“I know. Same, Aves.” He kisses my forehead. “I’ll come to games when you’re up here.”
I wait until we’re fully dressed and I’m about to leave before I give him a real goodbye.
Stepping toward his frame, our arms open to each other. One last hug.
As I take stock, I find I’m not sad exactly. It’s been a convenient situation—a woman has needs, and finding a real boyfriend, someone I truly connect with, has proven impossible.
But it is a goodbye.
And after we break up the embrace and I step out of Jack’s apartment, it feels symbolic in more ways than one.
I’m leaving college Avery behind.
SURGEPRESEASON
Early May, Present Day (One Week Since the Hawkins Gym game)
“Avery, can we grab a quick interview?” I track the source of the question to a sports reporter from a local Orlando station.
I’m walking off the court, drenched in sweat. WNBA games are made up of ten-minute quarters, and I was in for around fourteen minutes total in the second half.
I’m still in awe of how much more physical the WNBA players are on the floor than my college opponents. My body’s feeling bruised on top of my bone-deep exhaustion.
However, the local station has invested in covering our preseason, and I know the right thing to do is field the questions.
“Sure.” Her camera guy gets set quickly, and the reporter jumps in.
“Avery, we’re so excited to have you here in Orlando, and it was a nice win for the Surge as you get ready for the new season. What made the difference tonight?”
I bring the towel across my face as the sweat threatens to drip in my eyes again. “We played our game, and my teammates really brought it. It was almost like a regular season battle.”
With the media training my parents have arranged for me over the years, I know I’ve given a safe, boring answer. I don’t have the energy for anything else though.
The reporter waits, as if she’s expecting me to elaborate. When I don’t, she tries again.
“You’re now only a week into your pro career and already getting serious time out there. I know the WNBA preseason schedule is short with just three days of training camp and then a week of preseason games. How are you feeling about it all?”
“Ball is ball, you know? I’ve been playing my whole life, and this is exactly where I’m meant to be.” That might have been too blunt, ugh. I throw in a little grin. “I’m grateful to be here.”
“Well, thank you so much,” she responds before nodding at her cameraman to end the interview.
Freed from that obligation, I head back into the locker room and take a quick shower, and then put on my clothes. The faster I get ready, the sooner I can eat. I’m so hungry.
“Nice game, Parker.” Our head coach, Mary Anker, has been chatting with different teammates over the last fifteen minutes, and I guess it’s my turn. “I know it’s an adjustment to come off the bench.”
My bag is all packed, but I can’t skip out now that she’s talking to me.
“It’s all right, Coach. It’s the preseason of my rookie year. I get it.”
“Okay, I just wanted to make sure. Did anyone ever tell you that you’re hard to read?”
Onlyeveryone, myentire life.
I have one of those faces. When I’m lost in my thoughts, my expression settles into a variation of RBF, making me look disinterested, unemotional, grumpy,bitchy. The interpretation varies based on the biases of the person looking.
I don’t care too much what people I don’t know think of me. But with my new coach, I want to make a good impression. If for no other reason than to foster confidence that I can represent the team well as a starter.
“I’ve heard that before. I’m okay though. I want to earn my spot.” I push a smile on my face to reinforce my words.
