Growing up, I never had a problem communicating how I felt. In all honesty, I made my emotions everyone’s problem if things didn’t go my way. I didn’t want to be reasonable and level-headed like Amir and Aaliyah, but I also was aware of how much space Colette and Celeste took up. I didn’t want to be a middle child who fell into the background, or acted out just to get attention. In my family, you spoke up, maybe even had to yell to be heard, but at the end of the day, everyone always got to voice their point of view.
The common respect I grew up with in the house was why I crashed out at work. Referees had one job, and even though that wasn’t to appease me, I expected to at least to be treated fairly. Getting fouls called on me when I broke the rules and vice versa.
But then Nola and I were in the same room. The space we took up on the court spilled over to off it. She was the child prodigy— the star—but that didn’t stop me from fighting to get my just due.
Maybe the four-year-old grudge I held kept fuel in my tank.
So I’d pushed and prodded, anything I could do to get her to snap. I was learning that might only work on the court, because off it, I looked like an insufferable child. After realizing you could see we were fighting for elbow space, and seeing the horrified looks on my siblings, I realized I’d taken it too far.
As per usual.
I was too scared to look at discourse online, so I texted my siblings chat again.
I resisted the urge to entertain the conversation more. I needed to focus and get my life together.
I needed to figure out how I was about to work and live with Nola Young.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Nola
I realized I didn’t know where I was going.
I was so used to Chicago; so used the hallways of my luxury apartment that I could only afford because of sponsorship deals. Back in Chicago, I had sleek hallways and dark gray walls with patterned carpet that muffled the sounds of whoever was approaching. The lights hung low and bright, lighting the intricate hallway systems until I made it to my own place. I knew the route to the indoor garage so well I could navigate with my eyes closed, knowing whose kids constantly came careening down hallways, and whose dogs were playful or standoffish.
But here, I was fucking lost.
The hallways in this Miami building were bright with floor to ceiling windows similar to the ones in my new townhome.
I couldn’t just hop in my car to drive around until my head was empty like I had in Chicago. I stood in front of the open elevator desperate to get a taste of fresh air, even if it was humid as hell.
I hadn’t had time to process the whirlwind that’d been my life the last two and a half months—though the avoidance was all my design. Every call from my parents had gone unanswered; I only had the heart to send thumbs-up emojis or passive aggressive gifs when Clay checked in on me. My aunt Evie’s silence was standard.
I wanted to scream. I wanted to not be ruled by logic for once, to not make everything a big deal and persevere in the name of being easy.
But I didn’t want to be fucking easy.
I wanted everyone to feel my hurt, the claustrophobic way my heart felt when I looked at my old Violets group chat and saw my friends hanging out without me, in the city that I was helping put back on the map. The city I got a ring for.
I also felt like a damn fool.
Players being traded, coaches getting fired then hired, was all part of the game. Why had I thought I would be immune to that? Why couldn’t I have been cautiously optimistic that my first team wouldn’t be my forever team? I decorated my apartment, which really meant hiring a decorator, because I wanted my apartment to feel like home. And now strangers were in my former home taking my things, my furniture, my clothes, my beloved sneakers to make the cross-country drive.
The elevator doors slid open to the lobby I hadn’t spent much time analyzing earlier. Light blue walls evoked the ocean, the tiles under my feet a washed stone giving the effect that this building just happened to appear on top of the beach.
I froze in place, no sense of direction, no awareness. The lack of confidence added another layer of suffocation.
“Ms. Young? Can I help you?” An older man appeared out of thin air, his suit indicating he was the doorman. He stuck his hand out to hold the elevator door open. The sound of my name loosened some pressure in my chest. I took a wobbly breath.
“Where…canI go to clear my head?” I laughed humorlessly, trying to diminish how I was actually feeling. He had knowing, kind eyes, dark green and surrounded by wrinkles in the creases like he’d spent his entire life laughing. As if he knew joy well.
“Are you a fan of the beach?” His voice was light.
“I can be. Where I moved from we had lakes.”
“Oh! There’s a path right through the garage that will lead you to the beach. A few people have said they’ve done their best thinking there. Including myself.” He winked, and it felt like a needle popped another balloon inflated in my chest. Giving me an inch more space to breathe.
“Thank you…”
