Double Exposure Page 6

  I curl up next to the tank and pull Grandma Clara’s quilt over me, grateful for the hum of the pump that blocks out the voices in my head. Why is this happening? I move thousands of miles away and it’s like they’re living rent-free in my head.

  I tap the tank with my finger. “Blub, blub, blub,” I whisper. “What’s so funny?”

  The spotted fish with a tattered tailfin pushes its mouth into the glass, like it’s ready to kiss me.

  I smile at it.

  “I can’t kiss you back until I know what you are? How does it work with you guys?”

  I sigh, close my eyes, and let my head drop back onto the pillow. Only the second I shut them, Prickman’s there—here—muscles bulging up under his shirtsleeves and his freshly shaved head shining in the afternoon sunlight. The daymares have shifted to nightmares, and it doesn’t even feel safe to sleep anymore. Silently, tears force themselves out, and I wipe my face with the quilt.

  The tattered fish flicks its tail and darts off behind a plant. It peeks at me from behind the undulating green arms. The other two have intact fins. They hang together.

  The spotted fish darts in and out of hiding, occasionally making its way to the side of the tank. I lean my face against the smooth cool surface. Every time I tap, my new friend draws near.

  “You got a pronoun?” I whisper, smiling to myself. “Still questioning?”

  It feels like she’s a girl, but I have no clue, so I decide to call her Q for questioning.

  “How about it, Q? I’ll be your friend.” She flits up near the top of the tank, opening and closing her mouth. She looks sickly compared to the other two.

  “I’m Alyx. I’m a she.” I press my finger up against the tank like we’re sealing the deal.

  The fish flips twice.

  “Hey, nice move. Add a ball and you’ll be doing turn-around jumpers in no time.”

  Flips again.

  “And here I thought you were half-dead. Goes to show you can’t judge a fish by its fins.”

  I punch my pillow to puff it up, deciding to skip dinner and let myself sleep. My hip hurts too much to move around anyway.

  I’d just drifted off when a dream about Prickman and his bozo-buddies startles me awake. I bolt upright, choking for breath. Their voices bellow in a sick chorus: “Did you miss us? You’re tall, but you’re a wimp, aren’t you, At-Hole? What’re ya doin’ at our store, anyway? You gay? You a faggot? Three-points. Yeah, no friends for freaks. Huh, now you’re talkin’ to fish. What a queer-ass loser!”

  Exhaling forcefully, I try to shake it off, hoping Prickman and his apes won’t haunt me all night.

  I tap the fish tank. Q fish is there instantly. To derail my brain, I start talking: “Been sleeping in this room for a while and haven’t given you guys the time of day. Have I? Who’s been feeding you, anyway?”

  Q hangs near the top, staring, her gills steadily moving in and out. I decide I’ll offer Grizzly to help feed the fish in the morning. The thought of having a fish for a friend makes me feel less lonely.

  “Thanks,” I whisper, but Q just keeps staring and I can’t go back to sleep.

  CHAPTER 17

  Tryouts

  In the weeks that follow, I show up for every pickup game. We’re outside when the weather is good and at the Y when it’s wet and cold. Now that it’s November, that’s every day. I give Pepper plenty of space, handing her the ball every chance I get. It’s confusing, though, because instead of appreciating it, she acts all pissy.

  “That girl’s like a greased roller coaster,” MJ exclaims the day before tryouts. “No tellin’ which way she’s gonna turn.”

  Pepper’s just stomped off into the Y locker room after MJ knocked her down in the process of stealing a ball. Secretly, I side with MJ, even though Pepper’s on my team. To make matters worse, MJ scored and our team lost.

  Pepper hates to lose.

  “She’s got issues,” Roslyn mutters.

  “You think?” Mary shakes her head.

  “Maybe she forgot her meds,” Martha sighs and collapses on the floor to rest beside me.

  “Someone better give her a double dose.” Mary taps her finger to her head. “Something’s off.”

  As usual, Stephanie runs after Pepper.

  “Why’s she running after that girl’s sorry ass?” MJ starts twirling a ball on her finger. “That girl’s issues feel like tissues—they’re never going to run out and I’m tired of her thinking she’s so hot.” MJ looks at me, then winks. “We could win State without her. We’ve got Alyx now.”

