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  Approaching Grizzly’s car window, another guy spits on the windshield. It freezes in a jagged streak and he wipes it with his sleeve. Steam leaks from his nostrils. “Sorry, man. How ’bout I scrape it for a dollar?”

  Grizzly rolls down his window. “How ’bout you leave it or I kick your ass?”

  The other men laugh. “Ooee. Fat-ass white boy talk!”

  The man with the coats smiles slyly. He leans near the window to check me out. “You Mitesha’s boyfriend? She been crossin’ the tracks?”

  I shrink backwards.

  “Oh, sorry, Sugar, you’s one of them boy-girls, ain’t you?” His hand travels to his crotch. He grabs himself, makes a lewd motion with his hips, and puckers his lips. “Old Amos ain’t fussy. I like dat candy, too!”

  Grizzly swings his door open, knocking the guy away from the car. The man staggers and trips over his own feet. The other men howl with laugher as Grizzly slams the door shut, guns the Sunbug, and drives me home in silence.

  I turn my face to the window and press my cheek to the glass so he can’t see me crying.

  In the driveway, he yanks on the parking brake and looks at me. “Alyx? I’m sorry about that back there.”

  Inside, I feel something snap and my fist slams against the seat in front of me. “Do I look like a guy?”

  Grizzly blinks.

  “Do I?” I pound the seat again.

  “When you’re different, you gotta have a thick skin.” He shakes his head, disappointed. “Wish I’d had a thicker one with those guys, myself.”

  “But do I look like a guy to you?” My voice comes out loud, forceful.

  “Well, it’s kind of like being fat,” Grizzly starts. “People notice you and some of them stay away because they’re afraid. They’re afraid it’ll rub off on them. With you, Alyx, it’s even harder. People sense something’s different, only they can’t figure out what. They don’t know, so they egg you on. Try to make you crack. It’s instinctive—a predator kind of thing. They’ve got to protect their species—it’s evolutionary, DNA hard-wired. In all of us.”

  “Uncle Joe, I’m not having this stupid conversation with you,” I yell. “Fat is not my species! And even if it was, I wouldn’t act all proud about it!”

  Grizzly shakes his head again and lets out a huge sigh. “When you’re older, you’ll figure out what I mean.”

  “I don’t want to figure out you’re fat fetish thing—”

  Reaching over, Grizzly grabs the arm of my coat, and I try to shake him loose, but he’s way too strong. “Listen, kid, I’ve been down this road, and whether you want it or not, I’m giving you some advice.”

  “You aren’t my frickin’ father!” I cover my ears but he yanks my hands down. His face is crimson.

  “You saw those guys hanging out at the Ridgeback. No amount of booze or drugs or sex or whatever your game is—even basketball—can take that kind of pain away. It only numbs you a while, until you’re too stoned or too tired to fight how much you hate yourself. It comes back at you, like a boomerang, over and over, until you learn to deal.”

  I squirm in my seat. He holds my wrists. The steam from our bodies begins to fog up the windows. He finally loosens his grip. I snap my arms free. Fuming. Not looking at him.

  “You’re right, Alyx. Maybe I’ve got a fat fetish, as you call it, but at least I know I’m different. You’re different, too. It’s the way it is. So you damn well better get used to it.”

  CHAPTER 34

  Winter Break

  Roslyn is in New York for Hanukkah, and the only person from school I’ll even consider talking with on the phone is MJ. She gives me a call one day during the break to try to convince me to come practice at the Y.

  “Alyx, what’re you trying to prove?” she asks.

  I’m avoiding the whole Y scene, lying on my bed, watching Q fish swim laps. I practically feel MJ’s finger jabbing me through the phone.

  “We need you, girl. You’ve gotta quit this pouting business, you hear me? You might think you can take your sweet-ass time. But I’m only gonna be a senior once—me, and a few of the others. And how about Coach? She’s been at this longer than we’ve been alive. So knock it off! You hear?”

  I loop the tangled black cord around my fingers.

  “Alyx, I know you’re there. I hear you breathin’. You don’t show up at the Y tomorrow, I’m gonna come over to that big old house of yours and drag you’re butt outta there.”

  “The Y’s closed tomorrow,” I say placidly.

