Double Exposure Page 5

  Mom nodded. I stared at all the trophies in the case behind Wexler, my face half cut off on the screen.

  Over six-feet, right?

  My height, hopefully, would overshadow what Dylan called my wimp-ass.

  Wexler leaned toward his computer camera. “If you’re as good as your mother says you are, this year we might actually have a shot at State.”

  Mom put her hand on my knee apologetically. I didn’t hold the basketball talk against her. It’s one of the only things she has to brag about.

  The bell rings again.

  I close Dad’s book, get up, and make a dash for the girls bathroom. I’ve missed most of what Anderson said, but I hear Pepper yell behind me, “See you at lunch!”

  Inside the stall, I do some of Mom’s breathing exercises.

  For some reason my throat is tightening up again. It feels hard to get the air in and out. I feel like I need a shot from Dad’s old Darth Vader O2 machine.

  Breath is life, right?

  CHAPTER 14

  The Lady Cougars

  Not that I really want to, but at lunch I look for Pepper near the milk station. She’s not there, which is probably good. I can’t help but feeling there’s a Prickmanesque quality about her, which worries me. Relieved not to find her, Roslyn sees me—probably looking lost—and flags me down, inviting me to sit with her and a bunch of girls. They’re all eating the school lunch, a putrid-looking amalgamation of chipped beef and gray gravy. It smells even worse than it looks—like gas station hot dogs spinning on metal rollers since the turn of the century.

  I’m grateful for Mom’s sandwich.

  Roslyn gets in a few introductions while I manage a couple of bites before my stomach starts churning from the gross smells. Another bell rings. Then we all stampede back to class.

  After school, when Roslyn shows up again, I’m outside waiting on the front porch of my house. Rosyln’s bummed she couldn’t text me, because she was running a little late. Luckily, Grizzly’s at work, Grandpa’s napping, and Mom’s sleeping off her night shift. No need for awkward introductions or inviting her into the Palace.

  Behind Roslyn, standing on the bottom porch step, is an athletic, elegant looking girl with the darkest skin I’d ever seen. She’s also drop-dead gorgeous.

  “Alyx, MJ’s a senior this year, point guard. She plays varsity. Rumor has it she’s going to be a surgeon someday.” Roslyn puts her arm across the girl’s shoulder.

  “Speaking of rumors, girl,” the girl smiles at me, “you came all the way from sunny California just to join the famous Lady Cougars?”

  “Word travels fast,” I laugh, making my way down the porch steps.

  She laughs, too. “Around here, you’ll see that’s no lie.”

  A clap of thunder cracks in the sky and a sudden gust of wind slams the porch swing against the railing behind us.

  “Tornado weather?” MJ pulls an ancient flip phone from her pack, checks her messages, and says without looking up, “Come on, let’s make a dash.”

  In California we never got thunderstorms. Tornados either. Only super-thick valley fog.

  Under one of the big oak trees, I spot Peter, filming as he runs, his camera pointed at the sky.

  “Boy’s either missing half his brain or is crazy.” MJ shakes her head. “Come on.”

  We run around the corner, passing O’Riley’s Tap, when the heavens open and dump an ocean of freezing rain on us. Screeching with laughter, we fly through the doors of the Y. To my amazement, Joel Buck from homeroom is standing behind the counter.

  “A little wet out there, girls?” he grins. He watches Roslyn dry herself with the edge of her T-shirt. MJ’s hair is cropped close and she shakes the wetness onto him.

  “Hey!” He puts his arms up. “That’s cold!”

  “A little ice cold H-two-O!” MJ laughs, turning toward Roslyn and me. “Welcome to Wisss-connn-sin!”

  I’m standing there feeling totally naked. My new jog bra is showing through my wet T-shirt, and I wonder without looking if my nipples are showing like Roslyn’s are. Though she must wear at least a B or maybe even a C cup, because they are a lot more noticeable than mine. But since I started on the hormones, they’ve at least grown a bit from their barely budding status.

  Joel’s staring at me.

  I cross my arms across my less-than-ample chest and look down at my shoes. The high tops Mom spent a fortune on are soaked through, and my feet are squishing into the soles.

  MJ’s trying to explain. “Pepper’s dad pays so we can all practice here. Any Cougar athlete can open an account.” MJ hands me a pen. I start to shiver, and my hand is all shaky as Joel opens a binder, pulls a form from one of the folders, and pushes it across the counter.