  All the way home, I think about what MJ said. That night, I dream Pepper’s dad hired a ref for our pickup games. It’s Prickman. He’s wearing an official black-and-white striped shirt, only the stripes are going the wrong way and his shaved head is so shiny under the gym lights that it blinds me and the ball bonks into my face.

  I wake with a start. It’s still dark outside. My room is freezing, and my heart’s beating a million miles a minute. I leap out of bed and dash for the shower. Standing under the hot water, forever, calms me. After pulling on a pair of jeans and the green T-shirt I haven’t worn since the first day of school, I switch out my silver studs for the yin-yang earrings Dylan gave me.

  Grizzly tromps into the kitchen and grunts good morning. I grunt back. He smiles, squinting at Mom’s note on the fridge.

  “You want me to pick ya up after tryouts?”

  Before I can answer, the phone rings, and we both jump. It’s turned up impossibly loud so Grandpa will hear it.

  “What the hell?” Grizzly grabs it. “Hello?”

  He turns toward the window.

  “Who?” he demands. “Yeah, she’s here.” He hands the receiver to me mouthing, “Little early, isn’t it?”

  “Hey, Alyx, Stephanie’s making me call everyone, apologize for getting so intense.” It’s Pepper. I can hardly believe it. “You’re still coming to tryouts, right?”

  I sit there breathing into the phone.

  “Peter works at the Electric Café. You like espresso?”

  I shift the phone to my other ear. Grizzly’s hovering near me, listening.

  “Maybe sometime we could go there for a latte?”

  When I don’t answer, she adds, “Tonight, then? Tryouts? You’re coming?”

  “Yeah.”

  I hang up, remembering Peter’s comment about Pepper’s moods and Martha explaining that maybe she’d forgot to take her meds.

  Grizzly grumbles, “Pitbull’s girl?”

  It’s annoying when he gets all parental on me, so I shoot him a look. “Who’s Pitbull?”

  “Trouble, that’s who.”

  “Look,” I say, “her name’s Pepper. She invited me somewhere. Don’t sweat it, Uncle Joe.”

  Snorting, Grizzly trudges back down the stairs.

  By the end of the school day, my hip, which I’d forgotten about, begins throbbing again. Ignoring it, I double-knot my shoelaces for luck. Coach Chance smiles when I run to the bin for a ball.

  “Okay, girls, listen up. I’ll be running you through drills and pickup games every night this week. No big deal for most of you. On Friday morning, I’ll post the rosters for both varsity and junior varsity. If your name’s not listed, please don’t give up on basketball. Remember, you’re always a winner when you do your best.”

  At the end of the week, almost half of the thirty girls who showed up for tryouts have opted out on their own. Pepper’s been on her best behavior—not a single temper tantrum. Coach looks up and smiles at Roslyn and me as we leave the locker room on Thursday night. A good sign?

  “I won’t sleep a wink.” Laughing, Roslyn shoves her flute case into her gym bag and waves as she races for the bus. “Until after tomorrow!”

  Laughing, too, I throw my fist in the air and call after her, “Newbies rule!”

  It’s impossible to feel worried or hopeless with Roslyn around.

  Pepper, who followed us outside, hops into a shiny silver Mercedes parked by the curb. I’
ve seen the car in front of her humongo house. The license plates read BJ REALTY. The man in the driver seat scowls at Grizzly, who is parked right next to the car.

  Grizzly scowls back, then revs his Harley just to be obnoxious.

  I slug his arm as I climb on the back of the bike.

  Pepper looks away.

  Grizzly can’t resist revving the engine one more time.

  “Uncle Joe, please!” I punch him again.

  Before I can ask what his deal is, he lets out the throttle, and all I can do is shut up and hang on.

  CHAPTER 18

  Posted

  Next morning I race to the bulletin board outside Coach’s office where Roslyn’s bouncing from toe to toe. “Yes!” She jerks her arm and spins around. “Yes. Yes. Yes!”

  She grabs my hands. “We did it! You and me, baby, we made the big V! Newbies rule!”

