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The squeak of sneakers on a shiny court accompanied by the rhythm of a basketball dribbling has always been music to my ears. One of my first Christmas presents ever was a basketball. My dad specially built a toddler-sized hoop for me, and we’d spend hours in the driveway, dribbling back and forth, practicing my shots. He took me to basketball games on a regular basis. The Lakers were our team, and I’ve been a loyal supporter my whole life.
And then Dad left, taking the shine off my budding basketball career but not completely killing my passion for the game. I may not have seen it all the way through, but I still love to watch… and in the last five years, I’ve come to adore women’s basketball. Which is why I’m sitting in the bleachers on a Wednesday afternoon watching the Nolan U girls light up the court.
I pretend I’m a sports agent, sitting in the stands, scoping out potential clients. Number 26 is tenacious. She might be one of the shortest girls on the team, but she’s fast and strategic with her play. Her passing is impeccable, and I can’t stop watching her as she makes another point-scoring move, passing off the ball to number 12, who does a sweet double clutch layup.
“Yes!” I clap along with the crowd, enjoying the energy around me but wishing there were more people here.
This is why I want to be an exclusively female sports agent. We need to shine more light on these talented athletes. Sure, women’s sports coverage has gotten way better in the last decade, but there’s still room for improvement. I want to see people lining up to get into a women’s game—no matter what sport it is.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it out of my cargo pants pocket, grinning when I see Ethan’s name pop up. Underneath is a string of emojis, which I try to decipher. He’s been doing this to me all week. Ever since he got my phone number, I’ve been inundated with hilarious messages. It all started with a Mickey Mouse GIF that led into a string of bantering texts that had me cracking up in the middle of the Luxon dining hall. Yes, I got stared at like I was a crazy person.
Then it happened again that night, when he sent me a line of emojis that I couldn’t work out. This started a lengthy texting conversation that led into a deep-dive discussion about nutrition and how strict his coach is. I threw in my two cents, since I studied health and nutrition in high school, and he had me in stitches as the evening wore on. He turned our serious food discussion into a string of exercise-fail GIFs that had me snorting into my pillow.
So yeah, it’s been a week of texts. I haven’t seen Ethan. I haven’t spoken to him. I’ve just watched his words pop up on my screen and been sucked into one conversation after another. He’s actually pretty smart. Knows way too much about hockey, but I guess if he’s wanting to go pro, that makes sense. He’s also obsessed with that showHow to Get Away with Murderand… wait for it…Dawson’s Creek!Although he made me swear not to tell anyone about that.
I nearly typed back,Fool!
Until he followed it up with the fact that he used to watch it with his mom. They’d sit there for hours when she was too sick to do anything else.
My heart started bleeding over that one, and I could do nothing else but type back,Your secret is safe with me.
He said I owed him one back, obviously trying to lighten the mood, so I admitted that on my sister’s eleventh birthday, I laced her cake with laxatives because she’d called me a loveless ho.
Captain Hero: Yeeeeouch! And also… hilarious!
Mouse: It was pretty funny, and no one ever found out. They blamed it on the hot wings! And to this day, no one has ever questioned why I didn’t feel like a slice of birthday cake.
Captain Hero: Kinda harsh that she called you a loveless ho.
Mouse: People say mean things when they’re stressed and angry. I don’t even remember what I did to her, but that’s Megan for ya. She doesn’t hold anything back. She really is the biggest brat.
Captain Hero: Remind me never to piss you off… or eat any of your baking… ever.
I replied with a bunch of green-faced emojis and “I’m gonna throw up” GIFs. It was pretty funny and led to more laughter on my part. Whenever I send him another message, I always wonder if I’m making him laugh too. Or maybe he smirks at the screen or snickers or… I don’t know. But he keeps texting back, so I can’t be all bad.
Pursing my lips, I figure out that his emoji train must be telling me that he’s done with studying for the day, his last class made his head explode, and now he’s gonna blow off steam with a workout, since today is the only day of the week he doesn’t have hockey practice.
I’m about to type back with emojis telling him about my day when my phone actually starts ringing.
Crap on a cracker. It’s Mom.
Ugh!
Standing up, I quickly shuffle down the row of seating and run up the aisle, trying to get away from the noise of the game before answering. She hates me wasting time with sports when I should be studying or learning how to be a better Sig Be sister. Yes, I’ve told her I want to be a sports agent, but I’m pretty sure she’s hoping this is something I’ll grow out of. She was desperate for me to get to college and expand my options, no doubt hoping that by the time I graduate, I will have discovered a passion for something far more feminine and ladylike. I swear, for a modern woman, some of her ideas are so fucking old-school.
“Hey, Mom,” I answer just as I reach the corridor that leads outside. “What’s up?”
“Where are you right now?”
“Just walking back to the house.” Pushing the door open with my shoulder, I run out into the sunlight and hope she can’t hear how out of breath I am.
“Well, good, you’ve got some time to get your apology ready.”
I stutter to a stop. “My apology? What are you talking about?”
“Aimee has informed her father that you have been making life very difficult at the house, shirking your responsibilities, constantly rolling your eyes, and making sarcastic comments.”
I roll my eyes, grinding my teeth together.
