“Yes, Coach.”
No more joking, no more taunts. I let my game do the talking in the second quarter.
Coach keeps me in for the first nine minutes, and Amari keeps making sure the ball comes my way. I pass whenever it’s the right thing to do, but my shot is in a total flow.
Three more mid-range jumpers, two layups, and one three-pointer later, I have twenty points total in the first half.
Now this is more like it.
When Coach Anker finally calls me out with one minute left in the first half, the crowd gives me a standing ovation, and I let myself relax a fraction to take the sight in.
There’s still another half to be played though. In the locker room, my teammates don’t engage much with me, but it’s not a surprise. When someone is on a hot streak, you don’t talk about it until the game is done.
The superstitious behavior works because I hit another three right as the second half starts.
We’re up by twenty-two points soon after, and Coach starts rotating me out more frequently with our big lead. But I stillend the game with thirty-six points and ten assists, a sea change from my current average of just over twelve points and four assists.
Toward the end of the game, my teammates start chattering with me again.
“Holy shit, Parker, you took over,” Wendy says. “A double-double for our roooookie.” Translation: I hit double digits in two categories, points and assists.
“It was just my day,” I reply, trying to play the team game.
“And that’s how we’re going to win the championship this year,” Sarah adds. “Too many scoring options for other teams to guard.”
To her credit, Katrina gives me a resigned nod as we make eye contact. I don’t really know how to take it, but it’s better than some other things she could have done.
As we start to wrap things up on the floor to go back into the locker room, Kayla approaches me.
“We have multiple interview requests from the reporters here, you good with that?”
“Sure.” It’s to be expected. I go do a quick sideline interview with the local station broadcasting the game.
Later, back in the locker room, I have a million texts waiting for me. I open the ones from my family quickly, knowing I don’t have time for everyone.
DYLAN: Proud of you, Aves. Killer game. Can’t wait to see you do it again in three days.
I give his message a heart reaction. He’s coming two home games from today with Hazel as well as Wells, who’s visiting him in Tampa. Speaking of…
WELLS: That was . You’re the shit.
AVERY: Thanks Carrot.
WELLS: Not the nickname.
Remy and I used to call him that growing up because of his red bushy hair, and it annoys him so much. But irritating Wells is fun.
I send my sister a note back separately to her congrats message, and see that even Jamie has texted.
Rawley has sent me ‘Awesome game Avie!!!’as well, and he’s the only non-family I feel compelled to reply to right away.
Then I hit call on my mom’s name. She’d asked me to ring her if I could.
“Avery, sweetheart. I’m so glad you’re able to talk, because oh my god, what a game. Here, I’m going to put you on speaker so your dad can talk too.”
Not wanting anyone to spy on what Dad might say, I walk swiftly to a small private room that’s off the corner of the locker area.
“Mom, I need to head to the post-game press conference, so I can’t talk long.”
