SEVENTEEN
When I showed up at Josh’s house the next morning, he was pacing back and forth, looking totally ticked off.
“What’s up?” I asked.
“Did you see this?” He jabbed his phone so far into my face, it took a minute for the image to pull into focus. When it did, I nearly choked.
It was my second-grade school picture. I had on a pink shirt, and my hair cascaded down in long ringlets. My name was printed underneath, and below that someone had scrawled, Is a GIRL!!!
“Where’d it come from?” I asked. My voice sounded strange, oddly muted, and I felt dizzy.
Josh didn’t seem to notice. Throwing up both hands, he said, “It’s everywhere! Nico emailed it to practically the whole school.”
The whole school. Madeline and half the baseball team had woken up to this.
My knees buckled, and I sat down hard on the curb. The world was tunneling away from me again. I was breathing hard, and it felt like I was going to puke or pass out. I wanted to lie down right there and die.
Josh sat next to me, looking concerned. “Dude, relax. Anyone can tell this was Photoshopped.”
“What?” I asked, perplexed.
“Please.” Josh rolled his eyes. “I could throw this together in, like, five minutes. Change the shirt color in a snap,” he said, snapping his fingers. “And the hair looks totally fake.”
I stared at him. “Fake?”
“Yeah.” He frowned. “Nico’s just messing with us. He probably hopes it’ll make you screw up at regionals.”
I managed a nod, even though all I could think was, But it’s true.
“I’d seriously punch the guy if it wouldn’t get me thrown off the team. Hey, are you okay?”
I was about the furthest from okay that I’d ever been. I wanted to run home and lock myself in my room. “I feel kind of sick. I might go home.”
“No way,” Josh said, shaking his head hard. “You can’t let Nico win. C’mon, we’re gonna be late.”
I gaped at him. How could I possibly go to school? This was all anyone would be talking about. And unlike Josh, most people wouldn’t assume the picture had been Photoshopped. “I don’t know, Josh. I—”
He extended a hand down toward me. “I got your back. Team Shosh, right?”
I hesitated, then let him pull me up. We walked in silence. With every step forward, part of me was shrinking back. I imagined an auditorium full of classmates pointing and jeering. People throwing things, spitting on me. Madeline saying she never wanted to speak to me again.
I gnawed the inside of my cheek to keep from crying. At one point, Josh grabbed my elbow to keep me from accidentally stepping in front of a car. He didn’t say anything, which almost made it worse. The whole time, all I could think was that I should tell him the truth. Here he was, still defending me, and I was keeping up the lie.
When we finally got to school, a group of kids was gathered in the yard waiting for the final bell. I could sense the weight of their stares, and the whispering was much worse today; it definitely wasn’t in my head.
Josh threw the girls closest to us a withering glare, then leaned in and whispered fiercely, “Just stay cool.”
Then he nudged me toward the door. I practically staggered to my locker; it felt like I’d lost control of my limbs. The hallway was packed, and everyone I passed stared at me. I kept my head down and tried to ignore them, but I caught snatches of conversation:
Nico’s cousins know him. Her? What is it?
I always thought he was kind of pretty, y’know?
Oh my God, poor Madeline . . . can you imagine?
My hands were shaking so badly, it took three tries to open my locker. I threw my backpack in and grabbed the books for my first class, then slouched to homeroom, all the while thinking that being here was a huge mistake.
The buzz of conversation stopped abruptly as soon as I stepped inside. Madeline was sitting at her usual desk. She looked up as I came in. Something flickered across her face—surprise? dismay?—then she made a big show of waving me over.
I didn’t really have a choice; every other seat in the room was already claimed. As I slid behind the desk, she said, “Hey.”
Was she intentionally leaning away from me? “Hey. Thanks again for dinner.”
“Sure.” She gave me an uncertain smile.
There was an awkward silence. I lowered my voice and said, “Did you see that email Nico sent?”
A brief hesitation, then she nodded.
