Minutes before shoot-around on Wednesday, Angel Reese walked onto the practice court at Wintrust Arena and found only half the customary welcome. NaLyssa Smith nodded from the free-throw line; Dana Evans offered a quick fist bump.

But several other teammates kept their eyes glued to phones or to the trainer’s table, and the cold air was thick enough to taste. What should have been another routine lead-up to a pivotal game instead underscored a locker room unraveling in real time—one in which the charismatic rookie, once hailed as Chicago’s savior, now stands at the center of a widening fault line.

The first cracks appeared weeks ago, when Reese’s highly publicized suspension for an elbow flagged as “unnecessary and excessive” forced the Sky to plug holes in the rotation and recalibrate offensive sets on the fly.

Publicly, teammates said all the right things: mistakes happen, we support Angel, next woman up. Privately, uneasiness festered. Some veterans resented the perception that the franchise bent rules for its marquee seller. Others grumbled that the rookie’s endorsements and social-media engagements sometimes bled into locker-room time.

When the team dropped three of four during her absence, frustration sharpened into blame. “You can’t lead us from the sideline while filming TikToks,” one starter vented to a beat reporter off the record.

Things deteriorated further when a national feature quoted unnamed Sky players comparing Reese unfavorably to Indiana’s Caitlin Clark.

The article claimed Reese focused more on “brand moments” than film study and suggested the roster felt “sold a bill of goods.” Although the quotes were anonymous, inside the team no one had trouble guessing possible sources.

Trust evaporated almost overnight. Instead of confronting grievances directly, whispers filled the gaps: Reese won’t pass out of double-teams, a vet is leaking to media, coaches have lost control.

Head coach Teresa Weatherspoon tried to squash gossip with a “clear the air” meeting, but the session devolved into finger-pointing over shot selection and defensive rotations. One witness described the atmosphere as a “family intervention gone sideways.”

On-court chemistry mirrored the discord. Chicago’s pace plummeted whenever Reese and the starting guards shared the floor, largely because possessions stalled waiting for post entries that never arrived cleanly.

Defensive coverages grew erratic, too: guards over-helped to compensate for Reese’s occasional late rotations, leaving perimeter shooters wide open.

Analytics paint an unflattering picture—lineups featuring Reese now post a defensive rating eight points worse than those with her on the bench over the last six games. The numbers fuel a vicious cycle: frustrated teammates freeze her out, her touches dip, she presses harder, and breakdowns multiply.

Complicating matters is the business dimension. Sponsors still view Reese as a critical gateway to younger demographics, and the franchise’s marketing arm continues to schedule brand obligations on game days—media shoots, community events, quick product spots—hoping to capitalize on viral potential.

Teammates contend that such commitments encroach on rest and prep windows, a charge her camp disputes by producing a log that shows every appearance cleared by team operations. Regardless of paperwork, optics hurt.

When a video of Reese discussing skincare tips posted thirty minutes after a home loss went viral, fans hammered the comments with accusations of misplaced priorities. That clip circulated in group texts among players, another wedge in a fragile unit.

Reese’s allies argue that her critics conflate visibility with vanity. They point to her league-leading offensive-rebound rate, her willingness to absorb contact that frees shooters, and her growing assist numbers since returning from suspension.

According to tracking data, she sets more screens per possession than any Sky big, often drawing mismatches that teammates fail to exploit.

They also note she is only months removed from a college system and adapting to pro coverages while under a magnifying glass few rookies face. But perspective rarely wins in a season measured by standings. The Sky have slipped to the last play-in slot, and patience shortens with every loss.

Coaching staff find themselves straddling lines between accountability and protection. Weatherspoon privately acknowledges Reese’s steep learning curve but insists long-term upside still justifies heavy minutes.

Yet she also knows veterans tune out if favoritism seems unchecked. During a recent film session, she froze a clip of Reese missing a low-man rotation and asked, “What should happen here?”

The room stayed silent until a bench forward finally answered. Reese nodded but said nothing; afterward she skipped her customary half-court shooting routine and left early, fueling social-media rumor that she’d stormed out. The team denied it, but the narrative stuck.

Front-office executives face a summer of delicate decisions. Reese’s rookie contract is guaranteed, but several veterans reach free agency, and chemistry calculus will influence who returns.

An assistant GM admits they underestimated the challenge of blending a hyper-marketable personality with a roster still searching for a clear pecking order. “It’s one thing to draft star power,” he said off record.

“It’s another to resource the leadership infrastructure needed to harness it.” Management is considering investing in a leadership coach, team-building retreats, even a revamped travel schedule that allows more downtime—small pivots that could yield cultural dividends if everyone buys in.

For now, games keep coming, and each carries outsized narrative weight. Every hard foul on Reese becomes a litmus test for league officiating; every missed rotation sparks debates about her IQ; every double-double reignites optimism then fizzles with the next road loss.

Meanwhile, the Clark comparison refuses to disappear. Clark’s Fever, after their own injury saga, have surged behind Aliyah Boston’s inside dominance and Clark’s stat-stuffing brilliance, making the dichotomy between hype and results appear starker. Unfair or not, Reese absorbs that contrast daily, in highlight montage gaps and sponsorship chatter.

Late Tuesday, after practice ended and most reporters packed up, Reese walked back onto the floor with assistant coach Christie Sides. They spoke quietly, then set up cones for footwork drills—two-step pivots, high-release hooks, catch-and-pitch outs.

For thirty minutes only shoe squeaks filled the arena. A janitor paused to watch, perhaps sensing the gravity of repetition as penance. There were no cameras, no teammates, no publicists. Just a rookie trying to silence a storm by mastering pivots, one slow spin at a time.

If the issue gripping Chicago is ever to ease, scenes like that will matter more than any anonymous quote or viral clip. Because in basketball, trust rebuilds the same way it erodes: possession by possession, detail by detail, far from the social-media glare that magnified everything in the first place.