At least there was one sibling who cared.
“Right, right. And you’ll obviously be picked number one.” My dad patted the hand that was interwoven with his.
I laughed at his endearing obliviousness, because if he’d actually been paying attention to my collegiate career, he’d know Nola Young would for sure get the number one pick. You didn’t have two superstar basketball parents and not take it all the way. I still remembered Nola surmised as much during that U19 tournament.
“Love that spirit,” I replied my maybe rival, kind of friend, coming into view. She was swallowed by a crowd of people as her parents hovered behind her.Four years of playing againstNola, and she still made my stomach flutter with butterflies. Was it nerves?
It was an odd feeling I had for my rival, but I couldn’t help knowing that every time I’d been on the court with her—whether together or against—a big part of me was playing to knock down the hot shot. It felt good to be on a collegiate team with two national championship wins, even though we were now two months off her team’s win against mine. After two natty losses, she finally got something that I took from her. But if the accolades weren’t enough, she had a million followers on every platform imaginable and she looked…hot.
At all times.
The fine line between jealousy and attraction competed throughout my body as it normally did when Nola and I had to interact off the court.
I looked down at our tickets again to find that we were seated directly next to the swarmed table and the night was getting started soon. Just as I was about to sit, Nola stepped around the crowd. Publicists, strangers, and other girls we’d played with in college followed her like she was their next meal.
She nodded her head at me. “Lee.”
I nodded back. “Young.”
“Uh, these are my parents.” She waved her hand back to them, and her dad greeted me with a wide smile, while her mom silently appraised me. It was a look that screamedI’m severely suspicious of you, and also came with an approving nod. I couldn’t believe I was being judged by multi gold medal-winning Olympian, Olivia Young. I rewatched USA’s finals games from 2000 and 2004 repeatedly. If this was the look she gave me from being in mere competition with her daughter, I was grateful to take it.
“This is my dad.” I smiled as my dad waved while seated. He wasn’t a social butterfly even if the only men’s basketball player he could name is ten feet away from him.
I may not be dripped in designer like Nola was; her attire fitted suit with designer’s logos down the seams. Her double-breasted jacket was fitted tightly to her waist and arms and, yup, she definitely didn’t have a top on underneath. Her bronzed and shiny sternum nearly blinded me from the lights.
“Nice fit,” I complimented.
“Same to you.” I watched her eyes drag from my face to my feet. I’d practiced my resolve all week preparing for the press, and I still wanted to squirm under her gaze. The same look she’d given me before every game.
My God, she was such a cocky asshole.
“I would say good luck,” I started, “but you don’t need it.” Nola and I finished at the same time, making both of us smirk. An inside joke we repeated at every tip-off.
“Get a new line next year, alright?” I snarked.
“If you’ll even be here to hear it.” She bit back and, oh yes, there’s that feeling.
The feeling of my stomach butterflies freezing midair and dropping to my gut,snapping into tiny ice shards. I rolled my eyes and tried to let Nola’s words roll off my back. She opened her mouth to say something, but a delightful chime alerted the room to take our seats.
Thankfully I was at a table with my other eligible teammates, Sarah, Winnie, Uba, and Farrah. Four girls I couldn’t have survived college without. They were definitely watching our interaction, and I didn’t have to even look at Uba to know she was wiggling her eyebrows.
The league’s commissioner graced the stage, all six foot, three inches of her, another Olympic medal-winning basketball player, Evie Jones. Between Evie and Olivia, my brain couldn’tprocess anything that was happening on stage. Mouths were moving, and the people around me were clapping, but I wasn’t really not following.
This could either be the best or worst night of my life.
As if somehow feeling my spiral, my dad reached over and grabbed my hand. Making eye contact, he gave me a firm, reassuring nod, and I locked back into the program.
“And with our first draft of the night, The Chicago Violets select…”
It won’t be me, but what if it is?
Most sports analysts and journalists I have listened to all my life have Nola slotted as the number one pick and me as the second. But there was a small group who thought I could upset the draft and go number one. Both Chicago and the Jersey Jaguars—the second team to pick—needed a dynamic guard or forward, which had been the reason we were pitted against each other for so long.
It won’t be me, but what if it is?
“…Nola Young!” The arena shook with cheers as the media’s favorite kissed her parents and made her way to the stage. I watched her dap up her other teammates at her table, because the least she could do was show some humility. Evie and Nola shook hands then held up a Chicago Violets jersey, the moment they were frozen for pictures an opportune time to stare at Nola’s physique again. Her hair hung in mini braids that were pulled back into a low ponytail. Her smile dazzled in the light as everything she worked hard for came to fruition. Her nose piercing sparkled, too. I reached up to feel my own stud; a reminder of the last time we were more than cordial in public.
I disassociated, because that’s what I got for getting my hopes up. That smallest sliver of possibility that I could be first. That a team could see as their number one and not Nola.
