In My Skin (21 page)

But that's not what happened.

Cracks existed beneath the surface. And the game against Louisville, with the pressure cranked up, blew those cracks wide open. Before then, it was almost as if we had each made a silent pact to accept the other person's flaws in exchange for greatness, dominance, championships. I know I was challenging for Kim off the court, but she made it work because I played hard and helped lift her program to new heights. And while I struggled with some of her decisions, especially how she handled my sexuality, I respected her as a coach. When we stepped onto the court together, we made it work.

Except it didn't work in the Louisville game. Neither of us held up our end of the bargain. I didn't deliver the way I usually did, and she got outcoached. We both underperformed. We had created something magical for almost four years, and that night we watched, almost helplessly at times, as it melted away. We were left staring at all our warts and flaws, all the things about each other that drove us crazy. And we didn't have a national championship, the piece of shiny jewelry, to distract us from that reality. Kim and I were going in two different directions, and the game against Louisville was the fork in the road.

A few days after the loss, Kim tried to call me twice, but I didn't answer. I was still too raw, and I needed my space, some time to process what had happened and to get over the disappointment. But then I started hearing from some of my teammates that Kim was saying certain things about me, that I wasn't going to graduate, that I wasn't going to be around anymore. The way I heard it, I felt like Kim was bad-mouthing me, making it seem as if I was turning my back on the program because I had all these new obligations. Obviously, things get lost in translation, and I didn't know for sure what Kim had said or how she meant it, but at that point in our relationship, pretty much anything she said was going to send me down the rabbit hole. And once again, I allowed my emotions to get the best of me. I sent Kim a few texts telling her—not so nicely—to stop saying crap about me. (And, yes, I realize I might need to impose a twenty-four-hour rule for myself before I send text messages when I'm upset.)

I wasn't worried when she didn't write back. I had been taking her calls and her requests for meetings for four years (longer, actually, dating back to high school), so I just wanted a few days to take a deep breath and do my own thing. I figured we would reconnect at the Final Four, in New Orleans, maybe talk through everything that had happened. I had been named to the All-America team again, so I was scheduled to attend a ceremony and press conference there, not that I was looking forward to it. The last place I wanted to be was New Orleans, because the whole weekend was a reminder of our loss to Louisville, our stunning failure. While my Baylor teammates were as far away from basketball as they could get—except for Odyssey, who was also at the All-America awards—I was sitting on a folding table inside the press conference room at New Orleans Arena, my legs kicking off the sides, as I answered questions from the media for more than fifteen minutes. Guess what they kept asking about?
Why did you lose to Louisville? How will the program recover? What's next for Baylor?

Many of the questions were ones that Kim should have been answering. Almost all college coaches attend the Final Four; it's basically a women's basketball convention. And Kim was the coach of the defending national champions, with two players being honored as All-Americans. But Kim wasn't in New Orleans. I don't know why she wasn't there. Maybe she was still angry or embarrassed about the Louisville game. She lost her composure down the stretch, ripping off her jacket at one point, and she blasted the refs in her press conference afterward. I didn't blame her one bit for that, but she was criticized in the media, and the NCAA later gave her a one-game suspension. Look, all of us were upset about the loss to Louisville, but I thought Kim could have swallowed her pride and joined me and Odyssey in New Orleans. Just one year earlier, Baylor had been the main attraction of the Final Four. So many people came to see us play, to see Kim coach, to see if we could finish the season undefeated. Now we couldn't even finish the season together. I felt abandoned, like I was no longer important because I was out of eligibility. Everyone kept asking me, “Where's Kim? How come Kim isn't here?” I just kept shrugging my shoulders. I didn't have a good answer for them.

