The sea of girls lined up outside parts for Grizzly like he’s some huge motorcycle Moses on an urgent mission.
In Coach’s office, Mom gives me a hug. I refuse the seat she offers. My teeth are chattering. Roslyn’s face is wet with tears. Coach asks her to leave. We avoid each other’s eyes. Mr. Wexler’s leaning against Coach’s desk. He’s so pale that he looks like a standing corpse. A letter dangles from his fingers.
Grizzly’s usual labored breathing surprisingly calms me as Mom takes the letter from him.
“Alyx, it seems that someone has raised a few questions and I’ve had to explain a few things to both your coach and Mr. Wexler. I told Coach Chance and Mr. Wexler that you have a right to know about this,” Mom says.
I swallow hard. I must have bitten my cheek at some point because my mouth tastes like blood. Know about what?
“Carol and I will step out for a minute,” Wexler clears his throat. “I’m not concerned about you missing a few minutes of class today, Alyx. It seems we have a bigger problem on our hands.”
Mom puts her arm around me as they step outside the office, and I take the letter from Mom’s grasp. It’s from the Interscholastic Sports Commissioner. Grizzly peers over my shoulder as I read it aloud:
Dear Mr. Wexler:
It has come to my attention that a Lady Cougar by the name of Alyx Kowalski may be misrepresenting herself. As you know, the Wisconsin Interscholastic Athletic Association must ensure that all athletes compete in a healthy and fair manner. The issue in question is that Ms. Kowalski’s previous school records list her gender as male under the surname Atlas. However, her current records register her as female.
As you know, the reason we separate the girls from the boys is to create equality and safety in competition. If Ms. Kowalski has represented herself as a female athlete when she is, in fact, a male, we will be forced to disqualify the Lady Cougars from further interscholastic competition on the State tournament level.
Although it seems unfair to penalize the entire team, it is also unfair to the other teams who didn’t qualify for the State competition because they competed against a team harboring an ineligible player. If Ms. Kowalski is a boy, she must play on a boys’ team.
I have reviewed the records and statistics and it would seem she is an accomplished athlete. I do not want to jump to conclusions. So I ask that you provide evidence of Ms. Kowalski’s gender within the week. I suggest you request a routine physical examination from the enclosed list of approved physicians. Without such evidence, I cannot in good conscience permit the team to move on to the State competition level.
Thank you for your help in resolving this matter.
Very Truly,
Joseph Bender, Interscholastic Sports Commissioner
I ball up the letter in my fist. Mom peels it from my fingers and hands it to Grizzly. Then I notice the school paper lying open to my article on Coach’s desk.
Pepper won. She’s ruined my life!
“I told your coach and Mr. Wexler,” I hear Mom saying, “that Dr. Royce will send whatever proof they need. And I apologized for lying on your school application and saying you were homeschooled.”
Grizzly heaves a big sigh. “Sis, you should’ve told ’em right away.”
Though she looks tough, Mom’s voice is quivering. “I thought it was best.” She wipes a tear away. “You know as well as I do, Joey—Milwaukee isn’t the most accepting place on the planet.”
A knock on the glass wall attracts our attention. Coach and Mr. Wexler gesture if they can re-enter. Mom starts to shake her head, but I amaze myself by saying, “Uncle Joe’s right.”
Dr. Royce’s words rush into my head: “We all have a right and an obligation to be who we are . . . a person’s your enemy, Alyx, only if you give them power . . . stand up, look them in the eyes, refuse to carry any shame . . . truth is the mightiest sword.”
I suddenly think about MJ, how she has to face being one of a handful of kids of color at school and how she jokes about being a distraction; and also how she doesn’t let where she comes from stop her from dreaming. And Roslyn, too. She just seems to love and accept everybody and she doesn’t tolerate abuse or give her power over to anyone. Then there’s Grizzly, who takes the teasing about his weight, yet demands respect. And finally, I think about me—how I feel so sorry for myself all the time and how I always want to run. But I know that I can’t—not anymore.
