Pretty? I’m not used to thinking of myself like this.
“Matisha!” A loud voice resounds through the locker room door.
“Mama’s gonna skin me alive if I’m late one more time.” MJ jumps up. “Do yourself a favor: call that boy tonight, don’t drag this thing out, save us all a whole lotta trouble, because it won’t help us any at tomorrow’s game if Pepper is pissin’ and Roslyn is moanin’, and you are worrying ’bout your love life. We gotta keep our eyes on the gold—not screw up.”
CHAPTER 25
Plan B
After supper, I disappear to my room to study for Anderson’s midterm.
Apparently, Grizzly, who is not my parent or even a legal guardian, has been tracking my grades on Power School. My blood starts to boil. In a pile next to Dad’s laptop, I find Mr. Anderson’s science study fact sheet and a few pages about the molecular structure of DNA. Grizzly’s printed them out for me.
I pick up the top page. It’s an article called “The Exploration of Evolutionary Molecular Codes: From Monkey to Man and Back Again.” I look closer.
Dad wrote it!
I check the date. It was published a month after he died.
I flop down on the bed and show it to Q Fish.
“Lung cancer,” I say, snapping my finger against the paper. “Never take up smoking.”
An image of Dad lying in bed, tubes protruding from his body, flashes through my brain. He blamed himself when I stopped going to school. I blamed him, too. The day I confessed to Mom I’d been skipping school, playing basketball all day, we had a huge fight about Dad. How I thought everything was Dad’s fault. How he was the one who wanted a boy. How he couldn’t face the fact that he messed up.
It’s strange because now I almost feel closer to Dad than when he was alive. I flip his book open on the bed, leaf through it. We hardly ever talked when he was alive. He never touched me, never hugged me, and I can’t ever remember him saying he loved me. But I never gave him much of chance. There were days I hated him. I blamed him.
I know he blamed himself, too.
“You know, no one at Cudahy High gives a rip that you’re my dad,” I say to the book, slamming it shut. “Talk about family secrets. Between you and me, we’ve got a few, don’t we, Dad?” I slip the article in the book, lean over the edge of the bed, and shove the whole mess underneath. Who knows more about the origin of mankind, the molecular structure of DNA, and the reproductive system than me?
“Sorry, Dad, out of sight, out of mind.”
“Alyx?” Mom knocks at the door.
“Yeah?”
She opens it and glances around.
“Oh, I thought you were on the phone.”
I point to the fish. “My friends field my millions of calls.”
“Don’t give me that song and dance, Alyx.” She sits down on the edge the bed. “You’ve had that phone in here every night this past week, and the Roslyn girl called three times yesterday, and I just heard you talking to somebody.”
“If I had a cell—”
“Don’t start.” She reaches over and gently touches my chin. “You missed your science class yesterday?”
I pull away. “What, are both you and Uncle Joe tracking me now?”
“We got a call from school. What’s going on?”
“Nothing, I was just running a little late. They were watching a movie, and I didn’t want to barge in. So I hung out in the library instead.”
She glances over at Dad’s book. “Is it your father’s book? Is that upsetting you? I told you I didn’t know he finished it, either.”
Shifting out of her reach, I roll my eyes, “Mo-om!”
“Grandpa noticed how quiet you were at dinner.”
I refuse to look at her. I hate feeling like an alien from another planet. Tears spring to my eyes.
“Oh, honey, we knew this wouldn’t be easy.” She puts her hand on my knee. “Maybe we should find someone local, a good therapist, like Dr. Max.”
“Don’t touch me!” I pull away. “Head-docs are for crazy people. I’m not crazy!”
She looks hurt, which makes me hate myself even more. I glue my eyes to the fish tank. Then the phone rings, so loudly we both jump. Mom grabs it.
“Hello.” She sits up straighter. “Sure, I’ll check. May I say who’s calling?” She pauses before trying to hand me the phone. “Okay, Peter.”
Peter?
I shake my head in horror, putting up a hand, mouthing no. Mom nods and says cheerfully, “She can’t take a call right now.” She listens. “Okay, I’ll let her know.”