  Stephanie’s name is at the top of the board, followed by the returning players from last season. My eyes dart down past the twins Martha and Mary O’Riley, past Pepper and Matisha Jordan Johnson, past a few other returning juniors: Shana, Jude, and Liz. And there’s my name, right above Roslyn’s.

  Second from last.

  My stomach sinks. Someone’s scribbled next to my name in red marker CREEPY DYKES NEED NOT APPLY.

  Roslyn pats my back. “Ignore it. Some jealous idiot.”

  The tears just come. I can’t help it. Why do I cry so easily these days? I freeze when Roslyn puts her arm around me. “Alyx, don’t take it so personally.” She drops her arm as Pepper strolls into the locker room.

  I wipe my face and look away.

  “Congratulations!” Pepper calls. She breezes up to us. “That dude on the Harley yesterday, he related to you, Alyx?”

  “Grizzly, my uncle,” I say automatically, my voice sounding like a robot. Blazing behind her head, all I see is the word dyke.

  She scrunches up her face. “Grizzly? That fits.”

  Roslyn steers me away. “Let’s get to class.”

  I pull back after Pepper turns to her locker. Taking a pen from my backpack, I cross out the offending words, wipe my face one more time, and follow Roslyn out the door.

  “That girl is scary,” Roslyn whispers as we head down the hall.

  I’m only half-listening.

  “Hawaii. That’s where Joel told me her mom went. It was a huge-ass deal. No one knew where she was at first. People said Mr. Pitmani did her in, and he does sort of look like a Mafia hit man.”

  I hardly hear her.

  You’ve just made the big V, I keep telling myself, yet I can’t help but wonder if somehow I’ve only gone from being a neighborhood faggot to the team dyke.

  All through my classes, I try to block out those thoughts. I picture myself hitting turn-around jumpers from the top of the key. I’m moving through the lane like a silent torpedo, sinking outside shots, over and over again, just as the buzzer sounds.

  Basket by number thirty-three, Alyx Kowalskiii!

  It’s got a ring to it.

  After the final bell, I race to the gym, hoping to change before anyone else gets to practice. As I fly through the locker room door, someone laughs. Coach is sitting behind the thick glass window that separates her office from the locker room. She grins and raps on the glass. “Alyx, don’t wear yourself out before practice.”

  By the time Stephanie and MJ arrive, I’m already dressed.

  “Ooooee, oooeee, welcome aboard,” MJ coos. “Hell, girlfriend, the way you shoot, I’m glad you’re playin’ on my team!”

  Stephanie gives me a high five. “We’re goin’ to State this year, so get ready to rock and roll,” she sings.

  Once everyone’s in the gym, Coach has us line up under the basket. All the girls groan, except Roslyn and me, who just look at each other.

  “Ah, Coach, it’s the first day of practice!” Pepper whines.

  “That’s right, and I want to see what kind of shape you girls are in. Seniors, you demonstrate our line drill.”

  The others snicker as MJ, Stephanie, Martha, and Mary join Pepper at the line.

  Coach pulls out a stopwatch. “Ready. Set. Go.”

  MJ takes off like lightning, a smooth-running gazelle leading the herd. Up and back. Up and back. Gracefully touching every line in the gym, she finishes without breaking a sweat.

  Stephanie sails in after MJ. The others come in like a cattle stampede, breathing heavily.

  “Okay, you girls, ready? Two more sets. Ready? Go!”

  “Shit,” Pepper whispers behind me.

  “That’s two more sets for everybody. Compliments of Ms. Pitmani and her mouth. Remember, girls,” Coach calls out, “attitude is everything.”

  Martha and Mary shoot darts at Pepper with their eyes, looking so identical for a split second, I can’t tell them apart. I pump my legs until my quads burn. Roslyn finishes beside me and bends over double with a hand on the wall. “I’m gonna puke,” she pants.

  My legs are trembling when Coach finally lets us sit. Pepper collapses beside me. Our knees accidentally touch and she quickly scoots away, closer to Shana, Jude, and Liz, who clump together in a semicircle, crosslegged.