EVERYTHING HAD BEGUN
moving so quickly in the weeks after the Louisville game. I signed with an agent, Lindsay Kagawa Colas at Wasserman Media, who represents several WNBA stars, including my Mercury teammate Diana Taurasi and Maya Moore of the Minnesota Lynx. Lindsay's group works with action sports athletes, too, so that was a cool selling point for me, given my love of longboarding. I also knew I wanted to work with a woman, because I believe strongly in empowering women, and Lindsay understood I wanted to live openly and express myself freely. She totally got it. We agreed that if companies didn't want to endorse me because of my sexuality or my tattoos, then we didn't want to work with them anyway. We developed a blueprint for my future, which included a short-term plan, because the turnaround time between the end of the college season and the WNBA Draft is so quick, and it's crucial to capitalize on that window of relevancy. We were committed to being authentic, and we firmly believed that the right partners would want to work with us
because
of who I am, not in spite of it. The bottom line is that I don't want to pretend to be someone I'm not just to make some money. (I was happy the folks at Nike got that message too, signing me as their first openly gay athlete.)

I was still torn over leaving Waco, leaving my friends, but I was eager to show the world the real me, and to talk about more than just basketball or whatever topics Baylor deemed appropriate. I think the main reason I got tired of dealing with the media in college was because I got tired of hearing myself answer the same questions in the same way, over and over and over. I didn't feel like there was a lot of room to be all that interesting. It got to the point that during my senior year, every time I walked to the podium for media availability, I was hoping someone would finally ask me the big question:
Brittney, are you gay?
I knew it was never going to happen like that, but I would imagine it anyway, and how I would answer it.
Yes! I'm so glad someone finally asked! Yes, I'm gay!
Then I would have looked at Kim and watched her jaw drop. I resented those trips to the podium because I knew everyone would ask some version of the same three questions they always asked:
What's your mind-set? Is it tough having a bull's-eye on your backs? How do you keep from overlooking your opponents?
Blah, blah, blah.

I had set my sights on the WNBA while I was still in high school, once I started getting all the media attention and people were saying I was “one of a kind.” Playing professionally became my dream, and the closer I got to the end of my college career, the more I thought about how I would feel hearing my name called at the WNBA Draft. And how I would look. After I signed with Lindsay, we talked about what I wanted to wear for the big occasion. She asked me, “Who do you admire? Whose style do you love?” As I was thinking about it, she mentioned Ellen DeGeneres, and my eyes lit up. Lindsay had a connection with Kellen Richards, the woman who styles Ellen, so she reached out to see if Kellen would be interested in designing an outfit for the draft. It wasn't an insignificant amount of money to spend, but Lindsay and I felt strongly that the draft was a significant moment for me, because I was stepping forward as my true, authentic self. Kellen put together a stylebook for me so I could pick out things I liked. After we talked it over some more, she created a white tuxedo that I wore with white Chuck Taylor sneakers, and I loved the outfit so much that we worked with Kellen again for the 2013 ESPYs and for my cover shoot with
ESPN The Magazine.
(I also work with Jamie Steinfeld, a stylist based in Portland, Oregon.)

The morning of the draft, my alarm went off early, like 6
A.M.,
because I had a long day ahead of me. I was anxious, but mostly excited. The draft was being held on the ESPN campus, in Bristol, Connecticut, and I had a full slate of media obligations before the start of the draft broadcast that night: an appearance on
SportsCenter,
radio hits, a luncheon with other players and ESPN executives. Finally, toward late afternoon, all the draftees changed into our outfits for the evening; we had about an hour to prep before gathering for photo ops, doing meet and greets, and mingling with our families. My schedule had been packed all morning and afternoon, down to the minute, but now we had open hours to fill before the start of the broadcast. ESPN had set up a hospitality tent for friends and families, filling it with food, circular tables, and big-screen TVs. It almost looked like a wedding reception (perfect for my white tux).

My dad was there with a buddy of his, looking so proud and wearing a new suit of his own. I gave him a big hug. (The trip from Texas would have been too hard for my mom, but they both came to Phoenix later that week for my introductory press conference.) My bros Julio and Nash had flown in from Waco, and I was so excited to see them. They were grinning ear to ear, taking pictures with me and other draftees they had seen play over the years. I looked around at each table. I noticed Notre Dame coach Muffet McGraw was sitting with Skylar Diggins. I saw Tina Martin, Delaware's coach, with Elena Delle Donne and her family. At my table, Lindsay, my agent, was chatting with Lindsay Gottlieb, the head coach at California, who had flown across the country with one of her assistants to support their star player, Layshia Clarendon. My head was on a swivel as I looked from table to table, expecting to see Kim sitting at one of them. I couldn't find her, but it was still early and I figured I would see her soon, at least get a chance to say hello before go-time. Whenever the door to that tent opened, I glanced over to see if she was walking inside. Meanwhile, I spent a big chunk of time talking to Texas A&M coach Gary Blair, who was there with his star post player, Kelsey Bone. That gave me a chuckle—good old Gary, still chatting me up, like he was trying to recruit me all over again.

