Page 6 of Full Court Love

I look up from my shoes, not a clue what she’s referring to. “What are you talking about?”

“The three-point contest? For the Madness in the Den event tonight?”

The Den is the name of our arena. The Madness in the Den is the big event where the men’s and women’s basketball teams compete in “fun” contests to get the fans excited about the start of the season. It completely slipped my mind. The run-in with my dream guy at the YMCA threw my entire world out of whack. I groan.

“You forgot?”

I nod slowly with my eyes closed. “Yup. Totally. This is not my thing.”

“Umm, shooting is definitely your thing. What’s the problem?”

I roll my eyes, and Jacey laughs. She knows what the problem is. I love shooting. What I love less is doing silly contests when all I want to do is play games. This kind of thing makes me way more nervous than playing games ever has. I’m our team’s rep in the three-point contest, so I’m taking on one of the men’s players–which raises the stakes even more.

I feel immense pressure to win this thing or stupid critics will point to it as evidence that men’s basketball is superior. Any slipup, and I’ll set women’s basketball back twenty years. And if that’s not enough, I know certain people on my own team who would love some tangible proof that I’m notthatgood.

Or a certain person. Sasha Freaking Pierson. But I’m not wasting energy on that snake right now.

My breathing rate is picking up the more I think about this dumb contest. I can’t let myself lose. This is a big deal. Faster breathing. Why did I agree to this?

I feel Jacey’s hand on my back. It calms me enough to slow down my anxiety. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Over and over until I’m back to a normal pace. Jacey speaks to me gently.

“Lu, this is super-low stakes. It’s just a fun contest, nothing more. No one puts any stock in this–we all know you’re the best shooter this side of the Mississippi.”

I shake my head with a smile. She’s a good friend, one of the few people I’ve actually let know some of the more vulnerable parts of me–such as the fact that the pressure I put on myself is intense, unnecessary, and oftentimes anxiety-inducing.

I rub my eyes in an attempt to reset myself. “Yeah, you’reright. Sorry this thing slipped my mind. Now I’m remembering how much I don’t want to lose to anyone, especially a man. We’re just as skilled as they are, and this is pretty much our only opportunity to prove that.”

She nods her agreement. “I wish I could participate in a shot-blocking contest against one of those oafs. They don’t have the timing down. They just swing around like poorly trained lumberjacks.”

She sticks her arms out, smacking the walls and knocking shoes from lockers. “Me block shot. Me giant man.”

The whole bit has me doubled over. We are actually great friends with the men’s team, and they’ve been huge supporters of our team, which means a lot to us. But sometimes we like to make fun of them to keep them humble. My breathing is finally relaxed, and I continue my pre-practice ritual as the rest of the team funnels in.

Mindless chatter and gossip fill the locker room. People discuss classes and upcoming parties, rumors going around, and new relationships. I overhear one of the newbies gushing about a new guy on campus and telling everyone he was staring at her in the training room. I roll my eyes. Classic boy-crazy freshman.

Normally I would love to stay and be entertained by the drama. But right now, I need to lock in.

In a side gym, I get up a couple hundred shots and then check the time. It’s nearing 7:00, and the three-point contest is the first one up. I walk to the main arena tunnel and hear the chatter of fans on the other side of the curtain. The sound opens the floodgates to a tsunami of nerves.

I mill around with the rest of my team, subtly trying to do breathing exercises, waiting for the announcer to begin. He’ll be calling everyone else’s names first and then bringing me out as the finale. I’ll run in and start the contest, so at least I’ll get it over with immediately.

I faintly hear him announce the men’s team. I recognizemost of the names–PJ Owens, Tyler Evers, and Rashaun Rivers are all friends of mine. The name he announces for the three-point contest is not one I’m familiar with.

I’ve never heard of Jordan Mitchell before. I’m assuming he’s a transfer, but this close to the season, I didn’t even know that could still happen. Well, I guess I need to make sure he knows who really runs this place.

I hear the announcer begin my intro.

“And now, the pride and joy of Nebraska State! The preseason Player of the Year and future WNBA All-Star: Lucy Townesssss!”

I run down the runway, through the curtains, and onto the familiar court. Little kids are chanting my name, and my teammates are all clapping and hollering. I high-five everyone lining the tunnel and am filled with a familiar warmth. I love this community.

Then I look up, and everything melts away in a split second. My eyes meet his, and I once again feel electricity.

Apparently I do know a Jordan Mitchell.

He’s the very guy who has dominated my mind for the last three days. His face, his lips, his smile are all I see when I close my eyes. And now, I’m competing against him and his annoyingly hot smirk once again. But this time, I have a massive audience.

Oh, boy.