“No, theytold me so.”
Ashley scanned the bar, noticing that all the people he had just described were looking in her direction.
“Why are they staring?”
“Probably because I told them you were the one who wrote the amazing article.”
Christopher placed a hand on Ashley’s shoulder. “Thanks, kiddo, you might just have given us a new lease of life.”
Nancy or Christopher had never mentioned that the bar wasn’t profitable, but the lack of custom over the past two months felt light compared to the bars she was used to. If the article had done anything to help bring new customers to the bar, then that was an unexpected bonus.
She received a text message from Georgina, which meant it was time to go. The day was planned in favour of trying to rekindle any form of relationship between Georgina, Emily and Madison. The thought made her instantly question her life choices.
10
Megan
Megan brought the ball into the frontcourt; she glanced at the shot clock. They trailed by two with 14 seconds left. The opposing team set their zone defence perfectly. Megan half expected the quick foul, but when it didn’t come, she knew there was time to run the coach’s first play of choice. Megan passed the ball to Miller, the team’s point guard, who set the offense at the topof the key.
Megan made a deep cut on the left behind the defence whilst Miller dribbled left, then right, to create a better passing angle. The double screen was set whilst Megan cut to the right side and found herself open. She pulled up from beyond the arc with 3 seconds left on the shot clock. With a snap of the wrist, the ball soared through the air. The catch and shoot technique she had practised for years was put to the test. The shot fell through the net with perfect precision; she imagined the crowd going wild, her teammates storming the court and propelling her up on their shoulders.
In reality, it was only the second pre-season game, and it had absolutely no relevance whatsoever other than to build team chemistry and enhance fitness levels. The shot, however, was one she hoped to re-enact when it mattered the most. Since joining the Mystics one month prior for training camp, she was made aware of their lack of three-point shooters. That’s where she came in, the coach had told her on the first day—no pressure.
Megan shook hands with each of the opposing team. One after another, she received appraisal:‘nice shot’or‘great game’. Afterwards, the coach sat the team down in the dressing room, his 6’7” frame bent slightly to avoid hitting the roof. An air of composure surrounded him; he was inspiring, constructive and knowledgeable, a huge contrast from‘Nasty Natalia’,the nickname her former coach earned within the first week of playingat Stanford.
“Great job, ladies. A solid performance against a very good team.” He turned towards the TV behind him. “Liam, do you havethe stats?”
The tech guy in the corner frantically tapped away on his laptop. Within seconds a document containing every player and their performance highlights appeared on the screen. One by one, he reeled off what went well and what part of their game they needed to improve—Megan was third on the list in alphabetical order.
“Davis, you were firing deadly from the field tonight, 80% from beyond the arc is incredible. 5 assists and 6 rebounds to accompany your 24 points.” The coach observed the stat sheet, looking for some form of improvement. Her game had been strong all around, but there always had to be at least one learning opportunity. “And of course, the game-winner. Pre-season or not, that was a hell of a shot. Work on your perimeter defence for the next game. It needs to be tighter without fouling, butgreat job.”
“Yes, coach.” Megan had played three pre-season games with the Mystics, and in each of them she put on a decent performance whilst others tried to regain their form. The early morning runs and late-night pick-up games with her father over the past two months put her in fantastic shape.
“Megan.” She was in the process of swapping clothes for her post-game workout when a familiar voice called to her.
“Hey.”
“Are you shooting?”
“Of course.”
“If I join, do you think you could give mesome tips?”
It was an unexpected request, but a flattering one. Candice Williams played point guard; she was fairly new to the league after moving from Philadelphia a year earlier. Megan had observed her overall game, and it was impressive, but the reigning PG had ten years of experience and captained the team, so she would never be the first choice unless she significantly improved her game—starting with her three-point shot, something Megan noticed the starting PG lacked.
“Sure.”
Candice grabbed her things and followed Megan to the gym. The lights were out; it was a Wednesday night and nobody else thought it necessary to get up some post-game shots. That would have been unacceptable at Stanford. It had been engrained into her mentality from her college days, so much so, that it became routine, despite any plans she had, they would alwayscome second.
“Do you want to start under the basket and we can do twenty each from five spots around the arc?”
“Sounds good.” Candice ran towards the basket and hurled the ball in Megan’s direction. The first twenty from the left corner hit the net seventeen times. An 80% shooting percentage was her target in practice, 90% if she was being extra hardon herself.
“I’ll be lucky if I hit five.” They swapped places and Candice pulled up for her first shot which hit the front of the rim. The second hit the back andbounced out.
“Can I give you a few tips onyour form?”
“Yes, please.”
