Double Exposure Page 16

  I nod weakly.

  She checks my temperature. “Do you want me to call Coach back for you?”

  I nod.

  “Your friend Peter’s waiting on the porch. Do you want me to bring him up?”

  I must look surprised, because Mom adds, “He knows you’re not feeling well. Says he’ll only stay for a few minutes. It seems kind of urgent.”

  Pulling Grandma’s quilt up around my neck, I shrug, too shocked to deny his request. I’m preparing myself not to believe a word he says. Did he know Pepper was trying to trap me all along? Was he in on it, too?

  “Alyx?” Peter steps into my bedroom. There’s no camera around his neck, and he’s holding a card in his hand. I hear Mom’s footsteps retreat down the hallway.

  He nods at the desk chair. “Can I sit?”

  I stare at him and narrow my eyes suspiciously.

  He stays standing, turning the card over in his hands.

  “Listen, Alyx. I came to tell you I’m sorry about the Truth or Dare game. What Pepper did was really mean.” With one hand, he runs his fingers through his hair.

  My body shivers under the quilt.

  “I told my dad what happened that night. I mean, everything. The party. The booze.” Peter swallows a huge breath. “When he got home, Pepper tried to deny it and she expected me to cover for her as usual, but I’d already told him so she broke down and confessed.” He crosses the room and lays the card on the end of the bed. “It’s from her. She’s barricaded herself in her room. She’s not talking to me, but Dad asked me to bring this over.”

  I open the envelope. The card inside has a butterfly on the cover.

  Dear Alyx,

  I’m sorry for what I did.

  Good luck at State.

  Pepper

  I look up at Peter.

  “You know how she is.” He shrugs. “She was supposed to go talk to Coach, tell her what happened, and offer to do restitution so she can play at State. Instead, she quit the team. Now Dad’s pissed, too. He says she threw away her shot at a scholarship, and she thinks it’s everyone else’s fault.”

  I lay the card back down on the bed. Then I look at him.

  “I’m sorr—” His voice fades away. He shoves his hands in his coat pockets, turns toward the door, pauses, and leaves without saying goodbye.

  CHAPTER 41

  Coach Calls

  “Alyx?” Mom suddenly appears, handing me the phone. “It’s Coach.”

  “Yeah?” I sound like a droid.

  Coach is all business. “Alyx, don’t talk, listen. I spoke with Bender. Even though your doctor from California faxed the records, he’s not backing down on the verification with a local physical. I want you to know I see this for what it is—utter nonsense and unacceptable discrimination. Your doctor has sent them everything they need. He even personally called, but Mr. Bender hasn’t acquiesced yet.” She’s quiet for a moment. “This might come down to the wire. Either way, the team has reached consensus on this. We all support you. Unless everyone has the opportunity to play, none of us play, but I need to know if you think you’ll be ready to play by Friday?”

  “Pepper quit?” I cough.

  Coach is quiet on the other end. I imagine her fiddling with her silver whistle. “Her father turned in her uniform yesterday.”

  I swallow hard. A wet sound rumbles into the phone. “Maybe,” I whisper.

  Not exactly an answer, but Coach says, “Good, rest up. I’ll call tomorrow.”

  I hand the phone back to Mom. “Pepper quit.”

  I should feel like celebrating, but for some reason all I feel is pissed off.

  Mom sets the phone on the tray with two cups half full of cold echinacea tea. Her forehead furrows. “Quit?”

  I nod, staring at the butterfly card lying on the quilt.

  Mom picks up the tray, balancing it against her hip with one arm. “She was behind all this, wasn’t she?”

  I shrug, then stare at the ugly bottom feeder fish that is using its mouth to crawl up the side of the tank. Q fish is doing laps, avoiding its tentacles.

  Mom presses her lips together. “Alyx, it’s better to talk about this stuff.” She sits at the end of my bed, shifting the tray on her knees. “It seems to me that Pepper wanted to go to State more than any girl on that team, so why would she quit now?”

  I can’t answer that. I look out the window toward the park. The snow has been cleared away under the basket closest to Pepper’s house. But she’s not out there. Except for one light upstairs, the rest of her house is dark.

  “How about you?” Mom puts her hand on mine.

  “Coach says it’s either all of us or none of us.”

