Double Exposure Page 17

  Mr. Pitmani releases Pepper and nods his head in approval.

  The horn beeps again.

  Pepper looks like she’s in shock.

  I look at Peter, who looks at Mr. Pitmani, then I turn to Pepper. “We can win if you join us.”

  “You can! Bring home that cup.” Peter grabs us each by an arm and drags us out to the bus.

  A series of hoots and whistles ring out from the bus. Grizzly beeps the bus horn.

  Peter pushes us into the bus. “I don’t know exactly what you are, Alyx,” his breath smells like spearmint, “but you rock!”

  “Let’s get this show on the road!” Coach hollers. She’s smiling, cradling the phone to her ear again. She clicks it off and waves us on.

  Pepper stops on the top step as though she’s afraid. Coach motions her in and then holds up her hand. Everyone quiets down.

  “Girls, good news, I just received word. We will be allowed to play tonight as scheduled!”

  The bus vibrates with claps, cheers, and shouts. MJ stands up and hollers, “NEW GAME!”

  Everyone begins to chant: “NEW GAME! NEW GAME! NEW GAME!”

  Pepper’s face softens. MJ gets up and makes her way down the aisle toward Pepper. “So, hot head, did motormouth Alyx change your mind, or what?”

  It’s quiet for a moment, then everyone laughs and the edges of Pepper’s mouth actually bend into a smile. She looks directly at me, her eyes filled with a kind of unspoken apology. And something more—like gratitude; maybe even a little admiration mixed in.

  Maybe.

  “Hey, you know Alyx,” Pepper jokes back, “always talking up a blue streak. A person can hardly shut her up. And . . . well, my brain doesn’t always work the way I want it to.”

  “Well, thank God you finally came to your senses girrrl!” MJ calls out. Then everyone starts laughing and singing and talking all at once.

  I catch Grizzly’s eyes reflecting in the rearview mirror. He winks and I flash him a thumbs-up back.

  CHAPTER 43

  Mad Town

  We make it to Madison in record time. The narrow streets su rounding the Capitol are crowded with a kaleidoscope of people, school colors, team jackets, and custom-made State-bound T-shirts.

  Grizzly seems to know his way around the city’s small, one-way streets. He steers the bus right through the university campus, passing dozens of fraternity and sorority houses along the lake. Bundled up students spill off every curb, walking, running, even biking, as they dodge in and out of traffic. When the bus pulls up in front of Camp Randall Stadium, there’s already a long line of buses parked along the street. Girls from all over Wisconsin are lugging mesh bags full of basketballs, gym bags, and high-top tennis shoes.

  I spot the Sunbug parked on the opposite side of the street where Mom’s feeding a meter. There’s a cop directing traffic at the intersection. The air smells like beer-soaked bratwurst.

  Grizzly honks at Mom and she waves.

  Everyone on the bus gets quiet. Most of us have never seen Madison before. Months earlier, throngs of protestors had filled the streets chanting and singing in objection to the governor’s attempt to take collective bargaining rights away from teachers. Grizzly said it reminded him of what it was like in the sixties; only this time, the crowds were pushing baby carriages not dope.

  Once we’re stopped, Coach stands up. She turns and looks up and down the aisle at us. Everyone except Pepper is watching her, waiting. Pepper’s eyes are closed. I can tell she’s pretending to sleep.

  I keep remembering her face when she was talking to her dad. She looked so scared.

  Coach starts, “Girls—” but her voice catches, and she wipes at her eyes, lifting the silver whistle in her mouth and giving it a soft toot, motioning us to follow her.

  Grizzly flips the door open. Cold air blows into the bus.

  Pepper opens her eyes and follows Martha, who files out of the bus ahead of us.

  Roslyn waits for me to pass. She taps my butt lightly, keeping her voice low, “Alyx, it’s true, what Peter said. You rock.”

  I smile. Even though I’m not much of a believer, it feels like a miracle we’re even here. And it feels good, knowing that none of the girls hate me. Not even Pepper—at least not anymore. But I can’t help think that, maybe, it would’ve been better if I’d told them all the truth before—about who I really am.

  Roslyn gives me a gentle shove from behind, resting her hands on my shoulders and giving them a little squeeze. The warmth of her hands feels good, but I don’t turn around.

  “Hurry up, your awesomeness!” she teases.

  I smile, running my tongue over my braces, which come off next week. I’m starting to feel a little less freaky more and more, a little more myself, almost normal. Unconsciously, my body starts to shift into gear, and I’m ready to play, run, jump, shoot. My body’s ready to do the one thing it could always get right.

  “Come on, team!” Coach waves us off the bus.