  Tomorrow is Christmas day. I untangle myself from the cord and trace my finger up and down the tank. Q fish follows it.

  “Alyx, you think I like playing with Pepper Pitmani? I’ve been kissin’ that spoiled white girl’s you-know-what for four years, and I’ll tell you one thing: she’s not gonna change.” MJ pauses. “Trust me. I’m standing with you on this, and I’m not the only one. All of us have been playing with Pepper for four years. You don’t think we know her game?” Her voice gets louder, so I push the phone farther down on the bed. “Everyone’s been where you are now, only you’ve given her more of a run for her money than any of us ever could. So you’re wearin’ the bull’s-eye, but that doesn’t mean you can up and quit on us. We need you, and you’ve got to stop thinking about yourself and start thinking about the team!”

  The sound of Grandpa’s Christmas polka album floats in through the door, which is cracked open because of the phone cord.

  “You don’t do nothin’ but breathe into this phone. I’m hangin’ up.”

  Click.

  I pick up the receiver, put it back on the phone, and drag it with its twisted cord back into the living room. Mom, Grizzly, and Grandpa are stringing popcorn and cranberries as a garland for the tree. As I sit down, Mom reaches over, pulls me toward her, then kisses the top of my head.

  “Look at this fabulous mop.” She tousles my hair. “Help us, Alyx. I’ll get the other bowl.”

  Grizzly hands me the needle he just started. “Two berries work better than one,” he says gruffly, not looking up.

  We haven’t really spoken to each other since the big blowout in the car.

  Grandpa pushes two cranberries on his string. Then he looks up at me, his eyes magnified by his glasses. “You know, your Grandma Clara had hair like that. Wore it longish, too.”

  Waving his needle in the air, he calls to Mom, who’s headed for the kitchen with a spring in her step. At least this move’s been good for her.

  “Bring Alyx the fresh stuff—it’s easier to thread. This stuff keeps crumbling in my hands.” His head nods back and forth to the polka beat as he shoves the needle through a piece of popcorn and grins. “’Bout time you learn a few Kowalski traditions.”

  Grizzly’s dragged an enormous tree up the back steps. He chopped off the top two feet to get it to fit under the ceiling. It looks more like an overgrown bush once it’s placed in the room.

  Suddenly, my throat feels scratchy, and I sneeze.

  “Gesundheit,” Grandpa says, without losing his concentration. Grizzly says nothing. Mom calls from the kitchen, “I’ll turn the heat up.”

  I pick up a cranberry and squish it down on the needle, thinking that all I want for Christmas is to never have to go back to school. Any school. Ever.

  I want to tell Mom about what’s been going on, but I don’t want her to get all hyped up around the holidays. Besides, what’s left for us to do? Milwaukee was supposed to be our fresh start, my big cure. It was supposed to be easier for both of us here.

  Mom comes bouncing back in the room with a huge fresh bowl of popcorn. I fake a smile, set it in my lap, and start stringing along with Grandpa and Grizzly, fighting off the sense of hopelessness sneaking in around the edge of my consciousness.

  CHAPTER 35

  Unfriended

  I’ve already wrapped Mom’s present and put it under the tree, with a few small things that are piled up, mostly marked for me.

  Mom opens her gift first. It’s the ball Coach
gave me. I’d washed it with Dove soap in the bathroom sink, dried it with a bath towel, and written under my autograph, in indelible ink: To Mom, my biggest fan no matter which basket I shoot at!

  Breaking down in sobs, she hugs me and the ball. When she finally lets go, Grizzly grabs the ball and spins it on his finger until she grabs it back. “Just like the old days,” Grandpa complains to Grizzly. “Stop annoying your sister!”

  Grizzly giggles.

  My gifts include a scarf—in Cougar colors—from Grandpa. He made it himself from a ball of orange-and-black yarn I’d seen circulating around the house.

  “When you go to State, he wants you to stay warm in style.” Mom gets up and gives Grandpa a hug. I get up, too, thank him, and lean over to give him a hug. He’s surprisingly boney and small as my arms wrap around him and I realize it’s the first time since we arrived that I’ve actually touched him.

  Grizzly leans over, yanks the scarf from my neck, and wraps it around his own. “No fair. I want one, too, Pops!”

  Everyone laughs.

