15. Chapter 15
Crew: Good morning, Rebel! Hope you have a good day!
A s I walk through the bustling campus on this early Tuesday morning, black coffee in hand, I make my way to the brick business building where my sports management classes are held.
Sports management is a unique field of study for women, but it's one I'm very passionate about. In high school, there was an imbalance between the boys' and girls' programs. We weren't given the same access to weight training equipment and gym time. Even our game schedule was never to opponents that matched our skill level. While I understand there is a difference between boys and girls, I want the opportunity to showcase that women deserve the same opportunities as men.
There's a vibrant energy floating around campus this morning—chatter and laughter bubbles around me as I take the cobblestone sidewalks. The air around the quad almost feels lighter. Is there something going on I don't know about? Or is this what normal people feel? The type of people whose past hasn't been haunted, who don't travel with a dark cloud floating above their head. I feel my face mirroring theirs with each head nod and tight-lipped smile .
It's been a month since I moved to Texas. Slowly, over each day, the walls I've constructed are crumbling. The relationships I'm forming feel genuine. And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I belong. Arizona was a stepping stone for fake friendships, aside from Olivia, but these friendships feel real. They don't feel forced just because I'm the coach's daughter or their friend's sister. I feel like I actually matter to them.
Crew is a big part of that, but I refuse to let him be the only reason for my shift. Feelings are hard to fight, especially when they are as strong as they are between us, but at the end of the day, I'm still here to learn about myself. I refuse to let myself fall into the same pattern I did in Arizona, where I let a guy control me to the point he shaped who I was.
This morning, when I woke up, the boys were long gone for their early morning practice. A text from Crew was waiting for me. It was such a minor gesture, but it brightened my morning instantly. I'm a total simp for a good morning text. In our quiet apartment, I could sit with myself for a more extended meditation session than I usually would. I took the time to focus on my goals and really talk to my inner self. Savasana didn't feel as heavy as it usually would. In fact, everything about this morning felt lighter.
Olivia was right. I needed a fresh start surrounded by family.
Climbing the few steps at the front of the business building, I push my way through the glass doors. The inside completely contrasts with the exterior, which I love. Central Texas is an old campus. It's been around for over a hundred years, but when they remodeled all of the buildings, they incorporated a modern feel to the interior while keeping the older charm of brick on the exterior.
Students mill around the open space of the lobby, where a stock market ticker runs on the wall. I pass a group of guys dressed in business attire—dress pants and button-up shirts. I've heard some classes require students to dress as if they were showing up in an office. I think it's great practice, but I'm glad my classes don't require that. We have the rest of our lives to dress professionally.
Tonight is my first intramural game, and since today is my long day on campus, I'm already dressed in the clothes I'll wear for the game. This is why I'm thankful I have the freedom to wear what I want for class. I'm dressed in white lightweight basketball shorts that hit mid-thigh with a black Michael Jordan Chicago Bulls jersey.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I make it to the third floor, where my classmates wait for the doors to open for the lecture hall. The doors open within minutes, and students begin funneling inside the mid-sized room. Clutching my backpack straps, I bounce down the stairs until I sit closer to the front, but not in the front row. Sliding down the row, I find a vacant seat in the middle.
Slipping my backpack free from my shoulders, I place it at my feet as I sit. After removing my laptop, I log in and find my Word document for note taking while waiting for the professor.
Right on time, our professor, a former Major League Soccer executive, enters the room and takes his place behind the podium. He adjusts his iPad until it's projecting on the large screen, and he's ready to dive into the day's lesson in sports ethics and laws—a topic I find quite interesting.
"Good morning," the professor greets, his commanding voice silences the large room. He's the only professor I have who doesn't use a microphone. His deep, booming voice is loud enough. "This morning, we will dive into scandals in the sports world."
