My Shot Read online

  Luckily—like Lizzie—I had a great team on my side, and they supported me when I was feeling terrible and when I was doing great. And, thankfully, Delaware won every single game in my absence, which took away a lot of my angst about missing them.

  But one of our biggest games was coming up, and the last thing I wanted to do was sit it out.

  On December 20, I still wasn’t feeling great, but I decided I was well enough to get back on the court in a home game against our archrival, University of Maryland. We were on a four-game winning streak, but Maryland was ranked number nine in the country, and we hadn’t beaten them in eleven outings. They’d also defeated us the previous year in our only regular-season loss, and we were desperate to avenge it. We knew we were playing better than we ever had, so we were prepared.

  But was I?

  You might be weak and skinnier than you’ve been in years, but you need this game. Seize this moment, I reminded myself.

  I’m not sure if it was the fact that the matchup was just before Christmas, so everyone was ready to party, or if it was because Maryland games were always popular, but the Bob was packed that night.

  “It’s because you’re back,” one of my teammates joked, but I knew it wasn’t only that. More than five thousand people—the largest crowd that had ever filled the Bob for a women’s basketball game—wanted to see us beat our neighboring state and sworn enemy, and they came out cheering for us to do it.

  The first half was a tight race. They’d score, and we’d answer. We’d sink a basket, and they’d rebound, taking the ball down the court, past our defenders, and right through the net. I struggled and even fell to the floor a few times, but without fail I forced myself up. Just keep muscling, I told myself.

  We tied it up seven times as we raced to catch up with them, but Maryland was the best rebounding team in women’s college basketball, and when we were inside the paint, it was always hard. I was still feeling weak, and a lot of the time their defense was just too much for me. When we’d put the pressure on them, they’d go on a run, like the six-point unanswered streak they had at the end of the first half, which put them up 35–28.

  When the second half began, it was like they hadn’t even needed a break. Maryland burst out of the gate, scoring eight points right away—all off rebounds. Like I said, they were the best in the country at doing just that! They built their lead to fourteen before I doubled my efforts, grabbed the ball, and in a few minutes sank three three-pointers. We’d narrowed down the Maryland lead to within three.

  Unfortunately, right after that the game was all theirs. The Terrapins scored twelve straight points, we didn’t make a basket for a full six minutes, and well over half of my shots from the field couldn’t connect. When the game ended with a 69–53 victory for them, it was clear we just hadn’t been up for the challenge.

  “Today’s game was about two teams who are in two very different places right now,” Coach Martin said to the press.

  I couldn’t have agreed more. They were at the top of their game, and we were playing catch-up, especially with me sick. But as I always tell the kids I work with in basketball clinics, without mistakes you can’t learn anything. We’d made plenty on the court that night, but we were poised to grow from them.

  And grow we did. After the loss to Maryland, we won game after game, most by double digits. We had an overtime squeaker against St. John’s University that ended 60–59, but other than that it was all Blue Hens, all the time. We won the CAA tournament easily, advancing us automatically into the NCAA tournament, where we were going to face West Virginia University on our home court.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Saying Good-bye

  Ever since I was a kid, I’ve lived in my head—sometimes too much. When I refused to go to the mall with Mom before practice because it might make me too tired, I was overthinking. When I chose to accept a scholarship to UConn even though my soul was screaming that it was a mistake, I was going with my head rather than my heart. Ever since I burned out, though, I’ve realized how important it is to trust how you’re feeling. I’ve discovered I need to check in with my instincts, then follow them. Because nine times out of ten, my body and spirit are right.

  Just before our first-round NCAA tournament matchup against West Virginia, I was feeling great. The year before, entering the tournament had seemed scary and new. We’d been the underdogs, right? So that had meant we had to be on our toes a little more. This year we felt like old pros. We were confident. We knew what we were getting into. If you’re feeling this way, I told myself, then act on it. Go out and win this game like a veteran.

  Unfortunately, our first half against West Virginia made us look as inexperienced as we’d felt the year before. We tried a man-to-man defense that failed again and again, and our opponent finished up the second half with a 33–26 lead. In the locker room we decided to switch things up, going with a two-three zone formation that would make them rely on their outside shooting. We’re in front of a home crowd that is desperate for us to win, I thought, so we have to show them that we know how to do this. Because I know we do.

  In the second half we rallied. Our zone clicked into place, and we started getting offensive rebounds that we’d missed in the first half. Then we made them connect. We drew fouls, too—so many that I was sent to the line thirteen times after not getting there a single time in the first half. Feeling like the veteran I knew I was, I scored twenty points—half of the forty points we put on the board in the second part of the game. After wearing West Virginia down and watching their star player head to the sidelines after fouling out, we defeated them 66–53.

  As you know, the Delaware women’s team had never advanced beyond the second round of the tournament. Getting to the Sweet Sixteen is no easy feat—especially for a small conference team like us. But when it’s your senior year and you know that it’s your last chance to make history for a school that welcomed you with open arms in your darkest moments, you know you’ve got to do it.

