The Sixth Man

by John Feinstein

  He wasn’t that much taller than Alex but probably outweighed him by at least twenty pounds. Alex simply couldn’t keep him out of the lane, and that meant his teammates had to cover for him or let Jackson go to the basket for an easy layup. At the other end, Jackson was quick enough to stay in front of Alex, which meant Alex could force shots from deep or move the ball on the perimeter. Neither of which did much good.

  The only Lion having any success was Max. Even though he couldn’t get inside any more than Alex could, he kept stepping back farther and farther and making threes. The closest Chester Heights came was at the end of the third quarter, when Max made an NBA-distance three just before the buzzer to close the gap to 58–48.

  Chester promptly started the fourth quarter with a 9–0 run, and that was the ball game. Coach Archer let the subs play out the last few minutes, and Chester coach Robert Sprau did the same. The final was 81–66. But it hadn’t really been that close.

  “So now we know how much we have to improve,” Coach Archer said in the quiet locker room. “We’ve got seven games to go before we get to play them at our place to finish the season. We have to keep winning against the other teams and keep getting better. We can do that. I know we can do that. I put you in a hole tonight, and we never dug out of it. Next time we’ll be ready.”

  Alex knew he was referring to the 9–0 start that had happened largely because Wakefield simply couldn’t handle the Clippers’ pressure. Alex glanced at Wakefield, who had his head down and was staring at the floor as if he wasn’t listening.

  “Okay, fellas, listen up for one more minute.” Coach Archer paused and then said simply, “Max?”

  Max stood up in front of his teammates. The locker room was tiny, so they were packed in tight. Alex could tell by the look on everyone’s faces that they were baffled.

  “I just wanted to let you guys know…” Max hesitated. He looked at Jonas and then at Alex. Both nodded at him.

  Max took a deep breath. “I wanted to let you know there’s a story in the Weekly Roar tomorrow about me. Actually, it’s by me—sort of.”

  “Bellotti, what makes you think we care?” Wakefield said. “Can we just get out of here? We’ve all got school tomorrow, in case you forgot.”

  “Shut up, Wakefield,” Alex said. “Let him talk.”

  “No, he’s right, Alex,” Max said quickly. “Zane, you’re right. I’ll spit it out. The headline on the story is, ‘I’m Gay.’ You can read it, and if you have any questions, feel free to ask. I just wanted to give you a heads-up. Thanks.”

  For a split second no one moved, except for Max, who walked over to his locker and opened it. Everyone looked at Coach Archer.

  “Usual practice time tomorrow,” he said. “We won’t go very long.”

  He turned and walked out.

  Alex stood up to shuck his uniform and head for the shower. Max patted him on the shoulder.

  “Thanks for that,” he said quietly. “Tough night.”

  “I have a feeling tomorrow’s going to be tougher,” Alex said.

  “It’ll be okay,” Max said. “I promise.”

  Alex trusted Max. It was the rest of the world he wasn’t so sure about.

  Alex was up before the sun after sleeping restlessly most of the night. It was pretty warm for the fourth day of February, so he decided he would bike to school. That way he wouldn’t have to wait for his mom.

  He pulled up to the bicycle rack at school at the stroke of seven o’clock and was surprised—though he shouldn’t have been—to hear a familiar voice call his name.

  “Can’t wait to see the paper?” Alex asked.

  “Can you blame me?” Christine answered.

  They walked into the empty front lobby together and found the papers stacked up and waiting. Not surprisingly, Max’s story was on the front page. Alex read through it quickly—it wasn’t different from what Christine had shown them on Monday. But reading the final line of the story again gave Alex a little chill.

  I am so happy to begin again. Keeping this secret locked up inside me for the last couple of years has been difficult. Right now, I feel as free as I’ve ever felt in my entire life.

  Alex read the last line aloud as he and Christine walked in the direction of the freshman lockers. “I just hope he feels that way tonight,” Alex said.

  “It was going to come out sooner or later,” Christine said. “At least this way—”

  She was interrupted by the sound of an angry voice calling her name: “Christine Whitford!”

  They looked up and saw Mr. White, the school principal. Mr. White was generally regarded as a buffoon by most of the students—especially by Alex, who had watched him disappear under his desk during his drug-testing crisis in the fall—and as someone content to cite rules rather than try to help a student in trouble.

  Now Mr. White was striding down the hall, pointing a finger at Christine. The ever-present phony smile on his face was nowhere to be found.

  “Good morning, Mr. White,” Christine said, cool as ever.

  Mr. White ignored her greeting and Alex. He was holding a copy of the Weekly Roar. Clutching it, really.