Flipping the screen, the title of an article appears as he directs us to a case study that was available on the online portal. The room falls silent as we read the article. The scandal was something I was familiar with, but as I read the article, new details came to light. Many people admired the athlete, and when the news came out, it rocked the sports world.
After a few minutes, Professor Delgado interrupts the silence. "All right, now that you are familiar with the case, let's discuss. What are your initial thoughts?"
Hands raise around me, but I hesitate. Professor Delgado calls on someone. "I think it's greed."
I roll my eyes while the professor asks the student to elaborate.
"Everything is about money, and it's a proven fact that when an athlete is the best, they gain better sponsorships and contracts."
The professor moves from behind the podium and leans against the desk, arms crossed over his chest, as he observes the class.
"That's an interesting take and very possible. Does anyone else have an opinion as to why an athlete may turn to doping."
Again, hands raise, but this time, I don't hesitate as my hand shoots into the air. Professor Delgado points to me. My heart rate increases as my palms grow balmy, and the attention of the class turns toward me. Public speaking is not my favorite thing. In fact, I'd rather be the silent observer, but this topic needs a different perspective.
"What about the mental health of the athlete?"
"Oh, great, here we go," some douchebag behind me interrupts. "There's always one who has to bring up mental health as a reason."
A few whispers and chuckles follow, but I refuse to acknowledge them as I keep my attention on the front of the room where our professor stands. He gives me a "go ahead" twirl of his fingers.
"Mental health is a valid reason. Let's take college athletes, for example. Most athletes are eighteen to twenty-two years old, experiencing independence for the first time without parental guidance while juggling the pressures of the game they love. There's a culture surrounding sports to win at all costs because fans and the media will let you know of their disapproval if you don't. These athletes are always under stress to perform at their best, to never make a mistake, and to win at all costs. Social media and keyboard warriors have entered the athletes' space, and the pressure has only grown with it. God forbid a team loses, and so-called fans are calling for players to be traded, to be benched, and, as fucked up as it is, to ‘kill themselves.' There are jokes about putting athletes on suicide watch if they make a mistake that costs the game. Newsflash, one mistake isn't the reason for a loss. Sure, in that moment, it might seem that way, but a missed tackle or a turnover causing the opponent to score can all be factors in why a team loses, not one missed field goal. The stress has reached an all-time high with the entitlement of the fans and so has the desire to be the best, which has only increased the temptation to doping."
Silence falls over the room as the professor watches me, and an uneasiness rolls down my spine. Did I say too much? But just as I'm starting to doubt myself, a curve starts on Professor Delgado's lips, morphing into a smile.
"Ahh, that's a very unique approach in more of the athlete's mindset." My cheeks heat as more heads snap my way.
Professor Delgado returns to his place behind the podium as he continues the lecture. I settle in and begin to type away on my keyboard, notating key points. An hour later, as class starts to come to an end, he flips to the last slide of his presentation.
"Your next assignment will be to create an educational campaign to prevent doping in sports. As sports management majors, it is important for you to understand the reasoning behind an athlete's motivation to dope, as well as regulations and consequences."
He clicks to the next slide with all the assignment details, and I allow my fingers to fly over the keys as I type out all of the details as he speaks. "With the assignment, you should create a comprehensive and impactful campaign targeting both athletes and the broader sports community. I want to give you the freedom to be creative with this assignment. You can approach it any way you think will be most effective."
On the screen is a list of ideas ranging from poster designs to social media strategies, a presentation plan that includes videos with interactive polls, and alternative approaches that could include documentaries, podcasts, or designing an app.
My brain begins to spin as I think of how I'll complete this assignment, but the one thing I know is that I'll be raising awareness of mental health struggles among athletes.
"Whichever strategy you decide on, there should be an overall theme to your presentation, whether it be gaining more monetary benefits, mental health pressures, wanting to be the best in their sport, or whatever the case may be. Remember, the goal of this assignment is not just to complete it for a grade but to create something that could be used in real life to make a genuine difference in the sports world. There will be a detailed rubric and some examples of effective campaigns to help guide you on the portal. You will have four weeks to complete this assignment, but don't wait until the last minute. If you have any questions, please feel free to email me or schedule a meeting with me during office hours. Good luck."