I didn’t know what else to say. She was looking at me expectantly, as if waiting for an explanation.
“Shane Woods?”
I started at the sound of my name. Mr. Peters was standing behind his desk, looking concerned. “Yeah?”
“You’re wanted in Principal Newell’s office.”
“Oh, okay.” As I gathered up my books, a murmur spread through the classroom.
“Quiet down, please!” Mr. Peters barked, handing me a hall pass.
The hallway was empty. The oatmeal I’d had for breakfast was rising up the back of my throat. I wanted to stop in the bathroom, but there might be other kids in there.
I’d never been to the principal’s office before. This had to be about the photo. Maybe lying about your birth gender was against the rules, and he was going to kick me out for breaking them. Which would be a relief if school was going to be like this from now on.
Principal Newell was seated behind his desk. He was tall and gangly, with greasy-looking black hair that didn’t quite cover his bald patch. He always wore three-piece suits and a bow tie. When I came in, he said, “Please have a seat, Shane.”
Turning, I froze: Nico was sitting in one of the chairs facing the desk. He threw me a sneer. I glared back at him, then stiffly sat down.
Principal Newell clasped his hands together. “Nico, I understand that you sent a picture of Shane to many of your classmates last night.”
“So?” Nico said.
Principal Newell looked at him sternly. “We have zero tolerance for bullying at this school, Nico.”
I straightened in my chair; apparently I wasn’t in trouble. Nico was glowering at his feet as if they’d done something to offend him.
Principal Newell said, “Nico, what prompted you to email this photo?”
Nico’s head snapped up. “What prompted me?”
“Yes.” The principal’s voice was unnervingly calm.
“What prompted me is that I thought Shane was a guy, and instead he turns out to be a . . . I don’t even know what,” he said defiantly. “Some sort of lesbo or something.”
I stopped breathing. It wasn’t just what he’d said, but the way he’d said it. I’d never heard so much hate in someone’s voice before.
“Nico!” Principal Newell thundered. It was kind of shocking how swiftly and severely his voice changed. “I made it very clear when you came to McClane that we will not tolerate the kind of behavior you exhibited at previous schools.”
“Hey, I’m only telling the truth. Why don’t you ask her?”
“That’s enough, Nico!” Principal Newell’s face was bright red.
Nico threw himself back in his chair and crossed his arms. He still wasn’t looking at me, which was good because I felt like I’d been punched in the gut.
The shock must’ve shown on my face, because in a much gentler voice Principal Newell said, “I apologize, Shane. I didn’t anticipate this turning so ugly.”
“That’s okay,” I said faintly, even though Nico’s words were still ringing in my ears.
“Nico, I’m calling your parents in for another talk,” the principal said. Nico made an irritated noise, which earned him a sharp look. “And you’re suspended.”
“This is bull!” Nico said, bolting up from the chair.
“Go wait in the outer office,” Principal Newell said forcefully. “And if you can’t behave yourself, I’ll call security. Believe me, that will not end well for you.”
When he was g
one, Principal Newell sat back. He seemed shaken, too. “Are you okay, Shane?”
I shifted in my chair. “Not really. What’s going to happen to Nico?”
“Honestly, I can’t say for certain yet.” Principal Newell gave me a thin smile. “All things considered, I’d understand if you want to go home. Should I call your mother?”
I felt my chin quiver. I imagined sitting on the couch with Mom, watching dumb television and talking about anything else, anything but this. . . .
But back here, rumors would be flying, and Josh was right; hiding wasn’t going to make them go away. I’d have to face them sooner or later. I’d prefer later, to be honest, but just thinking that made me feel like a coward. “I want to go to class.”
“You’re sure?” He examined me closely.
“Yeah.”
“All right. I’ll make sure your teacher knows you were with me.”
When I was at the door, Principal Newell said, “Shane?”
I turned back. “Yes?”
He had that uncertain look again. “Just so you know, there are a lot of laws in place to protect your privacy. And if there’s anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
I managed a nod.