  “Did Mr. Hillier approve this story?” he asked.

  “Of course he did,” Christine said. “He reads everything that goes into the newspaper. He—”

  Mr. White cut her off again. “He had no right to do that without consulting with me. This is a school-wide issue, not just some silly story about a ball game.”

  Alex thought that was pretty funny coming from Mr. White, who loved to play the role of head cheerleader at pep rallies. He didn’t seem to think ball games were silly then.

  Christine put her hands on her hips, which Alex knew meant one of two things: she wanted something or she was angry. In this case, Alex figured it was the latter.

  “Mr. White, Max isn’t the first gay student at Chester Heights or even the first gay student to come out.”

  Mr. White’s face twisted into a sneer. “Then why,” he said, waving the paper, “is it front-page news?”

  Whoops. He had her there.

  Christine hesitated—and was lost.

  “I’m going to see Mr. Hillier right now. I want to see him and you in my office during lunch hour.”

  He stalked away.

  “And good morning to you too, Mr. White,” Alex said to the principal’s back—though not loud enough for him to hear.

  Christine looked like she might cry. That was 180 degrees from her normal demeanor, even under pressure.

  “Hey, take it easy; he’s being a jerk,” Alex said, putting his arm around her.

  She shook her head. “I don’t care about him. What’s he going to do—yell at me some more? But if that’s the reaction of the principal, how is the rest of the school going to react?”

  It didn’t take long to find out.

  Everywhere Alex went, kids kept coming up to him asking how he felt about Max being gay. Alex had rehearsed his answer lying in bed the night before, because he knew the question was going to come.

  He’d finally settled on, “I don’t care what he is; I care who he is. He’s a great kid and a terrific teammate.”

  Naturally, Hope Alexander was the one person who made his life difficult. He was on his way to lunch when she cut him off in the hallway. Surprisingly, she was alone.

  “You knew and you didn’t tell me?” she said.

  “Wasn’t my story to tell, Hope. It was Max’s.”

  “But you let me throw myself at him at the parties; you knew I was texting him all the time….”

  “Actually, I had no idea you were texting him all the time,” Alex said. “Max never told me that. And I’ll bet he didn’t tell anyone else either.”

  For the first time since he had met her in the fall, Alex saw Hope Alexander blush. It made him wonder what had been in her texts. She recovered quickly.

  “I should have known,” she said. “I’ve never had a guy be so completely uninterested in me. Now I know why.”
/>   Much to Alex’s relief, she stalked away.

  The cafeteria was abuzz, and Alex knew it wasn’t about last night’s game. Max was at their usual table, with Matt hovering protectively, so Alex rushed over to join them. He hadn’t seen Max all day.

  “How are you doing?” he asked.

  “Okay, I guess,” Max answered. “It’s kind of surreal, actually. Where’s Christine?”

  “She’s meeting with Coach Hillier and Mr. White.”

  “Ah.”

  On a couple of occasions, Alex saw kids start over to the table only to turn away when they saw Matt glaring at them.

  Only Zane Wakefield and Tony Early made it past Matt’s force field. Both were holding their trays.

  “You owe us all an explanation,” Wakefield said.

  “You going to quit?” Early added.

  Before Max could respond, the others did.

  “Why should he quit?” Jonas said.

  “What is there to explain?” said Matt. “Even you two guys can read.”

  “He’s gay,” Wakefield said. “You think we’re going to have any chance playing against teams who know we’ve got a fag on our team?”

  Alex jumped up, right in Wakefield’s face.

  “Shut up, Wakefield,” he said. “The only reason we’re seven and one in the conference is because he’s on our team. It sure as hell isn’t because of you.”

  Wakefield was still holding his tray, and for a second Alex thought he was going to dump it on him. He didn’t get the chance because Matt jumped in between them.

  “Wakefield, do us all a favor and go crawl back under your rock,” Matt said.

  “Figures a cheat would stand up for him,” Wakefield said. “My dad’s on the school board. We’ll see what happens next.”

  He and Early walked away. Matt, a little red-faced, sat down.

  Max hadn’t said a word.

  Now he did. “Listen, you guys. I appreciate you wanting to stand up for me. But I’m fine. I know I’m going to hear stuff like that.”

  “You shouldn’t have to hear it from players on your own team,” Alex said.

  Max shrugged. “Do I really care what Zane Wakefield thinks? If I let guys like that get to me, teammate or not, that’s on me.”

  “If it were me, I’d have decked him,” Jonas said. “Alex and Matt were right—”

  Max put a hand up. “So, Jonas, no one has ever thrown a racial slur at you?”