  “Gooo Cougars!” I hear Grizzly doing the Cudahy Cougar growl behind us.

  CHAPTER 44

  Plan B, Play B, Deuce It!

  Coach’s face is dead serious as we step off the court in the second overtime of the championship game. She motions for us to sit. My legs are like rubber. Roslyn hands me a water bottle and rubs my sweaty shoulders. My stomach’s in knots. I take long, slow breaths.

  The Lady Cougars and the defending champions, the Washington Bulldogs, are the only two teams that have proved unstoppable.

  Until now.

  Coach thought we were going to have to beat the Bulldogs right out of the box, but as it turned out, it was our long-time rivals, West, we tromped first, and now, finally, in the last tournament game, we’re tied with the Bulldogs, 47–47, with thirty seconds left on the clock.

  “Alyx, stay with Toya. Pepper, cover the middle.” Coach looks at the clock as she barks orders. “Full-court press. I want all of you in their faces. Don’t let them shoot!”

  Mary, who’s nursing a sprained ankle, hands MJ a paper bag. MJ waves it away. She’s already puked her guts out. It’s so loud that even with Coach yelling, we barely hear her. Unable to keep focused, my eyes scan the crowd, and I spot Peter crouched down under our basket, a video camera in his hand, and the manual camera he showed me the night of the dance hanging by a strap around his neck. He sees me, shrugs his shoulders, and smiles.

  I shake my head, but smile back. And suddenly, I feel cool as a cucumber, even though I don’t know what’s going to happen with him or me or this game.

  When the buzzer sounds, we race back out onto the court, trying to look light on our feet. I find Toya, positioning myself between her and the basket. She smells of sweat and coconut oil.

  I look back to make sure Pepper’s got the middle.

  She sees me. Nods. Her eyes are two steel ball bearings glinting back at me. I can almost hear her thinking: Pitmanis never lose! Throughout the tournament, her shot’s been off, but instead of getting pissed, she’s been funneling the ball to me, or MJ, who’s our lead scorer for this game.

  Toya grunts, jabs with her elbow, and tries to ditch me as the Bulldogs snap the ball back into play. They pass the ball like a rapid-fire gun, forcing our guards to lurch and lunge for it.

  The entire auditorium counts down with the clock. “Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen . . .”

  Suddenly, Stephanie knocks away a pass, but she can’t grab the ball. It bounces down the court, both teams scrambling, tripping, and leaping over one another to get it.

  I stick to Toya like glue—like Coach asked—but out of the corner of my eye, I see Pepper leave her post to dive on top of the pile. Unbelievably, she emerges from the mess dribbling the ball, blood dripping from her nose.

  “Nine. Eight. Seven . . .” the crowd chants.

  Immediately, Pepper’s swarmed by Bulldogs, but before the ref can call a foul, the ball’s batted away. It rolls in front of Toya, but I’m faster. I grab it, look down the court, and see that no one is open,
except Pepper, who sees me and breaks free from the swarm of Bulldogs.

  She looks at the clock, back at me, her face rigid with panic. For a split second, I’m not sure what to do. I’m not even sure I’m looking at the right basket. Then, it’s like everything goes into slow motion, my body takes over, and I remember the dream with Dad and “Plan B.” I hold up two fingers and race by Pepper, drawing the entire Bulldog team after me.

  “Deuce!” I holler as I whip by.

  “Six. Five. Four . . .”

  Pepper mouths, “No!” I can see she thinks I’ve lost my mind. I hear her feet slap the floor behind me and I hear her panting, trying to keep pace.

  “Alyx, what the hell?”

  And then it’s too late to stop. I lay the ball up lightly as a pile of Bulldogs crash down on me.

  “Three. Two—” the buzzer blares, and beneath the crush of bodies I hear, “Basket gooooooood!”

  Dozens of flashes go off, the light blinding me. Above the roar, I hear the rapid-fire click of Peter’s new camera and Pepper, somewhere on the pile of bodies, swearing and crying at the same time. “Why’d you do that, Alyx? I could have missed.”

  Crawling out of the pile on all fours, I start to laugh. Still blinded, trying to get back on my feet, I holler back, “I knew you wouldn’t!”

  And then, before I can get up, Pepper flies from the pile and tackles me, laying me out flat on my back. She’s got me pinned down like we’re in a wrestling match. Her face is smeared with sweat, blood, and tears, and her eyes are fierce, some expression I can’t decipher.

  “What?” I say, looking up at her. “You won the game.”

  “No,” she shakes her head, and starts to stand up. “We did.”