  Just before our game against the University of North Carolina, I thought back on how I’d felt during my sophomore year, when I couldn’t get out of bed. I had been in the dark, clueless about what was wrong with me, and I couldn’t figure out why someone like me was being tested that way. Hadn’t I been through enough? Or was this some kind of sick joke about me coming to grips with how much I missed basketball?

  Well, I’d come back. But now it was time to really prove it. Sometimes surviving something awful isn’t enough to make you feel victorious about what you’ve accomplished. You have to show that you can stomp all over the thing that set you back—then perform better than you ever have in your life.

  That test would be our game against UNC.

  It was my last home game at UD, and the stadium was packed—just like it had been for our matchup with West Virginia. But the energy was different this time. We were considered the underdog, so fans were pumped. Vice President Biden was there, so security was tight. Finally, sitting across the court from Sylvia Hatchell, whose scholarship offer I’d turned down years before, I couldn’t help but think, I wonder if she realizes how happy I am that I chose Delaware.

  The truth is that I was happy. In Delaware I’d found a community that embraced me even when I didn’t want to play basketball. Most of them had been understanding when I got sick. They didn’t think it was weird that I wanted to be close to my family. After a bad burnout I think it’s important to find a comfortable, happy, and loving spot to feel safe, and they’d provided that for me. The fact that it was my last home game in a place that had been so wonderful to me almost made me cry.

  But it’s time to prove myself, I thought. And we’re going to win this game.

  Despite the electricity in the air and a crowd that kept screaming “Let’s go, Hens!” the first half was terribly disappointing. We were down by five points six minutes in, and I had to limp to the sidelines—then back to the locker room—with a sore knee. After I returned, we scratched and clawed our
way into the lead late in the half, but it didn’t stick. By halftime we were down by eight points. We were feeling anxious even though I’d narrowed the lead from eleven with a last-second three-pointer.

  The second half started even rockier. With sixteen minutes left in the game, we were down 48–39, and I think that’s when, collectively, we decided to come alive. Now, I’m used to being the one to save a game. I can take charge, shouldering the burden of bringing a team back from the brink of losing. But one of the beautiful things about a team is that sometimes, when you least expect it, new leaders emerge.

  That’s what happened with my teammate Trumae Lucas. She charged, she scored sixteen points, and she stole the ball three times. She drew fouls right and left, and North Carolina got into foul trouble—big-time—as their two leading scorers went to the bench with four fouls each. We scored six straight points—including my three thousandth as a Blue Hen—and soon we were up 52–51. We kept the pressure on, and by the time the buzzer rang, we’d won 78–69.

  The crowd went crazy. They’d been on their feet all day—including Vice President Biden, who was supposedly blocking everyone behind him—and as I walked out to the middle of the floor, I held back tears.

  We made it to the Sweet Sixteen. After four years of loving this sport more and more every day, I’ve discovered something new: the feeling that if it all goes downhill from here, at least I knew what it was like to be on top.

  • • •

  The final rounds of the NCAA tournament are held in neutral locations, so we headed to Bridgeport, Connecticut, to play the University of Kentucky. It was a game none of us ever thought we’d reach, and a matchup we weren’t expected to win.

  We tried our hardest, but we just couldn’t fend off Kentucky. By the half, we were down 21–17, and while we were used to trailing midway into the game, we felt drained by how difficult everything had been so far. At one point I’d scored ten points in a row, but my teammates had struggled throughout the game to get the ball in the bucket.

  When the second half began, we tried our hardest to overtake them, but we couldn’t get there. I thought we might. With 2:47 left, we scored to make it 62–60, but then Kentucky answered with a three-pointer, and the game was all theirs from that moment on. The final score was 69–62, and as the buzzer went off, I dropped my head and let the moment sink in.

  It’s okay, I thought. We made it further than ever before, and that’s a big victory.

  Right after the game was over, a reporter came up to me.

  “You know that you’re now the fifth-leading scorer in NCAA history, right? You passed three players—Cheryl Miller, Chamique Holdsclaw, and Maya Moore—today when you hit three thousand and thirty-nine points.”

  “I had no idea,” I said honestly. “It’s incredible and humbling to be among those names.”

  It was. Sure, I’d decided when I was four that I wanted to be a basketball star, but the sport had become so many more things to me. It wasn’t about winning or breaking records, and I couldn’t have cared less about being famous. Basketball was about love: the love of my teammates, my town, my school, my coaches, and my family. But most of all, it was about me finally being passionate about the sport with all my heart.

  It was a feeling I’d need to carry with me as I finished up my senior year and headed toward the WNBA draft.

  PART THREE

  FORWARD

  Chapter Nineteen

  WNBA Draft

  UD had taught me so many things. Sure, academics had been a huge part of my time there—I’d studied with professors who were at the top of their field, and I’d been constantly challenged by my classes—but the most valuable lesson I’d learned was how to balance. In college I’d had to keep up my GPA, perform well at practice and games, and after hours work with developmentally challenged kids, which was required by my major. I was always running from the Bob to class to special education centers off campus, then trying to find a spare hour or two for my family and friends.