It was halfway through first period, which meant I’d missed the math quiz and would have to make it up later. If I ever came back, that is, because my courage was waning with every step I took. I kept hearing all the awful things Nico had said, seeing the way he looked at me as if I was something disgusting and inhuman. The thought of going to school here every day was suddenly unbearable. Even if Nico was expelled, the rumors were out there. No one would ever look at me the same way again.
The halls were still empty. I slumped against the nearest locker and swiped a hand across my face. I’d never felt so defeated.
My phone buzzed with a text. I pulled it out: Alejandra.
OMG moms trying to teach algebra she’s getting it all wrong LMAO!!!
I squeezed my eyes shut and held the phone to my forehead. I’d really been hoping Madeline had sent a text, even though she was in the middle of English class.
It buzzed again: Remember the rules, guapo, rite me!
I hesitated, then wrote, Things r really really bad @ school.
Bad how? R U Ok?
This guy emailed a pic of me as a girl 2 every1.
A long beat, then she wrote: Oh no Shane that is awful. I m so sorry, just remember u have people on your side and hes just a jealous jerk. You want me 2 make him regret it just lmk.
Despite the circumstances, that made me smile. Thanx.
K. TTYL.
She sent a GIF of a guy in a bear suit doing cartwheels. It was ridiculous and funny and oddly made me feel better. I drew a deep breath, squared my shoulders, then went into class.
EIGHTEEN
“This week is all about focus,” Coach said, rolling back and forth on the balls of his feet as he addressed us.
We were hunkered down in the locker room after practice. Coach had worked us hard, with tons of drills. After being stared at all day, it had been a relief to just shut off my brain and focus on the game.
“It doesn’t matter if we win or lose, as long as you guys play your hearts out on the field,” he continued.
The murmur of acknowledgment was noticeably subdued. The other guys on the team kept scrutinizing me, looking away when I met their eyes. No one had said anything, but they were definitely keeping their distance.
All except Josh, who’d practically been glued to my side.
Coach cleared his throat, then said, “Principal Newell told me about some sort of nonsense with a player from the Mustangs. Now, I haven’t heard all the details yet.” His eyes lit on me, and his scowl deepened. “But I’ll say this. We are a team. We stand together, and we protect each other. And if any of you disagree, you can sit on the bench this weekend.”
Coach scoured the room with his eyes, as if daring someone to take him up on it. I shrunk down farther in my seat.
“Dylan? You got something to say?” Coach Tom growled.
I glanced over. Dylan’s legs were jiggling, and his jaw was tight. Coach stared him down. Finally, he shook his head.
“Good, because I don’t have time for players who don’t put the team first. How about the rest of you?”
The other guys were glancing at each other. A few nodded.
“Sorry, couldn’t hear you,” Coach said, holding a hand up to his ear. “Are you a team or not?”
“We’re a team.” More voices this time.
It wasn’t said with as much enthusiasm as he was probably hoping for, but Coach nodded anyway and said, “Go home and rest up. More drills tomorrow.”
There were a few scattered groans, then everyone started gathering up their bags. I could still feel the stares as I slowly zipped mine. Grown-ups just didn’t get it. They could talk all they wanted about not tolerating bullying, but that wouldn’t make it stop.
A hand clamped down on my shoulder. “Shane?”
Coach Tom was staring down at me. “Yes, sir?”
“Hang back a sec, will you?”
Reluctantly, I waved Josh on. He mimicked texting, and I nodded.
Coach waited until everyone had cleared out, then motioned for me to sit. He put a foot up on the bench and leaned over. “So. I understand Nico Palmer has been running his mouth.”
“Yes, sir,” I muttered.
He studied me, making me squirm. I wasn’t sure what was worse: all the kids whispering behind my back, or the well-meaning adults who didn’t know what to say. “You ever see Mo’ne Davis play?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.” Mo’ne Davis was a girl who had totally dominated the Little League World Series a few years ago. I’d actually studied her form on throwing curveballs, which were easily my weakest pitch.
