by Janet Walker
* * *
At lunch the next day, the Grace Girls’ elegant senior, Sandra Butler, paused at the sophomore Grace Girls’ table, leaned over Tracy’s shoulder, and softly said in her ear, “You must be psychic.” When Tracy looked at her questioningly, Sandra smiled pleasantly, lifted her brow cryptically, and walked away. Tracy was confused. What was Sandra talking about? And did it have something to do with what had happened earlier in the day, when Toni and Dent passed her in the corridor? “All I wanna know is how you did it,” Toni had said, her eyes lit with a smile. “Did what?” Tracy asked, to which Toni twisted her lips in an expression that accused Tracy of being disingenuous. Before Tracy could inquire further, the two senior players walked away, with Dent saying, “Tell us at practice.”
Several hours later, Tracy stood in the exercise studio with her sixth-period classmates, saw Miz Grace enter, and immediately understood what Toni and Dent and Sandra meant. Along with a snow-white top, the coach was wearing sweatpants the color of a strawberry milkshake! Tracy’s mouth dropped open in surprise, and she met eyes with Toni, Wanda and Dent, the other members of the team who were in the class. None of them said anything about the matter, but Tracy thought their smiles were strange, as if they were thinking something they did not want to voice. It was the same kind of smile she would later see on the faces of all the teammates during practice. She felt funny, bothered a little, by their expressions, though she wasn’t sure why. At the same time, she felt excited because she remembered what the pink pants meant: She had won money! The first time in her life, and it felt good.
When practice finally ended, Tracy restrained herself from running to the locker room. Once there, she went to her locker to get her street clothes. She was going to pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened, until it was time to claim her prize, and so she headed for a shower stall. But with her back to the room, she heard Pat Butler’s voice.
“Lock the door, Dana. And Baby Girl, git over here.”
Tracy turned. The eleven team members were gathered as they were yesterday, with the captains at the center of a haphazard circle in the middle of the room. Captain Evelyn Dent sat on the bench and co-captain Pat stood beside her. All were looking at Tracy.
Heart pounding, Tracy obeyed. When she reached Pat, the senior draped an arm around Tracy’s shoulders and assumed a playful conspiratorial air, teasing, “Now, tell the truth. Jazz Nelson yo daddy, right?”
The others laughed, and Tracy glanced at the faces to determine if the laughter was friendly.
“Say,” Pat urged impatiently.
Astounded by the absurd question, Tracy blushed and shook her head in denial. “No!” she said.
“That’s gotta be it!” Pat insisted. “’Cause you tall, got a little game on court, and Miz Grace done broke more than one rule for you. And then you come up in here, play our game for the first time, bet some stupid-ass color like pink, and win! And we figure the only way you could do that is if you got some kinda inside track on Miz Grace.” Pat suddenly gripped the back of Tracy’s neck and interrogated, “So tell the truth: You Jazz Nelson love child?”
“No!” insisted Tracy in a laugh. The grip on her neck was firm and uncomfortable. “For real! I don’t know her or him!”
“Then how you knew she was gon’ wear pink today?” demanded Pat.
“I just guessed,” replied Tracy, still squirming in the grip. “For real! I’m just as surprised as y’all!”
Pat released Tracy’s neck. “’Cause you know ain’t no cheating in this game. You can’t go and ask Miz Grace what she gon’ wear the next day.”
“Or tell her what to wear,” added Deidre.
Tracy was amazed by the accusation, and amused by it, for by now she could tell Pat, if not Deidre, was teasing. “I didn’t do that! I promise! I don’t know her like that!”
Pat relaxed, convinced of Tracy’s innocence. “Then you must got some ESP or sump’m, Baby Girl, ’cause don’t nobody wear pink. Damn!” Pat scratched her head and flipped open her notepad. “Sandra?” she called to the soft-spoken senior who stood in a corner, inspecting her nails. “You the fashion queen. How come you ain’t know Miz Grace was gon’ wear pink?”
Sandra Butler coolly replied, “What do I look like? Dionne Warwick’s friend? I am not a psychic.”
Others chuckled.
“Dent,” said Pat, “where the bag at?”
Between Dent’s thighs was the velvet whiskey bag that held the winnings. She gripped the bag and said, “It’s right here. Where else it-uh be?”
“Don’t be gittin’ smart wit me, dammit, just give Baby Girl the money,” ordered Pat playfully. “Tracy, gitcho lucky ass back over here.”
Tracy, who had begun stepping back over to the showers, obeyed and rejoined Pat. She and the others waited as Dent opened the drawstring mouth of the moneybag.
“Hurrup, Dent! Slow ass,” complained Pat.
“I’m hurrin!” complained the captain. “And don’t be cussin at me.” Dent opened the bag and stood, still straddling the bench. Her black eyes twinkled gleefully. “Tracy, cummere,” she said.
Tracy stood before Dent, heart pounding, ear lobes burning.
“Hold up yo shirt.”
“Like this,” said Pat, indicating Tracy should lift the hem of her T-shirt away from her belly to form a canopy.
Tracy’s face grew instantly damp with nervous perspiration. She obeyed the order but was careful not to lift the shirt high enough to expose her abdomen; there was a scar on her belly she didn’t want them to see.
Dent dumped the contents of the bag onto the canopy and said, “Congrajuhlations.” Coins and several crumpled bills made the shirt’s fabric sag. The room erupted in applause, which shocked Tracy, and she looked about and perceived that the smiles were, indeed, sincere. She smiled, not believing her fortune and the graciousness of her new friends. So this is what it meant to be part of a team! She sat down on the bench beside Dent, gathering the shirt around the money to form a sac and wondering how rich she was.
Pat, looking in her little notebook, said, “Congratulations, Baby Girl! You just won twenty-five dollars!”