And with those parting words, Professor Delgado dismisses class. Shutting down my laptop, I slide it into my backpack before heading down the row. A few lingering people remain, and I can feel their eyes tracking my movements. But I don't pay them any attention. I still have over five hours left in my school day before I can work my problems out on the basketball court.
"There she is," Dylan, one of the guys on my team, greets me as I make my way across the court to our bench on the sideline.
Kyrie, another teammate, nods. "S'up, baller?"
"Hey, guys!" I give a small wave.
Finding a spot on the bench, I sit and unlace my sneakers before reaching inside my gym bag and pulling out my basketball shoes. Sliding my stocking feet inside the black sneakers, I adjust the tongue before tightening the laces until they're snug on my feet.
Tonight, my team is one of the six playing in the first time slot. When I read over the schedule, I was surprised to see how many teams there would be in the intramural league. There are three time slots, with sixteen teams playing every Tuesday night. When I pulled into the lot, I was shocked to see how many cars were parked.
The echo of dribbling basketballs fills the air, mixing with the crowd's buzzing as they filter into the stands. Kyrie stands in front of the bench as he introduces all of the players on the team. It turns out that I'm the only girl on the team, but Dylan keeps bragging about the first time watching me play.
The other team steps foot on the court first, and we follow suit. All twelve of us shake hands as the referee reminds us that while this game is to be played following the regular basketball rules, we are to have fun still. Once he goes over the rules, a player from each team takes their place on the bench.
Lucky for me, I'm starting. The other team is all males, which is fine. Kyrie takes his position at center court with the other team's tallest player as we wait for the jump ball. I'm standing to the side when a player from the other team steps up next to me .
"You sure you're ready to play with the big boys, princess? I heard the volleyball team is looking for players."
Determination courses through my veins as I pinch my face in annoyance. "Don't worry."
The referee tosses the ball in the air as Kyrie easily outjumps the other guy. He swats the ball to one of my teammates and we all take off down the court. I'm first to make it down to our side of the court, and as I run toward the hoop, Dustin whips a bounce pass toward the basketball. Snatching the ball flawlessly, I easily make the layup, allowing my team to get on the board first.
My defender mumbles something about it being a lucky shot. It's too bad for him. He has no idea what he's in store for. His insecure masculinity is going to be put to the test.
Dylan forces a turnover and passes the ball to Dustin, who dribbles the ball up the court. I find my position on the left side. Jabbing toward the center, I rub my defender off my teammate's shoulder as I free myself outside the three-point line. Dustin passes me the ball as my defender catches up.
He waves his arms between us as he takes a step back, allowing the distance between us to grow. "Go ahead, princess. I'll even give you extra space to dribble in."
Fuck. This. Guy.
With a glance at the hoop, I position my fingers across the ball's seams. My eyes find my defenders as my feet leave the ground, and I release the ball toward the hoop. With a flick of my wrist, the ball spins in a perfect arch. Swish. The ball sails into the net as I hold my arm in the air, allowing my follow-through to be over the top, and I wink at the defender.
"Oops, sorry. Looks like you might want to play defense. "
The first half was a lot like the opening minutes. Our team continued to play as a team, while our opponents were more interested in showcasing their own skills. Their cockiness kept them in the way of succeeding.
The referee blows his whistle, signaling the end of halftime. Stepping foot onto the court, I adjust my ponytail as I scan the crowd. A red CTU hat catches my attention, and familiar brown eyes track my movement. My lip curls as I fight the grin desperate to break free.
Crew freaking Riggsby is at my game. Sitting in the back corner to avoid drawing attention. And he just winked at me. Be still my heart.