  Joel’s tall, with huge hazel eyes, a couple of zits on his forehead, and the feeble dusting of a mustache. His face is devoid of meanness. As I check the box marked FEMALE, an invisible noose begins tightening around my neck and that old, familiar panic closes in on my throat.

  “Meet us in the gym. You can go through the locker room if you want,” Roslyn calls as she trots with MJ down the hall.

  “Welcome to the Cudahy cult.” Joel takes my form. “If Pepper stays hot, you girls could take State this year. I play, too, but we guys lost three starters. We’ll be lucky to make consolation.”

  Handing me a temporary card, he turns to hook the clipboard back up on a nail behind the desk. Then he whistles softly, winks, and makes a shooting motion with his free hand. He shakes his head wistfully. “Makes me wish I was playing on the girls’ team twenty-four-seven—”

  The phone rings behind him.

  “Thanks,” I barely hear myself say, making a dash for the gym.

  “YMCA,” I hear Joe say behind me, but I feel his eyes on my ass.

  CHAPTER 15

  Pepper’s Pissed

  Skipping the locker room scene, I head directly for the gym. I’m the first one to arrive. Ditching my bag in the corner, I do a few obligatory stretches, then fumble through the ball bin and grab a women’s ball with ample air. It feels small and light in my hands. I can actually palm it, something I can’t do with the regulation men’s basketball.

  A second later, MJ bangs through the locker room door. “Hey, how’d you beat us?”

  “I’m fast.” I smile at her.

  “I’ll say.” She smiles back as I toss her the ball. She has to take her hands off her hips to catch it. She’s tied up her braids in an indigo scarf that matches her T-shirt. She doesn’t act like she has supermodel potential, but she does.

  As we shoot baskets, she explains that her real name is Matisha Jordan Johnson. She’s the youngest of six boys. Everyone thought for sure she’d be number seven. Her brothers had already picked out the name Michael Jordan Johnson, so when she popped out a girl, her mom kept the initials to keep her brothers happy.

  “I know it sounds crazy,” she laughs, “I love basketball, but I love school more and someday”—she stops in the middle of a shot—“I’m gonna not only be the first girl born in my family, but the first in my family to go to medical school.”

  The way she says it leaves no doubt in my mind that she will. And, though neither one of us says anything, it’s clear we both recognize there isn’t a whole lot of diversity at Cudahy High. Between Roslyn (Jewish), MJ (black), and me (gender queer), we’re pretty much it. Of course, they don’t know about me, and for now, I plan to keep it that way. It’ll be a lot less complicated, and for once in my life I just want to pass as a normal kid.

  “Keep shooting like that,” MJ grabs a rebound and stands to watch me sink a three-pointer, “we might just take State.”

  I seem to be making an easy adjustment to the twenty-eight-inch ball. It’s probably close to Dad’s old ball, which never could hold air. I begin dishing the ball back to MJ whenever I can.

  “You meet Stephanie or the others?”

  “Only Pepper. She sent Roslyn to pick me up.”

  MJ stops short. She looks surprised
. “Pepper? Patti Pitmani?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, you must be something special. Pepper doesn’t get along with just anybody. At least not with me.”

  I want to ask why. But just then Pepper bounces through the door followed by three other girls. One, she introduces as the famous principal’s daughter, Stephanie Wexler. The others are Mary O’Riley and her twin sister, Martha, whose parents own O’Riley’s Tap around the corner from the Palace.

  They don’t mention Grizzly working there. Neither do I.

  Stephanie shakes my hand first, firmly. “Hey, Alyx, I’m sorry, it’s true, all true. My dad’s got this major obsessive-compulsive time compunction problem, but don’t worry. You rock if you’re into sports. That’s really all he cares about.”

  “Come on, warm up.” Pepper grabs Stephanie’s arm and pulls her down to the far end of the court.

  Martha glances over at my gym bag, which has my name written along the side. I’d blacked out Atlas with a permanent marker and just drew a capitol K after Alyx. She spells it aloud. “A-l-y-x, that’s awesome. I never saw it spelled that way.” She turns to her sister. “I wish I had a name like that. Instead of sounding like some dumb ‘Bible babe’ who winds up doing all the work for her lazy sister.”