  Mom pats my hand, smiles, and stands up. “Good!” She heads for the door and with her free hand knocks a pair of dirty socks off the desktop. “Now, rest and get better.”

  By noon, Mom’s left for work and my fever’s broken and, even though he’s been told not to, Grandpa sneaks in to check on me.

  I lie in bed all afternoon, listening to the answering machine go click-buzz, click-buzz, click-buzz. Mom turned its voice recorder off. I run through our plays and wonder how they’ll work without Pepper. Most of the points I’ve made all season came from working the boards. With Pepper gone, will Shana pass me the ball? Or refuse, like always?

  At three in the afternoon, Mom pops her head in the door. “There’s a bunch of messages on the machine.”

  I don’t want to hear them.

  “Your first game is scheduled for six on Friday. Against West. Let’s just count on Mr. Bender coming around. Do you think you can do it?” I feel my braces rubbing against the inside of my cheeks as I unconsciously clench my jaw, hesitate, and finally nod. I hear her making hotel reservations in Madison.

  CHAPTER 42

  Pit Stop

  Friday morning rolls around quickly. Coach calls and says Bender isn’t budging. It’s possible we’ll get all the way to Madison and not get to play, but we’re going anyway.

  Mom disappears down the stairs to the basement and returns shortly after. She pulls a cup and saucer from the cabinet and pours steaming black coffee from the pot. Her bare feet squeak against the linoleum floor.

  “Your grandpa’s under the weather.”

  I scrape up the remainder of my oatmeal. “Is he sick?”

  “I think he’s got what you had. He probably won’t make it to the game today, Honey. But he wants to talk to you before you leave.”

  “Okay.” I swallow the last bite of oatmeal, feeling incredibly guilty that I’ve gotten him sick.

  Mom sits across from me and takes a long sip from her cup. I stare out the window as she studies my face.

  Soon, Grizzly pants up the steps. Mom motions that we should follow him back down. Grandpa’s propped up on the bed with his hooked-rug pillows. He squints at me, his glasses resting on the bedside table.

  Past the window, exhaust billows from the bus that Grizzly’s warming up.

  “Heard you gotta go up against our crosstown rivals right outta the box.”

  I nod.

  “Damn good team. Heard they were outplaying the Bulldogs by the end of the season. So, you take that first game and you’ll clinch the whole tourney. Whaddaya think?”

  “Maybe so,” I respond.

  His eyes look smaller, cloudier, without his glasses on. When he reaches out his hand, it’s shaking. I step closer and take his hand in mine.

  “You stick close to your uncle, you hear? That’s what we Kowalskis do when times get tough. You can’t do this alone, kid. No one expects you to.”

  My eyes start to water.

  Grizzly pulls up his sleeve and flexes his muscle. His bicep bulges. “Don’t nobody mess with Joey Kowalski and live to tell about it!”

  Mom laughs. I smile. Grizzly presses his arms together in an Arnold Schwarzenegger pose. Grandpa squeezes my hand weakly and then releases it.

  “Go on,” he motions us to the door. “I’ll be fine.”

  When w
e pull up to Cudahy High, the entire team, minus Pepper, streams out the front door with their bags and shoes dangling from their shoulders. MJ leaps on the bus first, catches sight of me, and yells, “She’s here!” Then she dashes down the aisle and slides in next to me, throwing her arms around me. “I told ’em you’d come.”

  I stiffen, even though it feels good to be back with the team. Mary and Martha are next on the bus.

  “Alyx! Thank God!” They give me high fives as they file past. Roslyn’s face lights up when she walks down the aisle. She takes the seat directly behind MJ and me and gives me a pat on the back.

  I see Coach standing outside the bus talking with Grizzly. Her face looks serious. Holding a phone, she steps away from the bus. Grizzly uses his body to block the wind for her. When she’s finished, they climb on and she holds up a hand.

  Someone pops a gum bubble behind me.

  “Okay, ladies. This is what we’ve worked for.” She looks directly at me. “Alyx, we’re glad you’re here.”

  “Hallelujah,” MJ whispers, elbowing me. A murmur moves through the bus. Roslyn pats my shoulder again. I cough to keep from tearing up.