Kyrie nudges my shoulder as he steps next to me. "Ready to put this in the bag?"
"You bet. I had no idea how competitive this league was."
"That still okay?"
"Hell yeah. I'm living for this." I nod toward an opponent who is stepping out onto the court. "Did you see the face on that asshole when I drained that three in his face?"
"I think everyone saw that."
"That's what happens when you make dumbass comments that girls can't ball."
The whistle sounds again, and I take my place on the left side of the court near the three-point line as I wait for one of the guys on my team to bring the ball up the court. The dumbass I was just talking about is guarding me, and his arrogance is suffocating.
It's a very entertaining event. Music plays from the speakers as an announcer walks around the gymnasium, interviewing fans and cracking jokes. The intramural program is designed to not only get students playing basketball, but at the end of each semester, the organization puts on a charity tournament, where proceeds benefit a different organization each semester. This year's contributions will be donated to a youth center a few blocks away that needs an updated basketball court.
As the final buzzer rings out, Kyrie lands a jump shot underneath the basket. Cheers erupt as we make our way over to the bench. Sweat coats my skin as my lungs feel the slight burn from running up and down the court. My muscles felt alive as their memory of the game quickly took over.
"Nice game out there," Kyrie compliments the whole team. I'm squeezing a stream of water into my mouth. The douche from the other team stepped up his game and overcompensated his defense. I had to work harder in the fourth quarter, but it wasn't anything I couldn't handle.
We gather in a line beside our bench, and I scan the crowd of moving bodies searching for a familiar face as we wait for the other team. When we start moving, I stick my hand out and congratulate the other team on a good game.
Mr. Douche has a smarmy grin on his face. "Nice game. I didn't realize girls could actually play ball."
Dylan steps into the guy's face as I step between the two. With a hand on Dylan's chest, I look back over my shoulder. "Thanks. I'll be sure to use your toxic masculinity as fuel for my next game."
"Everything all right over here?" the referee asks as he approaches the situation.
"Everything's great." I toss another smile and return to the bench, Dylan hot on my heels.
"You should've let me punch him."
I shake my head as I sit on the bench. "Nah, he wasn't worth it. I scored sixteen points on him. That'll eat him up more than your fist."
"You sure about that? I'd make sure to land a good one." I chuckle, unlacing my shoes.
A shadow falls over it, and my first reaction is Crew. But as I land a brimming smile on the person above me, it quickly morphs into shock, and my smile slips slightly from my face.
"Grant?"
"Hey, little sis."
"Little sis?" Kyrie pauses. "You mean to tell me we have one of the Campbells on our team?"
"Shit, no wonder the girl can ball," Dustin adds from beside me.
Grant crosses his arms over his chest as he eyes my teammate while I suppress an eye roll. "Yeah, which means y'all better behave."
The guys all nod, and this time, I let my eyes roll. "Dad is waiting out in the hallway. We thought we'd treat you to dinner."
Zipping my gym bag, I toss it on my shoulders as I fall in step beside my brother, who tosses his arm over my sweat-soaked shoulders. Grant's body stiffens slightly. I follow his gaze and find Crew waiting, his back against the wall. "The hell you doing here, Riggsby?"
"Watching my roommate play ball." His reply is quick and confident. He doesn't give away that we are dating in the slightest.
Grant's jaw tightens as he nods.
"We're going to grab dinner with Dad. Do you want to join?"
Crew slips his hands in his pocket and pulls out his phone. "Nah, that's okay. I just wanted to swing by and catch the end of the game. See you back at the apartment."
My attention latches on to Crew thumbing away on his phone, and insecurities creep in. Is he texting a girl? What if he finds a girl who doesn't have the baggage like I do?
Shaking those thoughts from my head, I nod. "Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks for swinging by."
With a terse nod, we walk away in opposite directions, and I'm left feeling guilty for hiding my relationship with Crew.
But it's for the best.
At least, I hope.