“How about Jackie Mitchell? Ever heard of her?”
“No, sir.”
“Well, that’s a shame.” Coach Tom adjusted his ball cap and continued, “Lefty pitcher back in the thirties. She struck out Babe Ruth in an exhibition game. Gehrig, too.”
My heart was hammering in my chest again. What was his point? “I’m not a girl,” I blurted out.
Coach squinted at me, then nodded. “Okay.”
“I’m not, I’m just . . .” I struggled to find the words to explain.
He held up a hand. “I don’t need you to tell me anything personal. Can’t let you, actually. Got a whole lecture about it from Newell.”
“But sir—”
“I’m just saying, you’re one of the best players I’ve ever seen. And if this is why you’ve been off your game, I’m here to help you get back on it. Doesn’t matter to me if you’re a girl or a boy or, heck, a kangaroo. Long as you keep throwing the ball the way you do, we got a real shot at winning this thing. You hear me?”
I nodded, even though all I could think was, A kangaroo?
“Great.” He straightened and clapped his hands together. “See you tomorrow.”
The drive home with Mom was rough. She was really upset about Nico emailing the picture and wanted to call Principal Newell and demand that he be expelled. She threatened to call Nico’s parents and his aunt and uncle in San Francisco, too.
Her ranting just made me feel worse. I slumped down in the car seat and picked at a hangnail.
“Shane?” Mom finally asked, looking over as we waited for a light to turn green. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head. “No.”
Her nostrils flared, and her fingers went white on the steering wheel. “That little cretin. I swear, if I—”
“Mom, stop. This isn’t helping.” As we pulled into our driveway, I started to cry.
Mom unbuckled her seat belt and slid across to wrap her arms around me. My shoulders shook, tears and snot streamed down my face. The whole day ran on a loop in my mind: seeing the picture on Josh’s phone, all the stares and whispers, Nico’s hateful words, the talk with Coach. It hadn’t really hit me until now that t
his was it: nothing would ever be the same again. There was no safe place for me anymore.
The absolute worst thing about sobbing like this was that it made me feel like a girl. Not that boys can’t cry, but the way life should be and the way it actually was were two different things. And in that world, a crying boy was still not okay.
We sat there for a long time. It was like Mom and me had entered our own little bubble, and nothing else could penetrate it. I wished we could just stay in the car forever.
Eventually, my sobs diminished. I wiped my nose with the back of my hand. Mom dug a tissue out of the glove compartment, and I did my best to clean up with it. “Better?” she asked.
“A little.”
“Good.”
As we were walking in the front door, my cell phone rang. I wasn’t really in the mood to talk to anyone, but it was Alejandra.
“Hello?” I said, picking up.
“Hey, guapo.” She was somewhere loud, with lots of chatter in the background. “How are you?”
“I’m okay,” I said, walking to my bedroom.
“Yeah? Because you definitely do not sound okay. ¡Cállate!” she shouted. I winced and held the phone away from my ear as she let loose with a long tirade in Spanish. It was marginally quieter when she got back on and said, “Sheesh, you don’t know what I have to deal with. Too many people in this house.”
“That’s your house?” I asked as I flopped down on my bed. I would’ve guessed a restaurant, or a train station.
“Oh, yeah. I’ve got three brothers and sisters, and right now my aunt is staying with us. It’s crazy loud. Hang on.” The sound of a door slamming, and the background noise faded considerably. “Okay. So someone emailed a picture of you?”
“Yeah. His cousins go to my old school. They must’ve showed him their yearbook. He sent it to pretty much the whole school.” The lead ball in my gut expanded, as if saying it out loud made it more real. “I don’t know why he did it. I struck him out in a few games, so maybe he’s getting me back for that. . . .”
“Or maybe he’s just a jerk.” A pause, then Alejandra said, “You know, almost the exact identical thing happened to me.”
“Is that why you’re homeschooled?” I asked.
The Other Boy Page 9
