Double Exposure Page 8

  Stephanie and MJ slap hands as we hustled back on defense. They’re both smiling ear to ear. “Block her out, Alyx. No score,” MJ says.

  Looking winded and pissed-off, Toya stands under the Bulldogs’ basket, sweat dripping off her chin. Her point guard, a taupe-colored girl with red ribbons laced into her cornrows, steps outside the three-point line and shoots the ball.

  It takes a high bounce off the rim.

  Toya and I spring for the rebound, her arm presses against mine, but I make contact with the ball. With rebound in hand, I turn to see MJ take off like lightning, and in one sweet motion, I pump the ball back down the court to her. MJ catches it like a football, stops, plants her feet, and puts up a three-pointer.

  It hits as the buzzer sounds.

  Wild stomping explodes in the bleachers and the announcer shouts, “Basket good! Tie game. Twenty-seven, twenty-seven at the half!”

  Halfway to the locker room, Mom flashes me two thumbs up. I smile, grateful to redeem myself. Stephanie hugs me with her sweaty arms. “Awesome pass, Alyx!”

  As the locker room door shuts behind us, Pepper says loudly and slowly, like I’m a total moron, “Remember, we switch sides at half.”

  “Zip it,” Martha tells her.

  Martha, who just lost her starting position because of me, is sticking up for me?

  Mary steps beside her sister. “God, Pepper-puss, it’s Alyx’s first game. Lay off her already!”

  Spitting on the floor, Pepper smears the mucus with the tip of her shoe. Everyone else huddles around a row of benches where Coach has directed the starters to sit. Roslyn stands behind me, loyal as ever, patting my back. She hands me my water bottle. “Small sips.”

  She shakes her head when I offer to make a space for her. “I’ve been sitting already.” Not a trace of animosity is in her voice and I’m thankful for that.

  Coach draws out plays on the chalkboard, says we must use our opponents’ weaknesses, warns Pepper to stay out of foul trouble, tells Stephanie and MJ to look for the inside pass, and reminds us all to play team-ball. She smiles at me. “Keep shooting.”

  I give back a little smile, my braces scraping inside my cheeks.

  “New half. New game. Play smart and we’ll win this!” Coach continues.

  Pepper pokes me with her finger. “Smart,” she says into her hand, pretending to cough. I try to slug off the residual shame as we head back out.

  By the end of the second half, the Bulldogs have rallied. With three minutes left in the game, they’re up by 6 and we’re getting tromped in the lane. Even with Martha stepping up to help, I can’t keep Toya from scoring without collecting fouls. Soon Pepper and I are both in foul trouble, so Coach begins to rotate Martha in and out of the center position. MJ nails two key three-pointers in a row. Coach calls a time-out. We’re down by one point with less than a minute on the clock, both sides of the gym scream their team songs. Flashes of red and white, black and orange shimmer in the stands.

  “Fight! Fight! Fight!”

  The Bulldogs’ fans are completely frenzied, desperate to defend their championship status. Clearly, losing their first game of the new season is not an option.

  On the sidelines, Coach grips her clipboard. The black marker squeaks as she outlines a stall play. The girls warming the bench stand so we can sit while Coach hunkers down in front of us.

  Roslyn hands me my water bottle, which I make slippery with sweat. I take a grateful swig. Seeing Pepper doesn’t have one, Roslyn offers mine, but Pepper pushes it away like it’s contaminated.

  Coach considers us intensely. To Stephanie and MJ, who look cool as cucumbers, she says, “Our ball, nothing fancy. Keep possession. Wait for the shot. When it’s time, feed it to Pepper or Alyx under the board.”

  They nod and Coach looks from me to Pepper. “Unless we collect a foul, it’s coming to one of you.”

  We head back out onto the floor. I hear Pepper grumble, “If we lose this game by one stupid point, I’ll kick your newbie ass.”

  I pretend not to hear her and set up under the board as instructed, dodging in and out of the paint while MJ and Stephanie weave expertly back and forth, passing the ball. The crowd begins to count down with the clock.

  Toya’s in my face—we’re practically kissing. I search frantically for Pepper. She’s double-teamed and MJ, unable to pass the ball into the key, pumps it into the air in the general vicinity of the basket.

  “Four, three, two, one!” roars the crowd.

