“How did you let Brittney Lee get faster than you?” My mom showed me replay footage on her iPad.
I was at least thankful she didn’t put it on the big screen like she would’ve for her college team.
“You guys used to be neck and neck in skill, though obviously you’re the better player, and yet you’re always a step behind her on the screens.”
I watched the tablet screen like I didn’t remember playing the game myself. The Jaguar’s rookie, Neveah was driving the ball at the top of the arch. I remembered guarding Brittney down at the corner, but before I knew it she was moving up to set a screen for Neveah to drive into the paint, then back out, to hit a three on the left side.
I wouldn’t say I was too slow to keep up—my speed was never a problem. It was the fact that somehow throughout the season, Lee was getting faster than me. Someone whose defensive and offensive tells I knew like the back of my hand, had finally one-uppedme.
And I didn’t even see it coming.
Brittney and I went way back right before we became college rivals. We had both gotten selected to represent the United States in an international 3x3 tournament, for girls under 19.Her selection was a blindside given I spent all my years from middle to high school playing travel basketball. I knew the top competition within the region and, because of my parents, everyone knew me.
But Brittney’s selection came out of left field and caused a massive upset. She didn’t come from a high school that broadcasted games on local channels, and didn’t have funding for every sport to have their own separate practice gym, but getting recruited to USC sent many whispers around the community. It was hard to describe what those eight days felt like.
A fever dream, an underdog story and, in another world, a rom-com maybe.
We ended up taking the gold medal in the tournament, but the quick friendship we built disappeared as soon as we stepped on the court as freshmen. Our college rivalry caused enough chatter, but between me and the narrative of being the child prodigy, and her being the underdog, college sports media quickly pinned us against each other.
Which naturally followed us into our professional careers.
I did an interview and I said things I shouldn’t have. Said things I knew would hurt her, severing a distant friendship I would’ve liked to see grow after we graduated. Outside noise from fans, family and others, fanned the flames and created something bigger. And the whole time, I knew her animosity toward me was well deserved but I would never admit that out loud. I was truly my father’s daughter.
My aunt being Brittney’s teammate wasn’t even enough for us to put the guns down. We were just always going to be at odds. I would push her, and she would crash out. She’d yell at me, and I’d get in her face. And thus became our routine.
“I don’t know, man. I didn’t have that much of a problem keeping up with her last season. She’s been working on this for sure.”
“Well you need to work harder on it,” Olivia commanded. There was no sweet talk, no gentle parenting. Olivia Young said what she meant and meant what she said, feelings be damned.
“Yes, Coach.”
“And this…” My mom pointed her pencil to the screen, to emphasize the moment Brittney tipped the ball out of my hand causing a turnover. “What the hell was that?”
I was too ashamed and self-aware to admit to my mom I wasdistracted.I was stalling for time between letting the rest of my team set up a play so I could go for a layup or dwindle the shot clock down to hit a three.
You’re pretty when your mouth’s shut.Brittney’s words echoed around my skull that suddenly felt empty; my head clouded by how thrown I was at my rival’s words.
And how familiar it sounded. Something I tried to make sure I never thought about again. And failed often.
No. I was a smart person and my mom could, under no circumstances, hear me admit I let someone sweet talk me into a turnover. This wasn’t high school.
“That was your worst ball handling in a long time.”
I nodded my head, “You’re right.”
“No, I don’t want to hear ‘you’re right.’ I know that already. I want to know what happened and how it won’t ever happen again.” My mom raised her voice with more bass. She thought I wasn’t paying attention and my bare minimum responses were not saving me.
Brittney Lee flirted with me.
“She was getting me back for the tech I got her in game four.”
“Oh, so you can dish it, but you can’t take it?” My mom rolled her eyes, knowing I went to the Nolan Williams School of Shit Talking to get the mouth I had now.
“I wasn’t expecting it.” I didn’t know what else to say; my own patience was dwindling, and I could smell the key lime pie in the oven.
Olivia opened her mouth but her office door flew open, revealing my Aunt Allison, her tiny frame and curly afro the beacon of light in this hell I had created.
“Olivia, no more, it’s a holiday!”
