Jordan has known since elementary school that she wanted to be the female version of Michael Jordan and has been pushing toward her dream ever since. I wonder if it has to do with her name.

I’ve been reading about this theory called normative determinism, which basically says that people’s names can influence what they want to do with their lives. If Jordan is any indication, it’s definitely true. Either way, I’m happy for her, I really am. But sometimes I get jealous that she has a dream and I don’t.

“Okay, let’s get back to work!” Coach shouts.

And back to the magazine. Here’s what the article’s telling me to do in order to get a clear look at my life’s direction: write the numbers one to ten and beside them, list things that have happened the corresponding number of times this week.

Can’t be trivial things, like how many Jelly Belly Buttered Popcorn candies I ate or how many times I’ve spotted Sabina Karlsson (this black model with red hair and freckles like me) in a magazine. Although I have been seeing her everywhere lately. They have to be things with meaning. Things with weight (with the way my life has been going, I should have no problem there).

And after I make the list, signs are supposed to start popping up with more frequency. Signs. Yeah, only the things I’ve been following since the fifth grade when one saved my life.

It was a Sunday. Daddy was getting ready to visit his parents’ grave. I wanted to go, but he always insisted on going alone. So I went outside to practice my ball-handling skills in the driveway, hoping that when Daddy came out to get in his car, he’d be so pleased that he’d take me with him.

The basketball rolled into the street, and I ran after it without looking. Then a giant swallowtail, the largest butterfly in North America, swooped in. I’d cut one out of the Houston Chronicle after reading about its six-inch wingspan the day before. Tacked the photo up on my wall.

And there it was, in all its majesty, flying right in front of my face. I stopped suddenly, and a car whizzed by me so close that it felt like death giving me a cold hug.

And now, when the world is coming at me faster than ever—and I have to decide which parent to live with and how to tell my team I want to quit basketball and what to do with my life—I’m supposed to up and stop looking for signs just because Cole made me feel stupid? Exactly. So here goes: