HARMONI TURNER STORMS onto the Harvard practice court, driving her knees to her chest. She smiles brightly. Her braided blonde hair, piled in a loose bun, bobs as she runs.
It's a cold February day in Cambridge, Massachusetts, and the coaches begin practice with a shooting drill. For the next 17 minutes, Turner makes shot after shot, from spot after spot. When the drill ends, her teammates continue to take aim. Not Turner.
She stands among them, raises her arms in front of her and wags her hips side to side. There's no song playing on the speakers, but that doesn't stop Turner. She sticks her tongue out and locks eyes with each of her teammates, moving her body to her secret rhythm.
Junior guard Gabby Anderson bursts into laughter before joining along. Soon, the entire team is shaking their hips and nodding their heads. Head coach Carrie Moore claps to get their attention, a smile across her lips. She looks to her assistant coaches, and they're all smiling too.
They know.
During the next drill, Turner punches her fists in the air when her teammates make a good pass. She yells, "Come on," in their faces when they make a shot. During another break, Turner takes off down the court and screams, "I'm fast as f---, boi," mimicking a viral meme. Anderson holds her belly as laughter erupts. An hour and a half into practice, Turner walks over to the coaches and asks whether she can eat some of the pretzels sitting in a bag. "I'm so hungry," she says, giggling. She pops a few pretzels into her mouth. Chewing, she walks back to the court.
At the end, when Abigail Wright is declared the winner of practice, Turner hugs her teammate. Then she walks up to assistant coach Steve Harney and tells him she should have been the winner. "I had the best practice," she says, a twinkle in her eyes. Harney shakes his head.
"That," another coach says, "is Harmoni for you."
HAVE YOU SEEN the highlights? One game, Turner fell like a timbering tree, delivered a one-handed bounce pass between the legs of two converging defenders and hit a cutting teammate in stride for an easy bucket. Another game, she thundered toward the hoop and then hopped back for a wide-open 3-pointer. Another, she dribbled nonchalantly in a semicircle around the arc, turned on the jets and darted around opponents on her way to a left-handed layup, two of her 44 points that night.
Did you notice her joy? Once, after Turner dropped 41 points against Boston College, a TV reporter asked when she knew she was in a groove. "When I woke up," she said, staring at the camera. Another game, one of her teammates left a high-five-seeking Turner hanging. Totally not embarrassed, she slapped her own outstretched hand. Even on the biggest stage of her career, with her team down five at the half in the first round of the NCAA tournament, Turner ran out of the locker room, waved at the crowd and said, "Let's have fun!"
Nobody crashed the women's basketball scene quite like Turner did in March. She ranked among the national leaders in points per game (22.5) and steals per game (2.8) during the 2024-25 season. She was named MVP of the Ivy League tournament after leading the Crimson to their first tournament championship in program history. She was an AP All-American honorable mention. She was named the Becky Hammon Mid-Major Player of the Year (she posted a photo of herself holding a sign that read "nerds can hoop too"). And now, on Monday, she's hoping to become the fourth player from Harvard to be drafted into the WNBA.
But at a moment when her future is unfolding, there's still so much from her past that remains unsettled, a void that she's still trying to fill, a sadness that she's still trying to hide. She sees the basketball court as her stage. Making people smile is her shield. Making them laugh is her escape. They are acts of self-preservation.
"I don't want pity from people," she says. "I don't want people to always think that something's wrong with me. ... I was afraid that people could see me, like, for who I really am."
ROCKY TURNER CALLS his daughter "Pocket." He remembers that when Harmoni was a tiny child, her eyes always followed him across a room. When she got old enough to walk, she put her hand in his pocket and followed him everywhere he went.
"She never wanted me to leave her side," he says.
Harmoni's parents separated when she was 2 and divorced when she was 4. Her early childhood is a swirl of painful memories. Her parents told her when she was young that she had a twin brother who died before birth. Harmoni felt lonely sometimes. Scared sometimes. Sad sometimes. Visits with mom were loud and chaotic. She remembers everyone around her telling her she was weird. She had a hard time making friends. Other things that happened, she still can't talk about.
Harmoni recalls many happy moments, too. Her dad got primary custody of her and her older sister, Lyric. They lived in Mansfield, Texas. Sometimes he'd take them to work with him. Rocky was a disc jockey at a radio station. She'd sit by his side, mesmerized as she watched him talk to the world. Sometimes she would fall asleep on the floor. When his show was over, they'd go to McDonald's and order Happy Meals.
"He just made everything so much fun," Harmoni says.
Her dad introduced Harmoni to a new "friend" around that time. Harmoni called her "Miss Krystal," and asked if she could wear her lip gloss. They went to the mall and posed for photos together. Harmoni still felt sad and lonely and scared sometimes but she kept that to herself.
When Harmoni was 5, she would stand on the sidelines and watch Lyric play basketball. Harmoni wanted more than anything to join Lyric and the other older girls. She bugged coach Walsh Jordan to let her play. She was too young, he said, and told her to go stand off to the side. Jordan peeped at her a few minutes later, and he saw her mimicking the girls' moves.
When Harmoni turned 6, he pulled her in and said, "It's time."
Harmoni remembers being the fastest player on that court. The most athletic, too. She didn't know the fundamentals, didn't know the rules and didn't know how to shoot. But she loved it.
"She had this big, huge, piercing, bubbly personality," Rocky says. "The court was her playground."
Rocky and Krystal married in 2008, and soon Krystal got drawn into Harmoni's basketball obsession. Harmoni used to beg Krystal to play with her in the driveway.
"So I tell everybody she learned everything from me," Krystal says. "I don't care what her dad says."
Jordan remembers Harmoni's determination as much as the joy.
"Let's say the boy made a move and beat her, Harmoni is not going to quit -- she's going to run back down and try to chase the boy down," Jordan says.
When she got to sixth grade, she was recruited to play for DFW Elite, a prestigious basketball organization in the Dallas area. Rocky attended practices and watched from the sidelines as Harmoni's personality bloomed. Coaches and teammates, he noticed, thrived off her energy.
"She was a bubbly, energetic kid," says DFW Elite coach Corey Hegwood. "Just loved the game of basketball, loved to train, loved to play, loved to compete."
Harmoni made the varsity team at Mansfield Legacy High School as a freshman. Her ESPN recruiting profile from 2016 to 2019 spotlights her quickness and athleticism. The word "flair" is used five times.
"Basketball is my safe space," Harmoni says. "I enjoy playing and with that enjoyment comes a lot of expression, of joy, of energy."
Coach Michelle Morris remembers one day when Harmoni walked into practice looking somber. That wasn't the norm, so she pulled her aside and asked her what the matter was. She'd gotten an 85 on a test. That wasn't good enough, she told Morris. She needed to do better.
To this day, that attitude stands out to Morris more than anything else about Harmoni. She scored double-digit points in most of her high school games. When she was congratulated, the response was always the same.
"Thanks, but I can do better."
HARMONI TURNER FLIES through the air and raises the ball with her right hand. It's July 2019, and she is in Chicago playing in the Nike Nationals.
She releases a sweet floater that slides through the basket. But, as gravity begins to bring her back to the court, she notices she has nowhere to land. The opponent guarding the paint is right underneath her. Turner's left foot lands on the player's foot.
She feels something in her knee immediately. Adrenaline carries her for a few minutes. Then the agony sets it. She hobbles off the court.
The diagnosis: A torn ACL. She would miss her senior season.
"I don't wish that pain on anybody," she says.
Her sadness was deep and layered. Gone was her stage, the place where being weird and loud and silly was celebrated. It meant she couldn't crack jokes and spark smiles and spread laughter among her teammates. She could barely even walk. She sat in her bed, alone with her memories, alone with her thoughts.
She stopped eating. She says she lost 20 pounds in a few weeks. She felt like Rocky and Krystal weren't giving her the attention and support she needed. Krystal noticed the spiral, and her frustration grew. Sometimes their disagreements turned into arguments. Harmoni felt alone. She thought of her twin brother.
"I would be lying if I said a piece of me wasn't missing still to this day," she says.
She started cutting her forearms. She wore wristbands to cover the wounds.
"It helped me ... feel something," she says.
Mostly she just felt numb and listless. Her senior year was starting, and she struggled to place herself in the future. She was one of the top recruits in the country, and she always assumed she'd go to a major program like Baylor or Texas. She was considering Kentucky and Oregon, too. Texas Tech was her favorite.
Rocky fixated on the unopened letters from Harvard. The Ivy League school wasn't even on Harmoni's radar. Rocky sat down with her. "Trust me," he told her. An Ivy League education will set you up for life, he said. "And, knowing you, you will be the best basketball player on that team." Harmoni trusted her dad. She only applied to Harvard.
She took AP classes. She began studying for the SATs. Her dad hired a tutor and she spent hours at the library. She took the SAT six times. There was a 400-point difference between her final score and her first score.
The relief didn't last. Alone in her room, she continued to cut herself. Never deep enough to need medical attention, but just enough to feel something in her stir.
Toward the end of the school year, Krystal walked into Harmoni's room and noticed her wristbands and asked Harmoni what she was hiding. Words came tumbling out. She couldn't explain the sadness, but it was all-consuming, she told Krystal. Without basketball, everything felt dire. Krystal held Harmoni and they cried together. Krystal apologized to her for not being more present, for not being there in a way Harmoni needed. Rocky, who was away on a trip, flew back to spend time with Harmoni. Krystal threw away every sharp object in the house.
Harmoni decided to take a gap year. In the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic, she didn't see much sense in going to Harvard only to sit in her dorm room alone. She stayed with Rocky and Krystal, and they focused on Harmoni's health.
"It helped me ... build her up to get ready to be on her own," Krystal says. "Like, 'It's time -- you're going to have to be on your own. You're getting therapy. We're getting you everything you need so you can make it out there as much as possible.' But I also told her, 'I'm always going to be around.'"
Harmoni still had urges to cut herself. She would confide in Krystal instead. Every day, they talked.
Around that time, an idea occurred to Harmoni. Krystal had been her mom in every way imaginable. Harmoni organized paperwork. On Mother's Day morning, she took it to Krystal.
"Mom, I want to read a poem to you," Harmoni began.
Krystal, taken aback, stared at Harmoni.
"A lost little girl," Harmoni began.
For the next 10 minutes, through tears, Harmoni read her poem. She described the void she felt during her childhood. How Krystal entered her life and showed her the meaning of unconditional love. How Krystal's presence since she was 4 uplifted her through her dark times.
"I'm no longer lost because you're here," she finished.
Tears streamed down Krystal's face.
"Will you be my mom?" Harmoni asked Krystal.
Krystal nodded, enveloping Harmoni in a long hug. They signed the adoption paperwork and dropped it off at the clerk's office.
HARVARD HEAD COACH Carrie Moore stands on the sideline, her jaw agape. She had already seen the "dawg mentality" that made her sophomore guard lethal on the court. But on this March 2023 day, as Harvard played Towson in the first round of the WNIT postseason tournament, Moore is convinced Turner is a generational talent.
Turner is making shots -- and making them look effortless -- in a way that boggles Moore's mind. The step-back 3-pointers. The fake screen and cut, the fadeaways.
That day, Turner makes history, becoming the second Harvard player -- and the sixth Ivy League player -- to record a triple-double (21 points, 10 rebounds, 13 assists) in Harvard's 103-63 win.
Things didn't magically get better when Turner arrived at Harvard. The weather sucked, the socializing was hard and the academics were ... Harvard.
The bright side was that she was back on the basketball court. Back being the full Harmoni Turner.
"Basketball is everything to her," says Kayla Mathieu, who was Harvard's team manager and is one of Turner's closest friends. "Basketball was the biggest thing in her life, her biggest commitment, her biggest driver. She was here to be a great basketball player."
Before her sophomore season, Moore took over as head coach. She spent time talking to Turner and learned about her childhood, her passion and her motivation. Moore urged her to find joy outside of basketball.
Turner loved dressing up for parties, and she loved trying new food. She began networking with her classmates. Every week, she and Anderson tried a new cuisine. Fufu -- a West African dish made with mashed cassava and served with a stew -- became their favorite.
"She's a very unserious human," Moore says with a laugh. "She likes to connect with those around her, she likes to have a good time. People can really get behind her."
Turner finished her sophomore season averaging 16.3 points, 4.5 assists and 6.2 rebounds.
She started going to therapy on Krystal's encouragement. There, she opened up about her childhood, about her sadness. The last time Turner saw her biological mom was when she was in fourth grade. She hasn't spoken to her in 12 years. Turner found a passion for her classes in her African American studies major. She brought what she learned into the world. Mathieu says Turner regularly intervened when she saw microaggressions, like line skipping in the dining hall, against fellow students of color. "Check your privilege," Turner told them.
Turner wanted to do more.
I would love to help young girls with self-esteem and confidence issues.
She turned to Krystal. Turner and her adopted mom launched Pretty N' Secure, a program for the RockTeen Youth Foundation -- her father's nonprofit -- in July 2023. Young girls in the Dallas area applied to the program. It started off with half a dozen girls. Then the group ballooned to a dozen. During school breaks and holidays, Harmoni organized meetings and events.
She stood in front of them and shared parts of her own story. Then, she listened as the girls shared theirs. She organized field trips, to HBCU week, to the American Airlines Center. And she invited local speakers, some of whom did not hold college degrees, to talk to the girls. She did not want kids to think that going to an Ivy League school was the only option.
She began to feel less lonely in her experiences.
"They think nothing really bothers me, like I'm superwoman or something," Turner says. "But I make it known when I'm trying to lift up others, like, 'Hey, I am going through s--- too, but we can all get through this together. We're not going to let life beat us at living."
TURNER SITS IN Moore's office at the end of her junior season, in March 2024, her eyes downcast. Moore, who has an open-door policy, specifically requested a one-on-one with Turner.
It had been a rough season. Turner tweaked her knee after a hard fall against Michigan in December 2023. She had minor surgery and missed five games.
Mathieu brought Turner food from the dining hall, and she could tell Turner's sadness about not being able to play basketball seeped into other facets of her life.
"I don't want to do anything because I can't play," she said to Mathieu.
Candy was her comfort food and Mathieu saw her eat piles of it during those weeks.
The injury triggered memories of her ACL tear. What if basketball is taken from me? What if I can't find joy anymore? Her next thought: She had to. For her twin brother. "That's why I wanted to keep going, because he didn't have the opportunity," she says.
She made up for missed classes with online assignments. When she returned to the court in early January, in a game against Yale, she scored her team's first 10 points. Still, she didn't fully trust her knee. She felt tentative. She didn't know how to be the leader Moore needed her to be when she couldn't even play her best basketball. They lost to Columbia in the first round of the Ivy League tournament.
Now, she sits in Moore's office with solutions and promises for her senior season:
I will be more impactful. We will win the Ivy League championship. We will make it to the NCAA tournament.
Moore decides to become her position coach for the season. Turner will go directly to Moore for advice, feedback and for energy. They shake on it.
That conversation set the tone. Turner had 24 points in an overtime win over Indiana in Harvard's second game this past season. She scored 41 points against Boston College later in November.
Three days later, she scored 38 points against Maine. She established herself as one of the nation's most prolific scorers and defenders.