  Mary hands a smelly sock from her gym bag to Martha, who shoves her sister into Roslyn, who’s just run through the door out of breath.

  “Wow, so you’re the other newbie?” Martha brushes herself off and looks from Roslyn to me. “And you’re both sophomores?”

  We nod.

  “Brilliant!” She laughs looking up at us. “You guys are giants!”

  Now Stephanie takes charge, handing out yellow pennies. “Me, Martha, and Alyx against MJ, Mary, and Pepper. Roslyn, you sub in, okay?”

  Obviously disappointed, Roslyn retreats to the bleachers.

  “I’ll sit first,” I offer.

  Pepper shakes her head.

  “Better listen to boss-lady there,” MJ whispers as she walks by. “Be careful.”

  My team has a hard time finding its rhythm at first. Martha tosses up two air balls and then gets shy around the hoop. Stephanie begins to feed me the ball, but Pepper’s in my face. Once I discover she can’t defend a left pivot, I start to move against her weak side. Twice in a row I set a pick on MJ. Pepper steps up to guard Stephanie, and Stephanie—smooth as ice cream—draws Pepper outside the key and dishes the ball back to me. Already squared up, I hit an easy jumper.

  I’m breathing hard but am feeling happy.

  MJ barks at Pepper, “Stay with her! I can’t stop those.”

  My team is up one game when MJ sinks a three pointer to even things up. Then Stephanie calls out, “Bubbler break,” and dribbles off the court.

  “Bubbler break? ” Roslyn looks back at me. I shrug. We’re both lost. MJ puts her arm around Roslyn’s shoulder, steering her toward the corner.

  Stephanie points to the water fountain and smiles at me. “Hey, Alyx, that’s a bubbler.”

  When it’s my turn, Pepper slaps my butt. “Save Lake Michigan for me.”

  I jump, bumping my head on the porcelain dome.

  “Ouch!” Martha shoots Pepper a look. “You okay, Alyx?” she says.

  I rub my head.

  Pepper laughs. “Sorry.”

  I can tell she’s not.

  All of their touching, slapping, and hugging is putting me on edge. When I played basketball with the guys, they did it, too, but this feels different.

  Then MJ comes up from behind and drapes her arms around Roslyn and me, squeezing us into a clump. “Once we break you newbies in, this team’ll be cruising to State!”

  I’m sweating hard now. My hands shoot up to defend myself, like I’m encountering Prickman and his pack. Quickly, I wipe them on my shorts and pretend everything’s cool.

  Pepper jabs my shoulder. “Alyx, you’re pissing me off out there. That’s good, really good. That’s what we need.”

  “Oooo, Pepper’s pissed, surprise, surprise!” Martha yells. She and Mary slap hands.

  Roslyn looks antsy to get in and I need some space from all the physical contact. “I’ll sit for a while,” I offer, motioning to Roslyn. She grins, blows me kiss, then gives me a high five as she eagerly steps out onto the floor. My heart’s pounding. My face is on fire. All this touchy feely stuff is making me a wreck. I smell my own fear and sour sweat like Prickman, only without the essence of ashtray.

  Stephanie passes the ball to Roslyn. “Oops, we almost forgot you. Alyx, you stay, I’ll go.” She jogs off to the side.

  I watch Pepper filling her water bottle at the bubbler. “Good for you, Stephanie. There’s no ‘I’ in the word team,” she calls. “And now, we’re gonna kick your ass.”

  “In your dreams,” Martha laughs.

  Pepper hacks up a mouthful of spit and sprays it between her teeth in Martha’s direction.

  Martha groans. “Gross! I swear you act like such a guy sometimes!”

  “Well, too bad for you I’m not!” Pepper wiggles her hips, then crosses her arms. “Oh, sorrrrry. Forgot, you go both ways don’tcha—”

  Martha’s face turns beet-red. Mine feels like molten lava. Mary jumps between them, defending her sister. “Knock it off—”

  A ball bonks off the back of Pepper’s head. Stephanie means business. “You heard her!”

  “Okay, okay.” Pepper glances at me, then at Roslyn. She rubs the back of her neck. “Come on, fresh blood—get out there an’ show us your stuff.”

  I jog back onto the court, hoping no one notices how much I’m sweating. I really don’t like them hugging me and the musky smell wafting off my body is becoming overpowering—even to me.

  Suddenly, MJ busts out into a rendition of Aretha Franklin’s “Respect.”

  When she finishes, she calls to me, “You okay?” Roslyn’s with her in mid-court.

  I smile, then wave my hand, ignoring the quiver in my belly.

  Roslyn slaps the ball between her hands. She calls out the score, “Zero, zero,” smiles, slaps the ball a second time, and snaps a pass at me. On autopilot, I catch it, pivot to the left, and sink a turn-around jumper from the top of the key.

  Pepper shakes her head. “Shit!”

  “Yes!” Roslyn cries.

  Stephanie calls from the sidelines, “Newbies rule!”

  Points move back and forth until we’re tied, 10–10, in our third game.

  “Next point takes all!” MJ yells.

  Instinctively, I weave through the key while Pepper strains to keep up. Back on the court, moving again, I feel better. I love this game, the feel of leather in my hands, the sound of rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the floor, the breathing bodies gliding over a million layers of shiny floor wax. If Dylan could see me now, he’d be proud.

  Pepper plays me close. I’ve beaten her twice already on an inside shot, so when I move to the top of the key, she tries to shove me with her hip.

  She’s playing rough, but I hold fast.

  MJ fakes a pass to Roslyn and then sends me a bullet. I pivot left, ramming someone as I manage to send off a blind shot. From mid-air I watch, confident as the ball leaves my fingers, knowing it’s in the hoop. Then my legs shoot out from under me and I’m crashing down, rolling off Pepper’s back. My left hip slams against the hardwood floor. Even harder than the time Prickman made me eat gravel.

  “No basket, offensive foul, no basket!” Pepper leaps to her feet jabbing her finger at me. “Charging!” She hops over Roslyn, who’s still on the floor. “Moving screen! You have to keep your feet planted.”

  MJ squares off with her. “You weren’t planted! If anything, Alyx should go to the line.”

  Martha’s beside Roslyn. “Roslyn was trying to get out of your way, Pepper. This isn’t the guys’ Rec League, you know. Can’t we have one pickup game without the rescue squad?”

  Through her freckles, Pepper’s cheeks are flaming red.

  Roslyn’s crying.

  I want to, but I d
on’t. Crying only makes it worse. I learned that lesson a long time ago.

  “At-Ass, you shave your legs! You gay or what?”

  Pepper stomps her foot. “Okay, your game, but you won’t get away with this when there’s a ref!”

  Ponytail pulled tight, Pepper storms out of the gym.

  Martha offers Roslyn and me a hand.

  Instinctively, I want to bat it away. I don’t. Instead, I let her help Roslyn, then get up on my own, wondering if this girls basketball thing is such a good idea after all.

  “You okay?” Roslyn sniffles in my direction, brushing herself off.

  In the morning, I’ll have a bruise, a bad one. Bone deep. Soul deep.

  The kind I got in the back lot of the 7-Eleven.

  CHAPTER 16

  A Fish for a Friend

  At home, Mom sits with Grandpa in the living room. Across one knee, the sailboat pattern of his hooked rug is taking shape. He peers over his glasses when I come in.

  “Did you have fun, honey?” Mom says from the sofa, where she’s pulling on her white work shoes.

  “Uh huh.” Stiffly, I make my way down the hall.

  “Alyx?” she calls after me. “Are you limping?”

  I pretend not to hear, shut my bedroom door, and gently lower myself onto the bed. The goldfish swim up to the side of the tank to stare. A knock sounds at the door. I ignore it.

  Mom opens the door a crack. “Honey, I have to take Grandpa to the doctor tomorrow.” She pokes her head farther into the room. She’s dressed in her nurse’s whites. “Can you ask Grizzly to pick you up from school? I’d leave a note, but he doesn’t always remember to check the fridge.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “There’s stir-fry on the stove for your supper.” She peers over the fish tank. “You okay?”

  “Tired . . . is all.” I try to sound steady, calm.

  She bites her lip and shuts the door.

  The goldfish open and close their mouths in silence. Can fish feel? I imagine them laughing, mouths opening and closing in their silent translucent world. I shift and a shooting pain moves up my legs. Then out of nowhere, Prickman’s in my ear: “Girly-boy, I’m talkin’ to you! What? Too much of a wuss to play with the girls? A-l-y-x, that short for Alexandrea? Faggot name if I ever heard one!”