The Immigrant Who Played Basketball

Epilogue

-Several years later-

Lara's POV

"Hey, girl."

Amber, my fellow colleague in the New York Times department, enters my office, her colourful skirts swaying.

"Hey," I call out gruffly.

I'm working on an article and I hate being disturbed while at work.

"What are you writing that article about?" Amber asks, peering at my Macbook Air.

"There was a fire at a house. Nobody hurt," I explain briefly.

"That's good that nobody's hurt."

"Do know what would be even better?" I sigh.

"What?"

"You leaving me to work in peace."

It's Amber's turn to sigh.

"That's all you do: work, work, work!" Amber exclaims.

"Tell me about it."

I turn around to see who's made that comment and it's Tyler, the most annoying person I've ever met.

"You two wouldn't understand. I travelled 1100 miles to pursue this career," I remark.

"And that's why you shouldn't just work, work, work. Explore! Just like you said, you've travelled 1100 miles to be in lovely New York! Loads of people would love to be in this city!" Amber argues, closing my laptop.

"Fine! I guess I could take a break!" I surrender.

"Cool! We could go to a basketball game!" Tyler suggests.

"Yes! The WNBA!" Amber insists.

"No! The NBA!" Tyler argues.

My head is aching so I'm definitely not in the mood of listening to an argument.

"Amber votes for the WNBA, Tyler votes for the the NBA and I vote for the WNBA. Two against one! The WNBA it is," I insist.

"Fine," Tyler gives in.

"Awesome! I have 3 tickets for this afternoon's game! I was supposed to go with my 2 brothers but they bailed out on me," Amber explains.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What a great game, huh?" Amber prompts.

"Yeah it was ok," I agree.

"Yeah. Number 8 was the best, tho. She's by far the most talented on the court," Tyler comments admirably.

"Oh, look there she is!" Amber tells us.

We're leaving our seats and Number 8 is leaving the court.

Amber cups her hands around her mouth.

"Number 8!" she calls out.

Number 8 turns around. I can't believe it...It's Luna.

"Luna!" I breathe.

"Lara!" Luna exclaims before squashing me into a hug," What are you doing here?"

"These two dragged me to the game and now I'm glad they did," I explain, pinching myself to make sure that this isn't a dream.

"I'm glad they did too."

"You should have seen her. All she does is eat, sleep, drink and write articles," Amber jumps in, obviously confused at how Luna and I know each other.

Luna's eyes literally pop out of her head.

"Writing articles?" she asks, hopeful.

I shrug modestly.

"It's nothing, really," I insist.

"Yeah, of course! Writing for The New York Times is nothing, really," Tyler teases.

Luna claps her hands together gleefully.

"The New York Times? Girl, this is not the time to be modest! I'm so proud of you!" Luna exclaims.

"That's coming from a basketball player in the WNBA! How is Logan, by the way? I kinda lost contact with everyone when I left Florida," I add, bashful.

"Your cuz is a basketball player in the NBA!"

"That's amazing! I'll have to get back in contact with him. I'm happy that both of you have fulfilled your dreams."

"I did it for Ella."