  The ball bounces off the rim. Both Toya and I leap for the rebound. The ball lands in my hands and automatically I go up for a shot, but the ball slams back into my face, bouncing off the bridge of my nose as the buzzer blares, and Toya crashes down on top of me. The ref’s whistle blows above the roar of the crowd, and the announcer calls, “Foul on number fifty-two, Toya Woods.”

  Cougar fans go berserk—thumping the bleachers, booing, screaming, stomping, and growling.

  Stephanie and MJ hoist me up. “You can do it, Alyx!”

  Do what?

  I stand there, dazed, tasting salt, blood, and metal in my mouth. Stephanie and MJ lead me to the free throw line. Leaving. Me. Alone.

  I look at the clock. There’s no time left. We’re still down by one point. Everyone’s walking off the floor. All that’s left is me and Jackie Lee. Pepper jogs toward the bench, lowering her voice as she runs by, “Okay, Ms. Sure-shot-starter. Pretend it’s the Bulldogs’ basket. Whatever. Just don’t miss.”

  My stomach’s caving in.

  The ref hands me the ball. A million pairs of feet pound out fight songs.

  The ref nods. “Two shots. Watch the line.”

  I glance back at the bench. Coach nods. Her arms are crossed.

  My legs are trembling so badly, I stamp my feet to stop them. Coach unfolds her arms and holds up one finger. One point’s all we need to push the game into overtime. If I make both, we take the game.

  I suck in a deep breath, wipe my hands on my shorts.

  “Miss, miss, miss,” the Bulldogs’ fans chant while Cudahy fans call for quiet. Sweat drips in my eye and I quickly wipe it away. I roll the leather ball in my hands, dribble three times, line up, and let go.

  Please, please, please.

  The ball’s in, the scoreboard clicks 44–44, and the girls on the bench leap to their feet. Coach reins them in. Retrieving the ball, the ref signals for one more.

  The crowd’s sudden silence spooks me. My knees wobble as I dribble, and I don’t know why, perhaps for reassurance, but I glance at the bench.

  Instead of Coach, I see Roslyn furiously snatching my water bottle from Pepper, who’s wiping a string of spit from the corner of her mouth. And flying down the bleachers behind them, faster than I ever imagined he could move, is Grizzly, with Pepper’s dad hot on his trail. I forget about the stupid shot, the game, everything. All I can think is, Please, Uncle Joe, don’t do anything crazy. I can’t deal with any more humiliation tonight.

  I know it’s time to end this game.

  With one motion, I pop the ball in the air and it whooshes through the net.

  A symphony of cheers and groans ensues. People swarm the floor as the announcer cries, “Cudahy Cougars, forty-five. Washington Bulldogs, forty-four.”

  In a panic, I turn toward the bench, but everyone’s in the way.

  Usually impossible to miss, Grizzly’s nowhere to be seen, and Stephanie and MJ suddenly flank me on either side, slapping hands, patting my butt, my back, my head, anywhere they can reach. I’m hustled into a line to shake hands with the Bulldogs. My legs are Jell-O sticks and my hip aches. Clutching Stephanie’s arm, I shuffle along to the locker room with the others. Ahead of us, beaming parents slap our hands as we walk by. People I don’t even know are patting me, touching me, congratulating me, but I can’t see Mom or Grandpa among them.

  “Great game, Alyx!” “Way to go!” “You’ve got nerves of steel, girl!”

  Behind me, the Bulldogs’ team has disappeared and the bleachers ar
e quickly emptying out.

  “Where’s Roslyn? Pepper?” My fingers press into Stephanie’s arm.

  She peels them away. “Ouch, Alyx! What’s with the snakebite? We won!”

  “Where’s Roslyn?”

  MJ is doing a little dance, snapping her fingers, singing, “Ooooeeee, we just rocked the former champs! Former—that’s the operative word, baby!”

  Stephanie and MJ exchange a look when they see me practically crying.

  MJ points a thumb back toward the gymnasium and softens her voice, “Something happened back there, but don’t worry, they’ll work it out.” Her hand’s resting on my shoulder. “Coach’ll handle it. Rozzy put old Pepper-puss in her place.”

  Martha demonstrates with her empty water bottle. “Yeah, Roslyn sprayed her good.”

  “Pepper had it coming,” Mary nods.

  “They’re behind the bleachers with Coach,” Shana pipes in. “Hope Roslyn doesn’t get kicked off the team. Not a bright move to go after our best shooter.”

  Light-headed, I gulp for air as we make our way to the locker room.