  Grandpa grabs hold of my hand, smiles, and squeezes it gently. “Don’t you let your uncle or anyone else pick on you—you hear?”

  I’m trying not to think about school and Pepper, but it’s next to impossible.

  My next gift is the size of a glove box. When I pick it up, Mom comes and kneels next to me. “This is from me and your uncle. We got a super deal. The other one goes with it. You can open that later.”

  Grizzly shrugs at Grandpa like he doesn’t know what’s inside.

  I peel away the paper to reveal a shiny new phone.

  “Wow, thanks,” is all I can say. Kowalski tradition usually means you can only give gifts that are homemade or cost less than thirty dollars. Mom and Grizzly definitely broke the rules. Grandpa looks confused.

  “It’s a smartphone, Pops,” Grizzly explains. “It slices and dices, and now she can do Facebook, emails, and stay connected to everybody and everything.”

  Grandpa shakes his head. “At least it’s not some damn meat-eating fish!”

  Then I peek inside the envelope. A phone plan, one year, prepaid. Not that I have anyone to call.

  When everyone starts singing Christmas carols, I thank them for the gifts and go up to my room. Q fish rushes to the side of the tank to greet me, her loyalty still intact. I sit down on my bed and toss the phone at my feet. Peter’s been trying to email me over the holiday, but I’ve been deleting each message without reading it. I don’t want to know what’s being said about me either online or via text.

  I look at Q fish. She blows bubbles from her tiny lips. “I. Don’t. Want. To. Know,” I tell her, and she seems to understand. With my foot, I shove the smartphone off the edge of my bed and it clunks onto the floor.

  CHAPTER 36

  Baby Jock of the Week

  My first day back, in homeroom, I open the Cudahy Courier to read:

  COUGAR GIRLS GO TO STATE!

  The Cudahy Lady Cougars will be a prime contender as they head to the State Tournament for the first time in twenty-three years. Senior point guard, Stephanie Wexler, is confident the Lady Cougars can bring home the Big Cup.

  Coach Carol Chance, with a 20–0 record under her belt, cautioned that anything can happen at tournament time. She says the critical thing for this team to remember is that every game is a new game. “If these girls can stick to fundamentals and play team ball, they have an excellent chance of locking up the State tournament.”

  She’s warned her Lady Cougars that over the years she’s witnessed countless underdogs upset the status quo.

  “In a way, we are the underdogs, coming back after twenty-three dry years. The pressure is on for us to finish out strong, but I believe my girls are up to the challenge.”

  Below the article, a highlighted box reads: ATHLETE OF THE WEEK. I stare at it and my stomach drops like I just stepped off the edge of the Grand Canyon.

  It’s about me.

  Freefalling, my head is all fuzzy and I’m trying to figure out what to do before I hit the ground. There’s a picture of five-year-old me with a boy buzz cut. Dylan’s standing next to me with his long-flowing hippie curls, wearing a tie-dyed T-shirt. I’m in Batman pajamas and a sequined blue cape. The caption reads: Cudahy High baby jock of the week, Alyx Kowalski, is on the right.

  Frantically, I look around the room. A school paper sits on every desk. Bryce Swenson steps through the door, slides into his seat, and puts his head down on the desktop, not bothering to look at the paper.

  It’s only a matter of time. Collect them. Burn them!

  My mind races in circles. The article’s author is listed as “staff.” I can’t stop myself from looking at it. The article sums up my season, stating I’m only a sophomore, but a leading scorer. It quotes Coach:

  “Alyx has one of the best turn-around jump shots at the Regional level. She’s become a quiet leader in the Lady Cougars’ forward line up.”

  Known by friends to be shy by nature, Alyx declined a personal interview. We can tell you that Alyx was born in California, grew up in Berkeley, and later moved to Bakersfield. According to the Walnut Grove Middle School yearbook, Alyx played in the Walnut Grove Valley League, aspiring to someday play in the NBA and outscore Laker legend Kobe Bryant. Lucky for the Lady Cougars, Alyx is following fast in his footsteps. We look forward to seeing more of Alyx Kowalski as the Lady Cougars head to State.

  Not that bad. My heart’s thumping like someone’s taken a sledgehammer to my chest. Breathe, Alyx. Kids file in around me, sitting down in their seats. The old panic is pushing into my brain and my feet are itching to run.