“Thanks,” said Tracy, beaming.
“Twenty-three dollars,” corrected a soft voice from the corner of the room.
Everyone looked. Sandra filed an already perfect fingernail. “She owes me a dollar,” she explained. “And a tip.”
Laughter.
Tracy rifled through the money and secured three crumpled one-dollar bills. Dent saw this and protested.
“Don’t geh her no tip, Tracy! Just geh her what you owe her!”
“I don’t mind,” said Tracy. “I wouldn’t-na won if she hadn’t lent me the money.”
“See there?” said Sandra. “The rest of y’all selfish biddies need to take a lesson from Tracy. She sweet!”
Remarks of playful protest filled the room as Tracy walked over and handed Sandra the three bills.
“Thank you, Tracy,” Sandra said and quickly slipped the money down the front of her shirt so that the money could rest between her breasts.
“Make sure it don’t drop out!” teased Dana McGavin. The others laughed.
“Oh, I know you ain’t talking, Dana. I got more up here than you!”
More laughter.
“Neither one of y’all got nothin’,” said Pat, who was full-breasted. “So shut up!”
Laughter.
“Wanda,” someone said, “what happened to your red?”
“Yeah. Her blood red!”
In response to her teammates’ laughter, the tiniest Grace Girl poked out and scrunched together her lips in an expression that admitted defeat and emitted annoyance.
“Wanda can’t stand to see somebody win the color game other than her,” commented Deidre Lowry.
“That ain’t true!”
“Yes, it is, Wanda. You know it’s killing you that Tracy won,” teased Karla Head.
“That ain’t true!”
“S
ure it is, Wanda. But you don’t have to worry. Just because Tracy won doesn’t mean she’s going to steal Miz Grace away from you,” teased Sandra.
Amid laughter, Wanda Carver snatched away and headed for the showers. “That ain’t funny! And I changed my mind. I don’t wanna play this game no more!”
“Oh, Wanda, sugar, come back! We were just teasing!” soothed Sandra.
“No!” declared Wanda before disappearing into a shower stall.
Several of the girls, especially the seniors, crumpled in laughter, but Tracy was puzzled by their amusement and felt sorry for Wanda. Later, Tracy was surprised when the senior girls allowed her to walk with them as they left the locker room. Two times this week, she had happened to exit the locker room when they did, but they had pulled ahead of her, remaining separated by the prestige of age, and she had walked alone. But now they slowed their pace to include her.
“But seriously, Baby Girl,” said Pat, as if she and Tracy had just been conversing together, “you a good player. Real good. I wouldn’t be surprised if Miz Grace let you start this year.”
Tracy blushed. “She’ll start a tenth grader?”
“Miz Grace’ll start a first grader if she thought it would help her win,” quipped Toni. The others laughed.
“Yes, but to start Tracy, she’d have to bump somebody. My guess is it would be Wanda,” said Sandra. “At least, I hope so. Otherwise, it’ll be me.”
“Miz Grace wasn’t gon’ start Wanda ass this year no way,” said Pat.
“Of course she was,” insisted Sandra. “Who else is a junior? Karla, Dana, Deidre. Karla’s good, but Wanda’s faster and a better shooter. Deidre has a funky attitude sometimes and she’s not that good of a player. And Dana’s too rough around the edges for Miz Grace. She’ll start them next year, when she has no choice.”
“Dana rough around the edges? What about Wanda?” said Toni.
“Miz Grace overlooks Wanda. You have to, because Wanda’s not going to change.”
The discussion about Wanda gave Tracy the courage to voice her concern. “Why y’all always laugh at her?”
“Who, Wanda? ’Cause she funny!” answered Toni, and the others laughed.
Tracy was not satisfied with the answer but did not know how to articulate this feeling.
“Wanda take the color game too serious,” Pat explained to Tracy.
“That’s right,” agreed Sandra, who was checking her makeup in a compact mirror. “Acts as if she’s hurt when somebody else wins the pot.”
“So she mad at me?” Tracy asked.
“No,” said Toni. “She’s mad at losing, not at you. Wanda don’t stay mad at nobody.”
“I think Wanda feels that when she wins the game, it proves she has some kind of special connection with Miz Grace,” explained Sandra, who planned to study psychology in college. “So she doesn’t like it when somebody gets in the way of that. She’s very, uh, protective when it comes to Miz Grace.” She threw a knowing look at the other seniors, who hummed in agreement.
“That’s one way to put it,” said Pat.
The seniors again exchanged knowing looks.
Tracy saw the exchange and wondered what it meant. “What?” she asked.
“Wanda has a crush on Miz Grace,” explained Sandra casually.
“For real?” asked Tracy, surprised not just by the revelation but by the ease with which Sandra disclosed it. Not only were rich girls not ashamed to walk around in underwear, they also did not seem to be embarrassed by much else. “Is Wanda, uh, like that?” Tracy asked. She hardly used the word gay and had never said lesbian or homosexual, so she wasn’t comfortable pronouncing the words in front of the other girls.
“Yep,” said Toni.
“No,” Sandra quickly countered. “Wanda is not gay. I don’t even think she’s sexually aware yet. Her thing with Miz Grace is more like…the attachment a baby has for its mother.”
“Oh,” said Tracy, although the lack of attachment she felt to her own mother made the concept hard to grasp.
“Yep. ’Cause her mama ran out on the family when Wanda was little,” explained Toni.
“Oh,” said Tracy.
“Good thing Miz Grace doesn’t show favoritism,” remarked Sandra. “If she had a pet, Wanda would probably shoot the girl.”
The seniors chuckled, but Tracy merely smiled because she thought about the little junior with the speedy talk and childish antics and blemished eye and couldn’t help but feel that she had stolen something more than the color game away from Wanda Carver.