In the semifinals of the Ivy League tournament in Providence, Rhode Island, Turner stood at the free throw line, her eyes fixed on the basket, her jaws moving rhythmically as she chewed her mint-flavored gum. Harvard trailed Princeton by 11 points midway through the third quarter.
"Overrated," a Princeton fan yelled from the stands at Turner. Her face was inscrutable.
"Overrated," he yelled again.
Krystal, who was gripping her palms together, looked at Rocky. "Do you want me to say something?" Rocky knew. "No, we want her to get mad."
Turner made the free throw to complete an and-1. She didn't stop there. She hit a jumper in the lane. She blew by a defender for a layup. Then a 3-pointer, a shot so smooth the crowd stopped chanting to watch the ball go in. Harvard trailed 54-53 heading into the fourth quarter.
She wasn't finished. Another 3-pointer. A layup. A jumper. She finished the game with 44 points. She assisted on the final bucket that gave Harvard a 70-67 win and a spot in the Ivy League championship game.
After a few minutes of celebration with her teammates, she walked over to hug her dad and Krystal. "The work is not done yet," she told them. "We have to win the championship."
In the postgame news conference, a reporter asked Turner about the heckling fan. She heard him, all right.
"I feel like people need to understand that the more you taunt at me, the more it gets me going," Turner said. "So I know the work that I put in. I'm not going to be fearful or be scared about somebody heckling at me that can't pick up a ball. ... I told him to keep it coming. Keep it coming, because the game's not over."
The next day, she led Harvard past Columbia for its first Ivy League tournament title and a trip to the NCAA tournament, Harvard's first in 18 years. As the clock wound down, she ran to Moore and the two squatted and held each other on the ground as tears streamed from their eyes. Victorious coach and tournament MVP.
HARMONI TURNER WALKS into the campus center at Harvard on a cold February day, her blonde hair pulled into buns on each side of her head. She plonks her matcha drink (with extra caramel swirls) onto the table. "It's more a milkshake than a caffeinated beverage at this point," she says. She takes off her winter jacket, gloves and hat.
She apologizes for running late. She bumped into the dean after her morning meeting with a professor and needed to talk to him about getting her final assignments in order for graduation on May 29. She can't wait for the ceremony.
The other big date circled on her calendar is April 14, the 2025 WNBA draft.
"I can't wait to show people who I really am," she says. "I don't think I've played my best basketball yet."
Turner is even allowing herself to look beyond the basketball court. She wants to fight for gender equity in sports. She wants to pursue sports law. Maybe even go to law school. She wants to keep inspiring young girls through Pretty N' Secure.
"As athletes, we are advocating for something much bigger than us," she says.
Back at the student center, she sips her "milkshake." I ask her whether she's happy. She pauses to think. A small smile appears on her face.
"I'm happier today," she says. "Not happy ... but happier."
TEARS STREAM FROM Harmoni Turner's eyes. After a quick huddle with her teammates, she runs -- ahead of everyone else -- into the locker room. In the stands, Krystal wipes away her own tears while Rocky holds her hand.
In her final college game, Turner has 24 points, 6 rebounds and 4 assists in Harvard's first-round NCAA tournament loss against Michigan State. In the locker room, she cries. She hugs her teammates. She has learned to be vulnerable in front of them. Even amid the disappointment of her loss, she realizes that's an important step.
Turner takes Elena Rodriguez's hand and they walk out of the locker room, down a long hallway, toward a room in the far corner of the arena, for their final news conference as Harvard basketball players. They take their seats next to Moore. Rodriguez squeezes Turner's hand.
Reporters ask Turner about Moore's impact on her. She starts to explain how grateful she is for her coach. "I'm just going to stop there because I'm going to start boo-hooing," she says. Then she elaborates on her relationship with Moore anyway.
I ask Turner what she felt in the locker room.
She pauses to think, places her elbows on the table, palms on her cheek.
"My story is -- man -- one for the books," she says.
A smile appears on her face even as she wipes away more tears.
"These are tears of joy."