September 28th, 2018
6:00 AM
Donovan was in the middle of a dream. He was at center court in Madison Square Garden, the crowd roaring.
He had the ball in his hands, clock ticking down. He drove past LeBron, rose up for the dunk... and suddenly, LeBron turned into a giant, tutu-wearing Corgi.
"Is there a ballet school close by?"
Donovan woke up startled, his heart hammering against his ribs. He sat up, disoriented, the remnants of the dream shattering against the reality of his penthouse.
He nearly bumped his head against Jordania, who was standing right next to the sofa, staring at him with wide, curious eyes.
Luckily, she dodged his sudden movement with surprising agility.
Donovan blinked, trying to focus. He turned his head and saw Big Dog standing on the rug. The Corgi was wearing a pink, frilly tutu that was identical to the one Jordania was wearing.
The dog looked humiliated but resigned to his fate.
"Big Dog?" Donovan asked, his voice rough with sleep. "Why is my dog in a dress? He's a male. He has dignity."
"He's learning Swan Lake," Jordania explained matter-of-factly. "He's the swan."
Donovan groaned, pushing himself up. His body felt stiff, every muscle complaining from the grueling double-sessions he had been putting himself through.
He stretched his arms over his head, his spine cracking with a series of loud pops. Then he rotated his shoulders, eliciting another crunch.
"Do you know how to fix a ballerina bun?" Jordania asked, holding up a hair tie.
Donovan looked at her, then at his own reflection in the mirror across the room. "Do I look like I know how to fix a ballerina bun? I haven't had hair long enough to bun since... never."
He cracked his knuckles, the sound sharp in the quiet room.
"My mom says we're not supposed to pop our knuckles," Jordania scolded.
"Well, your mom didn't sleep on a hard sofa instead of her specially designed $10,000 orthopedic bed," Donovan grumbled, cracking his knuckles again right in her face just to make a point.
It was then that he finally registered the music. It was faint, drifting in from the living room, but unmistakable.
Classical music. Violins. Cellos.
"What's... What's with the posh old music?" Donovan asked, rubbing his eyes.
"It's Bach," Jordania corrected.
"Yeah, it makes me want to bash my head into the wall," Donovan muttered. "Do you listen to this every morning? Is this part of the princess training?"
"No," Jordania said. "Sometimes I listen to Kidz Bop."
Donovan shuddered. "Do you have a phone?"
"No," she shook her head.
"Yeah, you're probably too young for one," Donovan reasoned. "Do you have an iPod? Because I'm going to buy you one. Immediately. Right now. I need you to listen to something."
He finally got up, swinging his legs out of bed. He stood and stretched his back again, preparing to march into the living room and turn off the concerto.
As he was about to step forward, Jordania stopped him, holding up a plastic, glitter-covered object.
"Wait, my bedazzler," she said.
"What?" Donovan squinted at it.
"Doesn't Camille look pretty?" she asked, presenting a plastic crab toy that was now covered in so many rhinestones it was blinding.
"She looks like that one crab from Moana," Donovan critiqued. "Shiny."
"You're right, she's so shiny!" Jordania beamed.
Donovan looked at the digital clock on his nightstand. 6:00 AM.
Panic flared. "It's 6 AM," Donovan realized. "I missed my morning workout again. That's two days in a row. My rhythm is cooked."
"I heard your alarm," Jordania said innocently. "And turned it off."
Donovan stared at her. "Why? Why would you do that?"
"You were snoring," she explained. "Loudly. It was like a bear. I thought you needed the rest."
Donovan sighed, a long, exasperated sound that deflated his entire posture. He couldn't be mad at a four-year-old trying to let him sleep, even if it was ruining his career.
He walked into the kitchen. Samantha was already there, sitting at the island, eating a bowl of dry cereal.
"What's for breakfast?" Samantha asked without looking up.
Donovan walked to the fridge and pulled out the ingredients. "The usual. Fuel."
He started tossing things into the blender. "First, spinach. Iron. Then kale. More iron. Then raw eggs. Protein." He cracked three eggs in. "Then a banana for potassium."
He reached for the can of tuna. "And that's why I use tuna for protein and flavor."
"Gross," Jordania whispered, wrinkling her nose.
"Little liquid chickens," Donovan said, looking at the eggs. "Yeah, that's my favorite. The drink of champions. You want to be a champion? You drink the sludge."
He hit the button. The blender roared to life, pulverizing the ingredients into a grey paste.
"That's enough," Donovan said, stopping it. He poured the mixture into two shaker cups. He slid one across the counter to Samantha.
"I'm gonna need you to drink up," Donovan commanded. "You'll be running the 40 in under 4.5 seconds in no time."
Samantha sniffed the cup. She recoiled. "That smells worse than school food."
"You know, speaking of school," Donovan said, leaning against the counter. "Why aren't you in it? It's late September. Shouldn't you be in school? Learning algebra? History?"
"We're on break," Samantha said quickly.
"In September?" Donovan raised an eyebrow. "No, you're not. School is supposed to have started already. Unless you go to school on the moon."
"And if you were on break," Donovan continued, pointing a finger. "I'm not on break. As a matter of fact, I'm on the opposite of break. I'm in training camp. So I'm gonna need you to come over here, put some hustle in it, and drink your breakfast."
Samantha sighed and picked up the cup, looking miserable.
Donovan turned to see Jordania near the blender. She was pressing buttons randomly.
"Jordan, stop messing around," Donovan warned.
"What?" she asked.
"Jordania!"
Jordania's finger slipped. She hit the 'Pulse' button. The lid wasn't on.
VROOOOM.
A geyser of grey tuna-spinach sludge erupted from the blender. It shot straight up into the air like a science fair volcano.
It splattered against the white marble backsplash. It hit the ceiling. It coated the cabinets. And a significant amount of it landed directly on Samantha's face and chest.
Chaos ensued. Jordania screamed. Samantha sputtered, wiping sludge from her eyes. Big Dog barked excitedly, trying to lick the drops falling on the floor.
"I can smell it on me!" Samantha shrieked, gagging. "It's in my nose!"
Donovan stood there, frozen. A glob of sludge landed on his cheek. He wiped it away slowly.
"Nice," Donovan said, his voice deadly calm. "That's real nice. That's interior decorating right there."
He grabbed a roll of paper towels and started cleaning up the disaster zone.
"You know what a playbook is?" Donovan asked as he wiped down the counter.
"No," Jordania said softly, looking guilty.
"It's a book with plays," Samantha muttered, still wiping her face.
"Exactly," Donovan said. He grabbed a piece of paper and a sharpie. He drew a diagram of the apartment.
"I'm drawing X's and O's across the paper," Donovan explained.
"Oh, I get it," Jordania brightened. "Kisses and hugs."
"Wrong!" Donovan snapped. "The X's mean 'stay out of these areas of the house.' The O's mean 'open access.' For example, you want to go to the kitchen? Straight drive. But now you got to the kitchen? Big X. No. Off limits. Stop and curl yourself back to the living room. Understand?"
"What about me?" Samantha asked.
"Yeah," Donovan nodded.
"Why is she allowed but I'm not?" Jordania pouted.
"You can't go there because you made a mess in the kitchen," Donovan explained. "You caused a turnover. Do you understand? No trick plays, got it?"
"Got it," Jordania whispered. "No trick plays."
"This is your game plan," Donovan said, taping the paper to the fridge. "Learn it. Live it. Love it. Today," Donovan announced, clapping his hands. "We're going to get you two in a school."
"That's so unfair," Samantha complained. "You didn't go to school."
"So?" Donovan shrugged.
"Why do I have to go to school if you didn't?" she argued. "You're rich."
"Because lucky for you, you actually have an adult trying to give you a better life," Donovan countered. "I had to grind and now you have a safety net."
"But if we're going back to mom eventually, why are we going to school here?" Samantha asked logically.
"No, the school comes to you," Donovan corrected. "You're getting a tutor. Homeschooling. It's flexible."
"I don't want a tutor," Samantha groaned. "I want to go to real school and meet people."
"Tough," Donovan said. "I can't enroll you without your mom's signature, and she's AWOL. So, tutor it is."
The next thirty minutes were a blur of efficiency.
Donovan called the cleaning service he used for "emergencies" (usually post-party cleanups), and a crew arrived within ten minutes to sanitize the kitchen.
He showered, scrubbing the scent of tuna from his skin.
The girls were washed and dressed in clean clothes—Samantha in a Knicks jersey Donovan had given her, Jordania in a new dress.
The doorbell rang.
Stella swept in, followed by a phalanx of women clutching binders and educational materials. There were six of them.
"I brought options," Stella announced.
Donovan stood in the foyer, arms crossed. "Let's see the lineup."
The tutors lined up. Most were older women—retired teachers with stern faces and sensible shoes. They looked like they would rap your knuckles with a ruler if you missed a decimal point.
Mrs. Gable looked like a librarian. Mrs. Higgins looked like she smelled of mothballs.
But at the end of the line stood a younger woman. She was blonde, with her hair cut in a familiar bob. She wore a smart blazer and a pencil skirt.
She wasn't Margot Robbie, but from a distance, if you squinted... she had the aesthetic.
Donovan's eyes locked onto her. It was a cheap imitation, a store-brand version of the real thing, but his brain latched onto the similarity like a lifeline.
"I want the one on the end," Donovan pointed.
"Don't you think you should ask some questions first?" Stella whispered, nudging him. "Qualifications? Experience? Criminal record?"
"I've got great instincts," Donovan dismissed her. "She looks... capable."
"Edna?" Stella asked, pointing to the oldest woman.
The old lady stepped forward, adjusting her glasses.
"No," Donovan corrected. "The other end."
"Blondie, you're up," Stella sighed.
The attractive woman stepped forward. She was practically vibrating with excitement. Her eyes were wide, scanning the luxury of the penthouse.
"Oh, no. No," Samantha groaned, burying her face in her hands.
"The King picked me!" the blonde squealed, clasping her hands together. "We are going to be just like sisters! I love kids! I love basketball!"
"Oh, my goodness," Stella muttered, rubbing her forehead.
"You start today," Donovan declared. "Teach them... whatever. Math. Science. House Etiquette. I'm out of here."