  “Okay, listen up.” Coach is grinning. She slaps her hands together, and then her face grows serious as she lays down the rules. No problems with grades, drugs, drinking, or relationship drama. Nothing must become between us and basketball.

  We’re a team now.

  We’re sprawled on the gym floor, sweaty, winded, exhausted. Coach paces up and down, twirling her silver whistle.

  “This will be your one and only lecture for the season. So listen up!”

  She tells us about the girls before us. One decided to cheat on her biology final. Not only did she get caught, but the school suspended her and an F was averaged in with her grades, making her ineligible to play. Then there was the 6-2, 190-pound superstar center who wore super baggy shirts and faked sick to get out of practice so no one would know she was pregnant. When the baby arrived the night before sectional playoffs, her parents yanked her from the team.

  We’re motionless, a captive audience as Coach covers every potential disaster. She ends with a story from last year, about a girl from West’s basketball team who went to a party where some sicko guy slipped something into her drink, then took her away in a van. They found her decomposed body in a ditch the day she was supposed to have graduated from high school.

  Roslyn coughs.

  When I catch her eye, she whispers, “Intense.”

  No one else looks fazed. MJ quietly taps out a beat with her hands on the wood floor. Stephanie stares past Coach at the playlist taped on the wall. Pepper’s engrossed with her cuticles. They all act like this lecture is business as usual.

  I try not to think of a new story: teen-freak-gender-mutant-half-boy basketball player caught with pants down in girl’s locker room trying to pass as a girl.

  “Questions? Okay, grab a ball.”

  We spring into action. It feels great to sweat and run drills surrounded by the easy rhythm of bouncing balls, squeaking shoes, and the soft, shrill puffs of Coach’s whistle. Basketball distractions are always welcome. They help me feel semi-normal.

  During the last five minutes of practice, Coach has us do another series of ball-handling drills with our non-dominant hand. I’m switching the ball to my left hand when the gym door creaks opens. In steps Grizzly.

  Laughter stops. Balls stop bouncing. Silence falls over the gym.

  I stare. What does he think he’s doing? Even Roslyn’s staring.

  Coach calls, “Can I help you?”

  Grizzly grunts something no one can understand and Pepper elbows Shana, then they both burst out laughing. Coach puts her hand in the air. She hollers, “Girls, back to work!” and heads toward Grizzly.

  He points at me. Then shakes hands with Coach.

  A minute later, Coach returns, saying we’re free to go. She hopes our effort continues all season.

  I storm straight outside into the f
rigid air, the sweat on my shirt stiff in the wind. Whipping open the door of the dented Bug, I yell, “What the hell? My dad’s dead and you’re not him, so stop checking up on me!”

  Grizzly stares straight ahead, flicks the FM rock station off, and starts the car.

  “Well?” My hands are on my hips. No one ever talks to him like this. When he doesn’t answer, I slam the car door and start walking toward home. He slowly pulls up beside me and rolls down the window.

  Gruffly he says, “You’ll ruin your shoes, kid.”

  I pick up my pace. “I don’t care!” The hormones bring on tears, making it hard to see.

  “I’m driving the bus, all right?”

  “What bus?” Why does everyone in my family have to be so friggin’ bizarre?

  “For your game on Wednesday.”

  I stop dead. He turns up his leather collar and slows the car down to a crawl. Clouds streak from his nostrils. “One of the guy’s from O’Riley’s knows your coach. He gave her my name so she called. I was only introducing myself.” He sounds almost shy.

  I cross my arms. “Since when do you drive a stupid bus?”

  Grizzly clears his throat and rubs his beard. “Since before you were born. Started when your Grandma Clara got sick. To help Dad pay the hospital bills. Now it’s easy money that’ll help your mom. Especially if you trash your new shoes.”

  Suddenly, I feel like a complete loser. And I’m freezing. I sneeze. Grizzly begins to roll the window up. “I’ll wait.”

  That’s all he’s going to say. It’s enough.

  My feet are like two ice blocks. I run back inside, shame sticking to me like Velcro. Most of the girls have already showered and left. Coach’s office is dark and the locker room is empty. Only MJ stands completely naked in front of her locker, sprinkling baby powder over every part of herself, sparing nothing.

  I cough as I step past her to my own locker.