  Back on the bus, I don’t see Coach or Grizzly anywhere. I collapse into the front seat and close my eyes, afraid that I might puke. When Grizzly finally climbs on board, the chatter hushes. He squeezes into the driver’s seat, then without a word, flips the door shut and starts the bus.

  “Hey, what about Coach and Pepper?” someone yells from the back.

  “Yeah, and Roslyn, too?”

  Grizzly acts like he’s deaf. He puts the bus in gear.

  “Hey, Alyx, does your uncle speak English? Hey, qué pasa? Tell him we’re missing about half the team!” Shana yells from the back.

  Someone laughs.

  Grizzly stands up and turns around. He brushes his braids aside and holds his hand up. He’s wearing the black leather fingerless-gloves that hide his badass tattoos.

  Everyone shuts up.

  “I was asked to take you back. Your coach and the other players have rides.” His voice is low. He tries to catch my eye, but I look out the window.

  A murmur echoes through the bus as he sits back down. The entire bus shakes, but no one dares to comment on it, and by the time we’re back at school, Coach has arrived without Roslyn or Pepper in sight.

  What happened? I want to ask Coach. I don’t even have Roslyn’s cell number. But I don’t say a thing to anyone, not even Grizzly, and once we’re home, I race up the back steps so I won’t have to walk past Mom or Grandpa in the living room. Slipping down the hall, I quickly shut my bedroom door.

  I hear the buzz of the TV and the click, click, click of Grandpa hooking his rug.

  “Alyx?” Mom calls out.

  A few minutes later, I hear Grizzly clamber up the back steps. He and Mom talk quietly somewhere in the kitchen. Grandpa, who supposedly can’t hear anything, says, “Let her be.”

  Her!

  It’s the first time he’s said it without Mom prompting him.

  Stiffly, without untying them, I kick off my shoes and peel off my damp socks. The sheets feel cold and clean, unlike my lips, which are crusted with blood. I have no energy to bathe or even brush my teeth. I lie limply in the shadow of the street lamp with Grandma Clara’s quilt balled into a pillow to prop my face against the fish tank.

  I tap the tank.

  “We won.”

  Q fish swims up to the glass. She opens and closes her mouth like she’s nodding.

  “I scored a couple of points for the wrong side, but I got them back.”

  I’ve decided Q fish is definitely a she.

  Like me.

  The other two goldies sail by, but Q fish stays put. The cool glass against my cheek feels good, and I hear Mom outside my door. She doesn’t knock. When her feet finally retreat, I close my eyes, surrendering to the temporary death of sleep, my cheek still pressed against the smooth surface of the fish tank.

  CHAPTER 21

  TWIRP

  The next morning at school, Roslyn is standing near my locker, waiting. “God, Alyx, you were like uber-amazing last night. And your uncle’s awesomeness incarnate!”

  “Are you coming to practice?” I blurt, sounding mad when I’m really just scared.

  Roslyn cocks her head and looks at me funny.

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  I try to not act like a complete mess. “Shana said you might get kicked off the team.”

  Roslyn laughs. “If they kicked me off, they’d have to kick Pepper off, too. Everyone knows that’ll never happen.”

  I feel so relieved I want to hug her. Instead, I just stand there. The five-minute bell rings and, after the noise subsides, I ask, “So, what happened?”

  “I’ll tell you on the way to homeroom.” She wraps her arm through mine.

  I don’t mean to, but my body clicks into autopilot and I jerk away. She looks surprised, then hurt, as I awkwardly explain, “I’m still sore from last night.”

  “Jeeze, don’t flip out. I’m not some evil vampire.”

  “Sorry,” I say quickly.

  She squeezes my arm gently. “No big deal.”

  Heading toward homeroom, Roslyn talks fast, “Right before you sank the first free throw, Pepper said, ‘This is for good luck,’ and spat in your water bottle, then I just lost it. I mean, I got so pissed! I went ballistic. I grabbed the bottle back and sprayed her good. You should have seen her—she tried to scratch my eyeballs out and your uncle came to break it up, and her dad”—she lowers her voice—“that guy’s one scary dude. He threatened to get Coach fired if she couldn’t control her players. What a joke. I mean, who can control Pepper? She’s friggin’ outta control. Whether it’s ADD or major mental issues, that girl needs help. And then Coach dragged us all behind the bleachers. Pepper started the whole thing and her dad was totally—I’m not exaggerating—over-the-top, out of control. It was such bullshit! Your uncle’s the only one not afraid of the guy. Finally, Mr. Pitmani grabs Pepper’s arm and storms off. Then Coach says, ‘Go home,’ and that was it. Weird, hey?”