The hours whittled down to minutes, and eventually it was time to leave the tent and walk to the studio where the draft would take place. As everyone expected, the Phoenix Mercury took me with the No. 1 pick. But much to my surprise, I was overwhelmed by the moment—I was so happy, I was speechless—and I stumbled through an on-camera interview. When that was done, an ESPN publicity staffer escorted me from the studio to the media press conference, which was on a different floor.

And that's when I happened to cross paths with Kim. We were walking along a hallway, and she seemed hurried. She quickly explained she was leaving, that she had a plane to catch. (I found out later from various people that she had entered the hospitality tent right before the draft started, then did an on-camera interview after Phoenix selected me.) She said congratulations and wished me good luck, and we posed for a few awkward photos. The whole interaction didn't last more than a minute or two. And it was only after she walked away that I thought to myself,
Wait, didn't she take a charter plane here?
(We always flew charters at Baylor.) I put the pieces of the puzzle together, and I came to the conclusion that she was leaving because she didn't want to stay, for whatever reason. It felt like she had shown up for the cameras, not for me. I remember walking away confused, as one of the Mercury staffers patted me on the back.

There is no right side or wrong side when it comes to Kim and me, just a lot of complicated feelings. I still love her. And I think she still loves me. But that interaction we had at the WNBA Draft, which happened simply by chance, would end up being the only time we spoke all spring, all summer, and into the fall, until just before I left to play overseas. I still text regularly with many people at Baylor, including some of the players, a couple of the assistant coaches, and most of the support staff. They would check in to wish me luck before Mercury games or congratulate me after big wins. My connection to the program still feels strong, even if Kim isn't at the center of it for me anymore. Whatever differences we have, whatever the distance between us, I'll always be grateful for what she taught me, and proud of what we achieved at Baylor.

We accomplished so much together.

M
y Mercury teammates are great. I lived in the same apartment complex as Lynetta Kizer, Alexis Hornbuckle, and Charde Houston, and we all clicked right from the beginning of training camp. We just make each other laugh. They love to give me a hard time about my eating habits. Whenever I tell them I'm going to McDonald's, they say, “No! You need to get real food!” And I say, “That is real food in my book.” At Jack-in-the-Box, I order the extreme sausage sandwich, with meat and cheese, no
egg.
I get it every time I go, no matter what time of day it is. I normally get two, but if I'm stopping there on my way to a game, I just order one sandwich, with an orange juice. I like things I can grab on the go—fast food, candy (love Skittles!), things that aren't exactly healthy. I've always been a picky eater. I found a few things I liked as a kid, and I've just stuck with them. My mom cooks the best ham ever. I also love steak. There's a place in Phoenix called Hillstone, and they have this amazing Hawaiian rib eye. It's got a little pineapple taste to it. Mmm . . . so good. But I know my teammates (and my agent) are right: I need to think more about the kinds of food I'm putting into my body. I'm trying to give vegetables a chance, so I'll order rice with peas and carrots in it. Baby steps.

I love the freedom of being a pro. I'm in charge of me now. Yes, more freedom also means more responsibility, but I'm learning how to handle it, even if the lessons are more expensive. During the first two months of my rookie season in Phoenix, the only reason I had been fined was for getting a couple of technical fouls. I could live with that, because I've come to realize it's better for me to show more emotion on the court, not less. Also, our best player, Diana Taurasi, had to pay some fines for jawing with the referees, so I felt like I was in good company. (She was actually suspended for two games by the league after getting her ninth technical of the season, which tells you what she thinks about the officiating.)