  Coach continues, “Cammy’s here to help us in the forward position.”

  There’s a polite applause for the girl from the JV team. Shana, who’s the one chomping gum, calls out, “We can’t replace Pepper.”

  Quiet conversation breaks out all over the bus.

  “Pepper’s the one who quit,” Mary says, and Martha adds, “Yeah, she hung herself!”

  Coach puts up her hand. “I just got off the phone. Pepper’s father and I agree that if a few apologies come first,” she zeros in on Martha, “from both sides of this, then Pepper will be allowed to play, but this needs to be a team decision.”

  I slump in my seat. MJ puts her hand on my knee. I feel numb. There’s a few groans.

  “After what she did to Alyx!” Martha jumps up and Mary quickly joins her, “Yeah, we can win without her! Why should we have to apologize to her?”

  Shana whips around. “Oh? Let’s see. You only tweeted a million messages about what a narcissistic, Mafia-princess, schizophrenic, bipolar bitch she is!”

  The bus breaks out in pandemonium. Everyone’s pointing fingers. Arguing. Stephanie and MJ are going at it right next to me.

  She said, I said, she said . . .

  Coach walks down the aisle, looking at us, until one by one, everyone shuts up.

  “No one here today is privy to all the facts, including me. Though the inaccurate and hurtful messages circulating over the last week have not helped anything, it’ll be better to handle this as a team and in person, so we’ll be at Pepper’s house in five minutes. But this has to be a team decision.”

  My stomach begins to churn. I stare blankly at the graffiti etched on the seat in front of me. Underneath POLLOCK’S SUCK, someone’s written, FUCKING QUEERS QUIT VANDALIZING THIS BUS!

  Coach’s words skim over my head: “This is your team, girls. Decide amongst yourselves how you collectively want to handle this.” She sits down.

  Apologize to Pepper? What for?

  Stephanie hollers, “Okay, hey, I have an idea!”

  All the girls turn to look at her.

  “When we get to Pepper’s house, MJ and I’ll go in first.”

  Shana hops to her feet. “No! It’s gotta be all of us, together. Including him-her-it.” She points at me, disgusted.

  “God, Shana!” Martha whacks Shana’s head with her shoe.

  “Whatever. I’m just sayin’ that Pepper won’t come if she thinks we hate her, and you guys were friggin’ ruthless.”

  MJ presses her lips together. “Like Pepper’s sooo sensitive.”

  Shana retorts with a fake laugh, then flips MJ off, which Coach doesn’t see.

  I sink down, wishing I could just disappear. I can’t believe this is happening, and a part of me can’t help but think whatever they said about Pepper, no matter how inaccurate, it couldn’t have been mean enough. But at least they all now know the truth.

  Roslyn places her hand on my shoulder as Grizzly steers the bus into the Pitmanis’ driveway. She’s been unusually quiet.

  I try not to think about what they all think of me. But, in some weird way, I feel freer than I’ve ever felt. In. My. Entire. Life.

  When the bus stops, Stephanie leaps up. “Let’s go.”

  The entire team, including Coach, files out of the bus, but my legs refuse to budge. Coach shades her eyes and looks back at the bus. I slide out of sight, but keep watching over the edge of the seat.

  The front door opens and Mr. Pitmani’s bulky frame darkens the doorway. His head moves back and forth adamantly. Suddenly, in the window above him, the curtain moves.

  It’s Pepper.

  She sees me.

  I see her.

  She disappears. Directly below her, the door closes, everyone turns, and they pile back onto the bus.

  Coach says to Grizzly, “No go.”

  Voices buzz around me.

  Coach blows her whistle. The shrill sound silences the bus. “Okay, girls. Save your energy.”

  Grizzly cranks the ignition. It whines, dies. He tries again. Same thing happens.

  “Oh, sweet Jesus.” MJ leans her head on my shoulder like she’s swooning and everyone laughs, except me, because my eyes are glued to Pepper’s window.

  Grizzly pops the hood and Coach follows him out of the bus.

  Pepper’s head appears between the curtains again. No one notices, except me.

  I can tell she’s been crying and, in that moment, I feel closer to Pepper than ever before. The whole team must have really ganged up on her. They must have said stuff that really got to her. There’s no other way she’d be missing the Championship if that weren’t the case.