Not since the day with Prickman behind the 7-Eleven have I felt this bad, have I wanted to kill myself, have I wished that I’d never been born—like I’m a mistake. But I look over at Mom and Grizzly, and I know no matter how humiliated or terrified or shitty I feel, if this is how Pepper Pitmani’s going to take me down, I’m not going down without a fight!
I turn to Coach, who has entered the office with Mr. Wexler. Her jaw tightens. She’s holding back tears. Her eyes search mine and I feel her heart breaking for me. She’s stood by me—by all of us—over all these months. Trying to get us to understand what it means to be a team. This is her last chance, her last season, the pinnacle of her entire career. But I can see it’s not her career she cares about right now. It’s me.
With Mom and Grizzly flanking me, and Dr. Royce’s words ringing in my ear, I try to look at Mr. Wexler through a glaze of tears. He stares at me, his pinpoint eyes shifting back and forth.
Grizzly squeezes my shoulder. “Like my sister said, the kid’s been through enough.”
Look them in the eyes.
Even though I try to draw strength from them, Dr. Royce’s words begin to play tag in my brain, and my entire body starts to tremble. Mom opens her mouth, but I wipe my eyes and jump in, cutting her off: “Coach? Mr. Wexler? Mom told you about me, right?”
Look them in the eyes.
They nod.
Mom butts in, “Under the circumstances, I thought it —”
“It’s okay.” I put up my hand and she stops. I then turn to Coach. “I had one surgery already, and I’ll have another when I turn eighteen.”
Coach watches me intensely. I try to speak confidently. “No one knows better than I do. This is my team. I am a girl.”
A flicker of relief sparks in Coach’s eyes. “And one heck of a ball player,” she whispers.
Grizzly punches Mr. Wexler in the arm. “Yeah, one heck of a ball player!”
Wexler winces.
Coach looks at her watch. “The girls are waiting to practice.”
Mr. Wexler seems lost in thought. “Alyx, it’s not that I don’t believe you or your family. Only I’m certain Mr. Bender will need some medical evidence.” He glances from Mom to me, and stutters, “In addition to this Dr. Royce, perhaps someone local could give us a report this week?” He hesitates, picking up the letter again. “Would you be willing to see one of these doctors?”
Simultaneously, Mom and I say, “No.”
“She’s seen enough doctors.” Mom rubs my back.
I sigh—wishing my life wasn’t so damn complicated, wishing I’d been born like other kids, either a boy or a girl and not some strange friggin’ abnormality with an extra X chromosome that doesn’t quite fit anywhere.
Coach grabs the letter from Wexler. “Jack, for God’s sake!”
Wexler spreads his hands. “What do you want me to do? You know the Sports Commissioner better than I do, Carol. Bender’s not going to take my word for this, and he’s certainly not going to take yours. We need to forge a reasonable response.”
Coach slaps the letter onto her desk. “The Commissioner’s always been a homophobe, but to go after a student—think about it, Jack.” She holds up her hands. “At whose expense are his religious beliefs causing harm now?”
“The man’s been with the district forever, Carol! What do you suggest I tell him?” Wexler rubs his forehead.
“Well, so have I!” Coach’s eyes turn to stone. “Tell the bastard to back off. If you can’t, I will!”
Wexler taps his fingers on the desktop, a slow exhale leaks from his lips.
“End this meeting, Jack, so I can get my girls to practice and Alyx can decide for herself what evidence, if any, she wants to provide.” She picks up the letter, folds it in half, and says to me, “I’ll handle the Commissioner, if that’s all right with you, Alyx. Your job is to keep your faith in yourself and your team. Okay?”
A shiver shakes through me.
Wexler’s face looks strained. “Once we have the facts of this situation straightened out, I hope we can work together to create a more welcoming and . . .” he stumbles around trying to find the right word, “inclusive atmosphere at Cudahy High.” He takes a white handkerchief from his back pocket, removes his glasses, and wipes his forehead. “Carol, when you speak to Bender, ask him about the source of this information. His timing, as usual, is uncanny.”
Before he walks out the door, Wexler turns to Coach. “The tournament starts Friday. We have exactly four days to get this resolved. And I don’t need to remind you that my own daughter is a senior this year. And there will be scouts from three top-ten schools watching.”
Coach looks over at me. “Okay, Alyx, suit up. We’ve taken up enough practice time.”
Just then, a series of sneezes overwhelms me.
Coach jiggles the whistle that hangs from her neck. “Let’s hope you’re not coming down with the same bug Pepper went home with today.”
Yeah, right. I bet Pepper’s sick.
When I sneeze again, Coach says, “Maybe you’d better get home and rest up for Friday.” Mom looks worried. Coach flips a tangle of keys from her pocket and escorts us to an emergency exit door. It empties outside so I don’t have to confront any of the team.
Mom feels my forehead as we walk. “You’re warm,” she says in her nurse voice. “Let’s get you home.” I push her away.
Coach is watching me as she shakes both Mom’s and Grizzly’s hands. “We’ll get it worked out. It would be shame to stop the girls now—we’re so close.” Then she turns me gently toward her. Her hands are solid, strong, but her voice becomes unusually tender. “Alyx, I know a bit about what you’re going through here, and if you’ve learned anything from me all season, let it be this—don’t let anyone hold you back from who you are or what you love. You understand me?”
Our eyes meet.
I nod.
She flings the steel door open, waits for us to pass, then pulls it firmly shut behind us.
CHAPTER 38
Born That Way
All night my body twitches and sweats with fever and in the morning my throat is so swollen I can barely swallow, let alone talk. When I try to wish good morning to Q fish, the sound of my voice scrapes through my insides. If Pepper really is sick—though I suspect she’s faking—I hope her throat swells up so bad it chokes her to death.
I think about Dad and then feel bad for feeling so hateful, but a part of me can’t help it.
Around six in the morning, a knock sounds at the door.
I pull Grandma’s quilt up over my head.
Mom peaks in, then tiptoes over to the bed. She thinks I’m still asleep, so she leaves after resting her cool hand on my forehead.
A part of me hopes I’m sick enough to die, because I really don’t ever want to step foot in Cudahy High again. And even though I get what Coach said about me not selling out, the thought of everybody knowing about me is worse than death.
I wish I could stay home forever. Every day I’d hang with Grizzly and Mom and Grandpa, and we could have our own private circus. Grizzly could dance disco, Grandpa could play fifty million renditions of the Polish National Anthem on his accordion, and Mom could dye her dreadlocks orange and play the part of a clueless clown. And me? Well, I’ll be the freak, of course—the half-boy, half-girl sideshow freak.
I check out my reflection in the side of the fish tank.
It’s true. Even though inside I feel like a girl and I get a period now and Dr. Royce can make my parts more “authentic” looking, it doesn’t matter. None of it does. Once a weirdo, always a weirdo, and the Pepper Pitmanis of the world will always track me down, sniff me out.
Grizzly’s right.
Pitbulls can’t help what they are. They’re born that way.
Just like me.
CHAPTER 39
Messages
Without knocking, Grizzly comes into my room around midday to feed the fish.
“Alyx, this filter needs to be cleaned every week.” He sounds irritated. “This Goldie looks terrible.” He points to Q fish.
“She’s fine,” I squeak.
“What the hell’s wrong with her?”
I sit up and follow Grizzly’s finger. Q fish looks the same as ever. Dizzy, I lie back down.
He huffs and looks at me. “You gonna go to their doctor?”
I look away bitterly.
No way am I going to go to their stupid doctor. What would it prove anyway? People just don’t get that not every damn person on this planet fits into a gender box.
“Sorry, it’s not my business,” he grumbles. “In case your coach calls, I put the phone outside your door. And I activated your cell.” I look over toward the desk where the phone I’d left in the box had disappeared. “Used the same number your mom says you had in California. That way your friends will find you.” He pulls the phone from his pocket and holds it up to show me.
What friends?
Grizzly looks down at me from the end of the bed and says, “Call me or your mom if you’ve got any problems, okay? I programmed our numbers in.” He tosses the phone on the bed. “The ancient one was up burning the midnight oil again, and your mom doesn’t want him exposed to whatever you got.” Reaching down, he grabs my toes under the blanket.
For once, I don’t pull away.
“Alyx?”
I’m nodding off again. Thinking about Dad. What it must have felt like to lie in a rent-a-bed for three years with a trachea tube shoved down his throat. How did he stand it? It must have been torture.
Shortly after Grizzly leaves, the phone outside the door starts ringing. Grandpa doesn’t bother answering it. Either he isn’t wearing his hearing aids, or he’s asleep in his chair, or both.
Fortunately, no one at school knows I have a cell yet and maybe I’ll keep it that way. I lie in bed like a zombie listening to the phone ring until the answering machine picks up.
“Hey, Alyx, this is Stephanie. Coach said you’re sick. Just want you to know that me’n the team are hoping you’ll be well for State. And hey, get well. We miss ya.”
Click.
What did Coach tell them? Do they realize the whole team could be disqualified because of me?
Ring. Ring. Ring.
“Hi, Honey, just checking in to see how you’re feeling. Home by five. I gave your grandpa strict instructions to let you rest. I told him no music. Period. So rest up.”
Click.
The phone keeps ringing and the messages keep coming.
“Alyx, call me,” Roslyn says. “I just want you to know you’re my friend no matter what! And call me, like tonight, okay? Because everyone’s freaking out and I need to talk to you.”
Click.
“Alyx, hope you appreciate this. I’m risking my beautiful black ass to check up on you. Peter’s letting me use his cell. Mine croaked.” MJ laughs. “Rumor is you’re really sick, so don’t pick this up, just get well. We need you, girl!”
Click.
Peter’s voice sounds like he’s in a tunnel. “This is a message for Alyx. This is Peter. Alyx, check your emails.” There’s the sound of a toilet flushing. “Gotta go.”
Click.
Coach’s voice booms, “Hello, this is Carol Chance. Alyx, could you or your mother give me a call? I had a conversation with the Sports Commissioner.”
Click.
“Hello, my name is Jake Millmen. I’m with the Milwaukee Sentinel and we’d like to verify a story line for this Tuesday’s edition. Would you please have Alyx Kowalski contact us?”
I pull my pillow over my ears. I wa
nt to go unplug the thing, but I can’t muster the energy to move.
I stare at Q fish while having a feverish conversation in my head: Did you ever wish you were something else? Like a dog? If you were a dog, you’d be much more useful. You could play fetch. You could retrieve things. You could be my guard dog, growl at jerks, and scare away burglars. You could keep me warm at night. But no, you have to be a useless fish, an ugly, sad, pathetic fish, trapped in your water world.
I tap on the glass.
It’s just the way it is, right?
CHAPTER 40
Peter Apologizes
It was once standard practice for doctors to take babies like me and make us into girls automatically. Often without telling the parents. They justified that, as girls, our lives would be easier. But that fell out of fashion because of the ones who never got a period or those who started growing beards when they hit puberty. No one knew why until someone searched the kid’s medical records or the child was sent to a pediatric endocrinologist, like Dr. Royce—someone used to seeing this kind thing.
I think my life would’ve definitely been easier if they’d have just “adjusted” me right away, but bummer for me, Dad and Mom were always ahead of their time.
They chose to wait, which is now the standard thing to do.
And I’m definitely not alone. Dr. Royce claims 2 percent of the babies born in the United States are gender fluid, or intersex, and many scientists believe there are more than two genders. Dr. Royce once told me the problem with gender identification arises when people try to put their babies into gender boxes that don’t fit.
Whatever. It doesn’t really work in practice, though. What were my parents supposed to tell people? They were raising an “it”?
Now, it’s up to me to clean up the mess.
Should I go to one of their stupid doctors? Why torture myself?
I’m still in bed and know that I can’t play with a raw throat, fever, and barely enough energy to get out of bed anyway. Dozing on and off, I try not to think about my problem, until Mom knocks at my door. “Still feeling rough, Honey?”
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