  Trust me, figuring out how to manage being all over the place wasn’t easy, but I knew it was an essential skill. After all, life is a huge balancing act, and after college my schedule was only going to get crazier. When I left UD and became a professional athlete, I’d be expected to train harder; play with more confidence in front of larger, more demanding crowds; and enter into endorsement deals that would make me and the sport more visible. My life would be all basketball, all the time—much more than it had been in college.

  Luckily, UD had helped me realize that I couldn’t let that single-minded focus consume me. School had taught me that you have to find something you’re passionate about, then turn it into fun. As I headed toward the WNBA draft, I was determined that I wouldn’t burn out, and I knew that balancing all my interests was the key to that.

  Still, I was nervous. I’d run out of steam before, and the memory haunted me. So I kept reminding myself, This is what you want to do. If you remember that, you’ll enjoy it.

  The WNBA draft was set to happen on April 15, before my graduation. But the entire selection process had started back in September, when a lottery had determined which four WNBA teams—out of the twelve in the league—would get the first draft picks. Then, on April 11 the league would invite twelve women to attend the actual draft selection, which would be on prime-time TV for the first time ever. These twelve weren’t the only players who’d be snatched up by the league, but they were the public faces of the incoming WNBA class, considered to be the best out there.

  I was on that list, and I couldn’t have been happier. But part of balancing involves managing your expectations and letting go, and in the four days before the draft, I had to do just that.

  You need to stay steady, Elena, I told myself. Sure, you’re about to explode from excitement, but you’re not going to be the top pick. You may not even be second—or third. Don’t let that disappoint you. Don’t put all your hopes into one team either. Just be happy wherever you end up.

  Brittney Griner from Baylor University was expected to be the top pick. She was super-tall at 6'8", was the best shot blocker in the country, and had led Baylor to two national championships. During her junior year Baylor had a 40–0 season, something no team—ever—had done. Brittney was considered by almost everyone to be one of the best female college players in women’s basketball history, and I didn’t disagree. She was a legend, and any team would be lucky to have her.

  Then there was Skylar Diggins, a powerhouse player from Notre Dame, whom I’d been on the World University Games team with back in college. Skylar was an NCAA leader in steals and assists and one of the top free throw scorers in the nation. She was also a social media star, which would bring thousands of new fans to whatever team chose her. I loved Skylar, but I wasn’t sure I had half the charisma or charm that she did.

  People were calling me, Brittney, and Skylar the “Three to See,” and while we had a lot of similarities—especially that we were great all-around players—there were two big, glaring differences. First, I was the only one of them with a chronic illness. Every coach out there knew that a Lyme disease flare-up might cause me to miss games—and that was a big risk for them. Second, I’d left the number one college team in the nation without even telling the head coach. Could I be trusted?

  You can’t think about that, Elena, I told myself. You are who you are, and your past is what it is. Just stay focused and balanced.

  The twelve women who’d be featured during the draft selection headed to Bristol, Connecticut, a few days before the big event. Mom and Dad planned to drive and meet me on the day of the draft, but I flew up, on pins and needles the whole time. It wasn’t just because a huge, life-changing moment was about to happen either; I was secretly hoping that one particular team would pick me, but I couldn’t tell anyone.

  I really, really like the Chicago Sky, I said to myself. I want them so much.

  The Sky had just barely missed the play-offs the year before, so I knew they were itching for
a big point-scorer who could push them over the edge of greatness. I’d always thrived on that kind of challenge, and I could see exactly how and where I’d contribute on the court. Plus, my pre-draft interview with the coaches and owner had gone really well. Even though they’d asked me some hard questions, I loved that they weren’t afraid to discuss my burnout.

  “It’s not going to happen again,” I’d told them confidently. “I’ll be fine. I promise you. I’m 100 percent committed.”

  I also felt comfortable discussing my health with them when they pressed me on it.

  “I’ve gotten sick before, and I might miss games in the future, but I have my health under as much control as I can. I have great doctors who keep me on a daily regimen of medication and treatments, and we work hard to keep me healthy.”

  The team told me they’d have to look at medical records closely, but that didn’t bother or surprise me. Doing a background check on a player’s injuries or health history was totally routine. More than anything else, I appreciated that such an important organization was so honest with me. That kind of communication seemed like a good sign.

  What did bug me a little, though, was that for the first time in my basketball career, I wasn’t in control of where I’d play. When I’d accepted UConn’s offer, I’d chosen them. When I’d left to go to UD, the decision had been all mine. Sure, I hadn’t had a say in who my coaches or teammates were, but I’d been in charge of my future.

  With the WNBA draft, though, I wasn’t. Whichever team chose me would be the one my agent would begin negotiations with. Then I’d pack up my life, move, and start practicing with the team before the season started the following month. Everything was happening so quickly, and I felt like a wave had swept me up and was carrying me away from shore, far from my past and everything I knew.