their superstars cheering from the bench. I’m sure to Sabrina this is the opportunity she’s been waiting for to win another championship. I understand her drive, but I have the same feeling pulsing through me. It’s sort of a kinship we share—that we want to beat each other. We bang hips, slam shoulders, step into each other’s space. It’s a battle, and we’re both snarling. I can feel the bruises forming already.
There’s only a minute or so left in the first half when it happens. We’re up by four points, a slim lead that we could easily lose. Everyone knows that momentum going into halftime is key, so I push Sabrina even harder. Nothing dirty, nothing painful, I just don’t let her breathe. I wave my arms, I slap at the ball, I stay low until my thighs are screaming.
The shot clock is ticking dangerously, and Sabrina is stuck at the top of the key with me. She’s swiveling, trying to find someone to pass to. Just as she does,Jonquel Jones moves up the right, and she swivels, and her elbow slams into my eye. It wasn’t purposeful, but it was frantic. Strong.
The whistle blares, calling Sabrina for the foul. I stumble back a few steps, holding my eye. She caught the top of my brow bone, and the pain is splitting.
Jadea and my teammates hurry over. “Shit,” I mumble, feeling the first trickles of blood running between my fingers. One drips onto my white jersey.
Olabisi calls over to the bench, and our trainer comes out with a towel. Head wounds bleed ridiculously, so I’m hoping it looks worse than it is. Her elbow couldn’t give me a concussion, could it? Blood is trickling into my eye now, and our trainer, Mimi, presses down harder, shoving me into a bench chair.
“I’m fine.” I wave away Coach’s concern. “I can shoot free throws.” Ionescu was called for the foul, and I intend to get those points.
Coach crosses her arms, or at least that’s what it looks like through my good eye. “Larger, you’ve got blood running down your face. You can’t even see the hoop.”