  Now, she’s the one who’s lost all her friends. Her team.

  Grizzly motions Coach into the driver’s seat, his head’s under the hood. The girls who have exited the bus crowd around him and cheer when it rumbles back to life.

  I watch Pepper, who is still in the window.

  Then I stare at the word queer on the seat in front of me. Aren’t we all queer? Different? Odd? Peculiar? Strange? Freaky? Weird? Losers in our own way?

  Grizzly’s the last one to lumber back on the bus. He squeezes back into the driver’s seat and flips the door shut. He shifts into gear and begins to reverse the bus.

  “Uncle Joe, stop!” I hear myself yell. He hits the breaks. I jump over MJ and race toward the front of the bus.

  “I need to talk to her,” I explain.

  He looks at me, nods at Coach, and flips the door open.

  “What the hell’s she doing?” I hear Shana say.

  I run up to the door, and Peter opens it just as my foot hits the step. It’s almost like he’s expecting me, but I race past him into the hallway beyond the foyer. The house still smells of leather, stale beer, and musty old books.

  “Where’s Pepper’s room?” I pant.

  He points in astonishment at the curved stairwell. “First door on the left.”

  I bound up the steps two at time.

  Pepper’s door is ajar. She’s lying on the floor beneath the window dressed in a new uniform and our team sweats. Her face is streaked with tears.

  When I say her name, she lifts her head and snarls, “Who let you in?”

  My hands are balled into sweaty fists.

  “I already told ’em forget it!” she yells.

  I hear footsteps in the foyer. She jumps to her feet and storms toward me, but I stand in the doorway blocking her exit, forcing her to either run me over or to stop.

  She stops.

  Right in front of my face.

  “Get out of my room, hermaphrodyke!” Spit flies from her mouth. Our noses almost touch. I’m not afraid, and I should hate her, but I don’t.

  “We need you,” is all I say.

  And that’s when I realize Pepper hates herself even more than she hates me. I feel it, and I feel sorry
for her. I stare back, smiling when I say, “There’s no ‘I’ in the word team, but there is in hermaphrodite, h-e-r-m-a-p-h-r-o-d-i-t-e!” And it’s a real smile, and it doesn’t hurt.

  Pepper pushes past me, crying, saying to Peter, “She’s the liar! Not me! Why does everybody hate me for telling the truth?”

  I turn around just as Mr. Pitmani steps up behind Peter.

  “Patti, calm down.” His voice is surprisingly calm. Gentle. “No one hates you.”

  Pepper gulps in a breath and covers her face with her hands. “They do, and now you hate me, too!”

  Mr. Pitmani walks to her side. He awkwardly puts his arms around her and whispers something in her ear. Pepper points at me, and whimpers, “She’s the one who lied. She tricked me—she tricked all of us. She’s the one who ruined the season, not me. She’s the one who should say she’s sorry.”

  Mr. Pitmani glances at me. “No, I’m the one who’s sorry. If I’d have kept things in perspective, I wouldn’t have pushed you so hard, and maybe none of this would’ve happened.”

  Pepper’s hands drop. She looks at her dad in astonishment.

  “But she lied. Like Mom—”

  He shakes his head. “Being truthful with someone isn’t the same as disclosing private matters. And your mother, well,” he glances at Peter, “your brother’s helped me see I had a role to play in that whole situation.”

  Pepper looks confused. “But—”

  Mr. Pitmani looks like he’s about to cry. “Patti, I said in anger that you’re your mother’s girl, but you’re not. You’re my girl, and I’m sorry for having been so hard on you.”

  “You don’t hate me?” She looks at her dad. Her face is streaked with tears.

  He takes her by the shoulders. “I don’t approve of everything you did, but no, I don’t hate you, and I don’t blame you. If I’d been around more, instead of sponging my brain in beer, none of this would have happened, and I don’t want you to inherit my temper, either. I realize now that if you’re going to be like me, I want it to be the good part of me.” He pulls her into a hug. “That means we’ll both go in and see Doc Evers when you get back. And you’ve got to promise to take your medication. Deal?”

  Outside, a horn beeps and Peter grabs Pepper’s gym bag. “Your team needs you!” He smiles at me. “Right, Alyx?”