With a groan, I bury my face in my hands.
She hangs up and smiles. “He sounds like a nice boy.”
I peek through my fingers. “What’d he say?”
“He’ll wait near his locker tomorrow if you need to talk with him.”
This is getting to be way too much. My mouth drops open as Mom stands up, giving me this annoyingly sympathetic look. “If you need a note, I’ll write one, but no more skipping classes, even for the library, okay?”
I nod.
She walks toward the door. “I’m not going to have another repeat of California, so I want to know what’s going on with you, you understand, Alyx?”
The top dresser drawer is open. A dirty sock dangles down into the clean ones. Distracted, she picks it up between her fingers. “I’ll kill for you, I’ll die for you, but I will not let you put dirty socks back in your drawer.”
She drops it on the floor. Shaking her head with a smile, she closes the door softly behind her.
As soon as she’s gone, I start obsessing about Peter.
What did he really want? Why did he hide in the bathroom today? Why is he always taking pictures all the time, and does he really have his own darkroom like Mary said? Does he really want me to ask him to the dumb dance? Is he gay? Bi? Metro? Like me? Unlikely.
Then I hear Grizzly’s heavy steps in the kitchen. He’s home early. I get up and switch off the overhead light so he won’t find some lame excuse to come in and check on me, or the fish. After a while I hear his voice rise, “I’m telling you, Sis, that whole clan’s bad news. Alyx needs to steer clear.”
“Oh, that’s all rumors and hearsay,” Mom dismisses him.
“Wake up, Sunny! Pitmani has a reputation for a reason. Whether the guy’s in the mob or the CIA—something’s not right over there.”
“He’s got an entrepreneurial spirit, he sells real estate. Just because he’s successful—”
“You play with fire, you’re gonna get burned. And that redhead’s as unpredictable and dangerous as her old man.”
Their voices die down again.
Even though I hate Grizzly acting like the big parental protector, what if he’s right about Pepper and her dad? Though it doesn’t seem to me that Peter is anything like the two of them. Besides, everyone says he’s a good guy. Not like Pepper. At all.
I tap the glass on the fish tank. Q fish swims in place.
“See you in the morning. Don’t get in with the wrong crowd while I’m sleeping,” I warn.
All night long I toss and turn, dreaming that every time I fire a ball into the air, it lands in the wrong basket. Most bizarre of all, Dad’s the referee and he keeps tossing me the ball, then whispering, “Eat spaghetti and try plan B.”
CHAPTER 26
Busted
The next morning, Grizzly agrees to stop at Office Store for folder tabs. As planned, we arrive at school almost fifteen minutes late. I’ve decided to avoid Peter at all costs. I fly into homeroom, and Mr. Anderson promptly hands me a pink slip, then sends me back out—to the office.
Wexler raises an eyebrow as if he’s been expecting me. He’s standing next to the school secretary’s desk.
“Ah, Ms. Kowalski. Do I detect the humble beginnings of a bad habit?”
I drop my eyes.
He clears his throat. “Please step into my office. The entire school seems to be suffering from tardy fever this morning.”
He points and I see several sets of legs protruding from chairs beyond the half-open door. Obediently, I traipse into the crowded room. To my shock and utter horror, Peter, Joel, and three girls I don’t know are sitting there. One of the girls whispers, “It’s the basketball newbie.”
“Get along little doggies,” Peter sings softly, pretending to strum the expensive-looking camera in his lap like it’s a guitar. “Welcome to the Wexler round-up . . .”
The girls erupt in a fit of giggles.
I sit down, the new jeans I put on feel stiffer than cowhide, and the black top I picked out to go with Grizzly’s studded belt makes me feel more hard-ass than I want. In another way, it feels like I actually fit in with this crowd, at least for today.
Wexler pokes his head through the door. “I can assure you ladies and gentlemen, your parents will not find this humorous.”
We all look at each other and bust out laughing even more after he leaves. In that moment, a part of me likes hanging with the truants and troublemakers.
“Hey,” Peter leans toward me.