  A girl named Tracy Allen points at the picture and smiles at me. I shoot her back a lame smile and then put my head down on the desk. I want to cry, hide, and scream all at the same time.

  How did Pepper get that picture? No pronouns, except Coach’s quote. Does she know now? She has to. I should have just given her the stupid interview!

  Roslyn’s waiting for me outside homeroom. I fly past her to my locker.

  She races after me. “Alyx! Man alive! What’s up? Like, hello, I haven’t seen you in weeks. Aren’t you going to talk to me?”

  I look straight ahead, the pounding of my heart hurdling me forward.

  “Okay, then, I’ll talk to you.” She trails after me. “Holiday break back in New York was a total bust. My cousin—”

  I’m shoving books into my backpack.

  “Hey, what’s the matter?”

  I slap the school paper into her hand, and she glances at it.

  “I already saw it.” She looks down at the paper and then back up at me. “What’s the big deal? Pepper just wants to go to State. MJ and Stephanie talked to her. She’s not going to mess with you anymore.”

  I slam my locker shut. “You don’t know the half of it, Roslyn!” I snap my finger against the picture. “Where’d she get this?”

  Roslyn throws up her hands, “Jeez, how would I know?” She looks more closely and points at five-year-old me. “How adorable. Is that your brother?”

  My eyes fill with angry tears.

  “I don’t get why you’re so upset. Who cares, anyway?”

  “I do!” Shoving my arms into my jacket, I fling my backpack over my shoulder.

  “Okay, okay, don’t spazz out about it. Hey, where’re you going?”

  Roslyn’s voice trails after me down the hall. She sounds desperate, “If we get detention, Coach’ll kill us. Alyx!”

  As if on cue, Mr. Wexler turns the corner and Roslyn shoves me into the girls bathroom, where I bury my face in my hands, sobbing. She tries to puts her arms around me, but I push her away.

  The door opens and Mr. Wexler pops his head in. He glances up and down the hall and then furrows his eyebrows. Seeing that I’m crying, he looks concerned.

  “She’s a little upset, Mr. Wexler,” Roslyn states the obvious.

  “Well,” he clears his throat, “please get to class.” He stands aside as Roslyn grabs my arm and
we brush past him.

  “Roslyn,” I beg when we’re out of Wexler’s sight, “don’t be mad at—”

  She grabs my arms. “OMG! Alyx, we just lucked out like mega-big time.” She pushes me in the direction of Mr. Anderson’s class. “See you at practice!”

  CHAPTER 37

  Nowhere to Run

  After school, I grab my gym bag and head for the locker room. Only two kids even mentioned the article today. I’m starting to feel better until I see MJ and Stephanie standing outside the locker room.

  “You best know, girl,” MJ points, looking a little worried. “There’s a party goin’ on in there, and I think it’s for you.”

  “My dad’s in there with Roslyn and Coach,” Stephanie speaks softly. She looks scared and there’s a warning tone to her voice. “Your mom and your uncle are there, too. Coach told us to send you in.”

  I am frozen in place.

  MJ’s shaking her head. “Why does this team always land a girl who can’t keep her butt outta trouble?”

  Gently, Stephanie takes my arm and tries to lead me toward the door. “Better see what’s up.”

  But I whirl around and start walking the other way. Breaking into a sprint, I propel myself through the front doors into the freezing air, where a line of idling school buses snakes around the corner. I dodge through clouds of white exhaust and jump onto bus seventy-eight, tumbling into the back seat where I duck down low. None of the other kids look at me, and I sink into the seat, shivering.

  Then I hear Stephanie shout, “She’s on one of ’em.”

  I close my eyes.

  “Alyx?”

  It’s Grizzly. A kid in front turns in terror and points at me.

  The bus sways back and forth as he lumbers down the narrow aisle toward me, wearing his orange parka and looking like a grounded Goodyear blimp.

  I squeeze my eyes, tight.

  God, no!

  Then I hear his strained breathing beside me. “We’re goin’ in to find out what this is about.”

  It’s too late to fight back. I open my eyes and stand up, resigned to my fate. No one laughs as we get off—no one makes a peep—and I follow him back to the locker room.