  CHAPTER 45

  The Right Move

  As we pull onto the Harbor Street Bridge, I look out over Milwaukee’s southside and lean my cheek against the frosty bus window. I’ve gotten used to the malty, yeasty smell of Milwaukee’s air. Behind a thin, misty wall of fog blowing in off Lake Michigan, I see the outline of the Polish Palace. It looks so small from here.

  I check my phone and see that I finally got an email from Dylan. At the end of the school year, he’s flying from Ecuador to Chicago, because, like MJ, he got into the UW and wants to check it out and visit me. I close my eyes and listen to the chorus of girls’ voices around me. I imagine Grandpa resting, waiting at home in a sea of hooked rugs. And Mom, who’s probably already beaten us home in the Sunbug—maybe at this very moment, she’s fixing Grandpa’s favorite dinner, Polish sausage with sauerkraut.

  And Dad? I think about him, too. I hear his voice whispering, “Plan B.” Then it occurs to me that, like Mr. Pitmani, maybe Dad did really love me; he just had a hard time saying it.

  I hear Grizzly laughing in the front of the bus. He and MJ are leading everyone in a medley of rap songs. Most of the team is crowded in the front of the bus. Except for Roslyn. Pepper’s leaning against her, fast asleep for real this time, her arms wrapped around the Gold trophy cup in her lap. Roslyn smiles, then winks at me. It’s obvious she’s not going to move until Pepper wakes up. I smile back, grateful—and not a bit worried—that she’s my friend.

  On the back of the seat in front of me, someone’s carved a word right into the metal. It shines up at me. Unable to stop smiling, I trace my finger over it.

  Queer.

  From the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel:

  COUGAR GIRLS TAKE STATE!

  In a nail-biting final tournament game, the Cudahy Cougars hit the floor with last year’s State Champs, the Washington Bulldogs. Two overtimes and mounting foul trouble on both sides sent key players to the bench, including the Cougar’s center, six-foot sophomore, Alyx Kowalski, whose gender was brought into question just days before the tournament. However, she was granted eligibility only hours before the games commenced.

  In the second overtime, with Kowalski on the bench, Washington Bulldog Toya Woods towered over the center lane, and the Cougars lost their edge. With only a minute on the clock, Cougar point guard, Stephanie Wexler, hit a key three-point basket, tying the score for the third time.

  The Bulldogs tried to rally as the clock wound down, but after a series of timeouts and scrambles, with both teams having trouble hanging onto the ball, Coach Chance put Kowalski back in the game. With three seconds on the clock, Kowalski managed to grab the ball. Flashing a peace sign, she took off down the court, tipping the ball off the boards to senior Patti (Pepper) Pitmani, who sank the game-winning shot as the buzzer blasted.

  This game marked the first time in twenty-three years that the Cudahy Cougars have traveled to the state tournament. This is their first Big Cup.

  Coach Carol Chance’s record stands for itself, though she says, “The credit goes to the girls. They pulled together and played like a team.” When asked if the eligibility of Kowalski made a difference in the outcome of the tournament, she flashed us a smile along with the now famous Cudahy Cougar peace sign, which we’re told stands for a play called Deuce.

  Acknowledgments

  I am deeply grateful to the many people who have helped make this book a reality—my son Quinn Schwellinger, my partner Roseann Sheridan, and all my friends at Vermont College, an amazing array of talented writers, especially Tobin (MT) Anderson, Tim Wynne-Jones, Alison McGhee, and Liza Ketchum, who may never know how much their early encouragement meant; as well as Marion Dane Bauer for her unwavering faith in my writing and this book.

  Other authors who helped in both large and small ways to make this book possible include Nancy Garden, Susa Silvermarie, Kathi Appelt, Alex Sanchez, Kevin Henkes, Jane Hamilton, and David Rhodes. My amazing writing group: Gayle Rosengren, Jacqueline Houtman, Amy Laundrie, Amanda Bosky, Jennifer Reinfeld, Cindy Schumerth, and Lisl Detlefsen. Darlene Chandler Bassett, Mary Johnson, and all the audacious women of AROHO, my Lamba literary fellows and my dear friends, writers and non-writers alike: Kelly O’Ferrell, Janice Durand, Jean Allen, Leah Creswell, Sarah Williams, and Pamela Johnson. The great editors in my life: Kristen Jacobson, Lissa McGlaughlin, and of course, the remarkable Julie Matysik, and my agent, Jonathan Lyons—two extraordinary people with unparalleled skill and vision.

  Finally, all those who are too numerous to name, including those who’ve shared your personal stories with me, my extended family members, the good folks who reside in Milwaukee’s South Side, and the Intersex Society of North America.