I pretend not to hear. Joel knocks him with an elbow.
“I’m just seeing if she got my message.” Peter slugs Joel back. I ignore them both, pretending to study my nails, grateful I’d brought practically a lifetime supply of pearlescent nail polish with me from California.
“Alyx, I wasn’t avoiding you yesterday,” Peter tries again. “Wexler was behind you—down the hall. I just didn’t want to get busted by him.”
Part of me wants to believe him.
Wexler comes back in and shuts the door behind him. On a dry-erase board behind his desk he writes: 8:15 a.m.
“Can anyone tell me what this means?”
Silence.
“Okay, how about this.” Under 8:15 am, he writes detention. Then, he writes, when, where, and why. He sets down the marker. “People, some of you have been in here every day this week! I’m tired of repeating myself.”
Joel puts up his hand and we all squirm in our seats. Lunchroom smells waft into the room. Chipped beef on toast, again? Gag.
Ignoring Joel, Wexler grabs his marker in disgust. Today he writes after the word when. And room 116 after the word where. And tardy after the word why.
“Mr. Wexler, we have an early practice,” Joel’s voice quakes.
My stomach sinks.
The boys have an early practice because the girls have a home game!
Wexler spins around to face Joel. “You should have thought about that earlier, Mr. Harrison. You may all go back to class.”
The three girls stand up and shuffle out the door.
I stand up with Joel and Peter, and my stomach’s churning.
Peter watches me. He’s stopped singing. He’s holding the camera with both hands. I hear him take in a breath.
“Mr. Wexler, sir, Joel and Alyx were late because of me.” Peter stands up straighter. “It’s my fault.”
“For the same reason you’ve been late all week?” Wexler narrows his eyes.
Peter pauses. “No, sir, this time, it’s a private matter. Something I need to discuss with you alone.”
“As in now, Mr. Pitmani?”
If this is an act, it’s a good one. The guy’s got guts.
Wexler shoos me and then Joel out the door. “Go to class. If Peter tells me anything of relevance, I’ll let you know after school when you sign in for your detention.” He waves us along.
“Don’t worry, Alyx,” Joel says, when we reach my homeroom. “Peter’ll come through for us—he knows who his friends are.”
Friends?
Joel and I arrive for our detention early, but Wexler lets us off. With a pained smile, he says he knows about Peter’s shenanigans and what delayed us.
What did Peter say?
On my way to the gym, a trillion scenarios race through my brain and, five minutes into the first half of the game, I’m still obsessing over why Peter took the rap when Coach yanks me to the sidelines.
“Alyx,” she says, “focus!”
Peter and Joel are sitting next to Mom and Grandpa in the first row of bleachers. I avoid all eye contact with them. They are all dressed in orange and black. Peter’s wearing a shirt with stripes and a hat shaped like a cougar, complete with furry ears. Is it any wonder people think he’s weird? But what other people think doesn’t even seem to be a blip on his radar screen.
Grizzly’s running late. He had a big meeting about the latest Harley gear. Last night he brought home samples, which he let me model, but the studded leather chaps and cap got Grandpa all bent out of shape. Grandpa told me he didn’t care if I slept in leather pajamas as long as I held off on the bike business. Said he didn’t want to see his only grandkid wrapped around a tree.
It didn’t miss me that he was being careful with his pronouns.
“Alyx!” Stephanie’s in my face.
“Yeah?” I blink, confused.
She grabs my arm and hauls me down the court on defense. “Coach’ll bench you if you don’t get in the game.”
Pepper trots by grinning. “Last week was beginner’s luck, Alyx?”
“Blow her,” MJ calls. “On offense, they’re crowding you on the left. Play the top of the key or go right.”
I nod.
A shrill whistle shrieks behind me. West has possession. They throw fast choppy passes, making mincemeat of our defense. I scramble to stay with their center who’s shorter than me, but moves like lightning. Twice Pepper calls out a switch under the board and they score on me. Then I miss an easy lob from the baseline, all air, and Coach yanks me out.