  I just stand in a daze. No one, except Mom, has ever defended me like this before.

  Roslyn laughs. “Hey! You hear that? Hey! This is terrifying. I’m getting a Milwaukee accent!”

  We’re in our seats when the final bell rings. After she sits, Roslyn leans over and whispers, “And, Alyx, I only bite on Sundays.”

  Bryce Swenson eyes us suspiciously until Roslyn sticks her tongue out at him and then he does the same back to her. I look down at my desk.

  MJ warned me about Bryce. Last year, he’d run against her in the school elections as an independent candidate for the Nazi party. “The guy’s a loser, Alyx. Walked around with a swastika armband until Wexler caught him putting up racist posters. Sad, huh? Half the school still thinks he’s way-cool. But I got elected VP in the end.”

  At practice, Pepper’s quieter than usual.

  We don’t run any lines. Coach says that last night’s game deserves a big reward. Lines fall out of fashion when we’re winning, Stephanie assures Roslyn and me. “The more games we win, the fewer lines we run.”

  That’s motivation enough for me.

  After practice, in the locker room, I’m not in the mood to talk to anyone. I dress fast while Roslyn keeps yakking. When MJ gets tired of listening to her, she puts her hands over Roslyn’s mouth. “Girrrl, give it a rest. You’re wearin’ out my eardrums.”

  Roslyn mumbles through MJ’s fingers. Soon they’re both cracking up.

  I envy the way Roslyn collects friends. Even the juniors like Shana—who never used to give Roslyn the time of day—have warmed up to her. That is, when Pepper isn’t around. When Pepper’s nearby, no one seems to have time for a couple of newbies like Roslyn and me. Even so, I think it bothers Pepper that Roslyn’s clearly on my side.

  I’m still sitting on the wooden bench inspecting a blister on my foot when MJ snaps her towel near my ear. Instantaneously, Prickman’s fist flashes in front of my face and I jump. Everyone laughs.

>   “Alyx?” says Stephanie as she tussles my hair. “Roslyn’s been telling you about TWIRP for ten minutes.”

  “Sorry.” I look up. “Guess I’m tired is all.”

  “You should be. You ran your beautiful butt off last night,” MJ says.

  I rub my foot, pretending to concentrate on a blister. MJ stands in front of me buck-naked. Her arms are sinewy, strong, and well-defined from weight workouts. If I pranced around like that someone would need to shoot me and put me out of my misery.

  “These showers suck!” Mary steps up next to MJ with a towel around her waist, her breasts mounded like two melons on her rounded belly.

  “Yeah, the bubbler’s warmer!” Martha adds.

  Mary dries her ample breasts with the rough towel. “Well, are you, Alyx?”

  “What?” I look up, abandoning the blister, and everyone howls with laughter. Blood rushes to my cheeks.

  “Are you guy-shy or what? Are you asking anybody to TWIRP?”

  I have no idea what they’re talking about so I shrug my shoulders and sit there looking stupid.

  Mary grabs a sock from Martha and plops down next to me on the bench. “Roslyn’s got her date. What’s taking you so long?” Mary tries to put the sock on until Martha grabs it back.

  “The Y-guy, Joel Buck,” Roslyn beams proudly.

  “How’d you get him?” MJ puts her hands on her hips indignantly. “He’s class president and a senior!”

  Mary and Martha stop their tug of war. “Yeah, no fair!”

  Playfully, Roslyn yanks Stephanie’s ponytail. “You know he’s crushed out on you, Stephanie. Like every other guy in this school, only he knows you’d never ask him.”

  MJ raises an eyebrow. She wraps her arm around Stephanie’s shoulder. “And who’d you ask, Ms. Stephanie I-can-get-any-man-I-want Wexler?”

  “Rick Cleaver.”

  “Ooos” and “aahs” go off like fireworks, except from Roslyn and me. We have no idea who Rick Cleaver is. Some senior jock, no doubt.

  “Cream of the crop.” MJ nods. “Not my type, but a fine specimen.”

  I’m relieved they’ve forgotten me as they all continue to chatter. The locker room soon clears out except for MJ, the twins, Roslyn, and me.