“Bye, bye birdie,” Pepper hums as Shana prances in from the bench to replace me.
Roslyn pats my back as I slide onto the cold plastic chair.
“I can’t believe I missed that,” I say, grateful Roslyn’s there.
“Everyone has off days,” she sighs.
I’m still a little pissed at her for sucking me into the mess with Peter and Pepper. I want to say, Why would Pepper want me to go to some stupid dance with her bizarro-brother? And why’s he hiding in bathrooms, making up excuses, if he wants to go with me anyway?
But why did he take the rap with Wexler?
A whoop of cheers explode in the bleachers as Pepper steals the ball, hits a basket, and collects a free throw all in one graceful move. Our team moves to the line. We’re down by one with twenty-three seconds left in the half. Pepper misses the free throw, but it takes a high bounce and she gets lucky. Grabbing it on the rebound, she pops up and sinks a sweet shot from the top of the key.
West fans groan.
“Um, um, Hot Pepper! Um, um, Hot Pepper!” Cougar fans chant.
Pepper smirks. She’s on her home court and it shows.
The air crackles as we head to the locker room at half time.
We huddle on benches as Coach holds up her clipboard, speaking fast, sketching a back-door play. I feel something touch my leg, but when I go to brush it away, nothing’s there. Once Coach is done, she heads back out to the court and I stand up, or try to, but instead I fall. Flat. On. My. Face. My knees slam down on the cement floor.
Someone tied my shoelace to the bench leg.
Pepper, Shana, and the gang of juniors behind me burst out laughing.
Martha’s furious. “God, you guys, that’s not funny!” She and Roslyn reach down to help me.
“We didn’t do it,” Shana hollers back. “Don’t blame us!”
I’m trying not to cry.
Roslyn’s angry, too. “Look at her knee!”
“I’m gonna tell Coach,” Martha spouts, but Pepper blocks her way.
Mary crosses her arms, joining Martha. “You can’t keep us in here for the whole second half.”
I shake my leg, rubbing my left knee, which took the brunt of the fall. Roslyn runs to get some ice.
“Yeah, Pepper,” says Martha. “Coach’ll get suspicious.”
Suddenly Pepper turns on Shana. “Sometimes you carry a joke too far.”
<
br /> “Shut up! Whose idea was it anyway?”
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t have actually done it!”
“If Pepper told you to jump off a cliff, would you do it?” Mary faces off with Shana as Pepper fades into the background.
Shana’s chin begins to tremble. I can see she’s crying.
“Shana, you could’ve really hurt Alyx,” says Roslyn, returning with an ice pack and a stack of paper towels. “Is that what you wanted?”
“No!” Shana coughs out a sob and wipes at her nose.
“Come on, we’re a team,” says Pepper quickly, her tone changing abruptly as she steps closer to the group. “If Alyx is big enough to let this go, we can, too.” She smiles at me like we’re the best of buddies.
Just in time, MJ pops through the door. “Yooooouuuu whoooo, game time!”
Pepper lets us by.
Back on the court, Coach examines my knee, irritated, “Alyx, why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”
I open my mouth, but she ushers me back to the bench. The referee summons the players back out onto the floor.
Coach sends Martha in as forward and Pepper as center. She tells Stephanie to switch to a zone defense.
Pepper’s acting all innocent out on the court.
During the second half, Coach makes only one brief substitution. She sends Roslyn in for Stephanie, so she can review a stall play on the sidelines.
“That was it, my two minutes of fame.” Roslyn laughs as she rejoins me minutes later.
“Great pass to MJ,” I compliment her. Her cheeks are glowing, and she’s all smiles, satisfied that she got even a little game time. Once again, I’m glad she’s my friend—even if she sometimes drives me crazy.
Unused to sitting still, my legs bounce up and down, but every time I peel the ice away, my knee looks worse. Red. Puffy.
Shana goes in for MJ. She ignores Stephanie’s plays and feeds the ball to Pepper, who keeps banging in the baskets and upping the score until the last three minutes, then we pull ahead when Stephanie sinks a three-pointer inching us into the lead.
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