  “Of course they have,” Jonas said. “But it’s different.”

  “How’s it different?” Max asked. “Because you can’t hide the fact that you’re black, and I can hide the fact that I’m gay? Do you lay out everyone who says something idiotic to you?”

  Jonas shook his head. “No, I wouldn’t give them the pleasure of knowing they got to me….”

  He stopped, understanding.

  Max smiled. And the rest of them did too.

  Coach Archer walked into the locker room with Max just as everyone was getting into their practice gear. Max was already dressed for practice.

  “Okay, fellas, listen up,” he said. “Grab a chair as if we were having a game-day talk.”

  They all pulled their chairs forward. Only Max didn’t sit, standing off to the side.

  “We didn’t talk last night about what Max told you because it was late and he and I agreed you should all read the story first.

  “Before I tell you what I think about it, I’d like to ask if anyone in this room has an issue with it. Raise your hand if you do.”

  For a moment, no one moved. Then Zane Wakefield put his hand up. So did Tony Early and, to Alex’s surprise, Larry Ceplair. Coach Archer waited to see if anyone else wanted to join in. He was about to begin speaking again when Ceplair spoke up.

  “Coach, I don’t have a problem with Max or anyone being gay,” he said. “But the shower—”

  Max started to say something, but Coach Archer put up his hand. “Larry, I hear you. We’ll get to that.”

  He turned in the direction of Wakefield and Early. “Zane, Tony, I’m not here to tell you how to feel on any issue other than basketball. You have two choices right now: you can leave the team or you can stay. I hope you will stay. But if you do, I want you to understand: Max is a member of this team and he will be treated with respect.

  “If he was our twelfth man, I would deal with this exactly the same way I’m dealing with it now. The fact is, he’s the leading scorer in our conference, which means we’re going to have to deal with a lot of outside factors going forward. So it’s important that we’re together on this.”

  He pointed at Wakefield and Early. “You guys don’t have to give me a decision now, but I need one before the game on Friday.”

  “Coach, my father’s going to want to talk to you about this,” Wakefield said. “He’s on the school board, and—”

  “I don’t care if your father is on the school board,” Coach Archer said. “Of course I will talk to him, like I’d talk to any parent. Have him call me anytime. But I’ll say the same thing to him that I’m saying to you. Max is a member of this team.”

  He looked Wakefield square in the eye. Wakefield didn’t hold the gaze.

  Coach Archer waited a couple of beats, then moved on.

  “Okay, the shower question.” He shook his head for a moment. “Max actually brought this up to me, because he doesn’t want anyone to be uncomfortable, but I think it’s a nonissue. For the record, you’ve all been taking showers in the same room as Max for a month now, and nothing’s happened, right? For all any of you know, the guy sitting next to you might be gay too. Right?”

  He looked around the room. “Okay,” he said. “One other thing—dealing with the media. I am never going to tell anyone what to say, but I would recommend you tell the truth: Max is part of our team. He’s a terrific player and a good guy. His social life is his own business just like my social life is my own business.”

  He looked around again. “Any questions?”

  He looked at Max. “Anything you’d like to add?”

  “I want to thank you, Coach, for supporting me,” he said. “You guys who might feel a little uncomfortable at first, I understand. I’ll give you some space.” He nodded at Ceplair, who nodded back. “Zane, Tony, let me put your minds at ease. Neither one of you is my type.”

  It took a split second for the comment to register. Then everyone broke up laughing. Even Wakefield and Early. It was the perfect tension breaker.

  Max sat down, and Coach Archer said, “Okay, guys, let’s take a look at some of the tape from last night’s game. There’s a lot we can learn from it.”

  It was time to get ready for the next game.

  Of course it wasn’t nearly that simple.

  By that evening, the word was all over the local media about the fact that the leading scorer in the South Philadelphia Athletic Conference had announced in the school newspaper that he was gay. Fortunately, the word hadn’t gotten out before the end of practice, so they didn’t have to deal with any media on the way out.

  “It’ll happen tomorrow,” Christine told Alex on the phone that night. “My dad said it didn’t hit the Internet or Twitter until about six o’clock, because no one checks high school student newspapers looking for news. How did it go at practice today?”

  “Practice was okay,” he said. “Coach Archer made it pretty clear that anyone who has a problem with Max is free to quit.”

  He asked her about the meeting with Mr. White and Coach Hillier. She started to laugh.

  “White was beside himself,” she said. “He kept saying, ‘Haven’t we had enough trouble around here after the Myers-Gordon PED debacle?’ Mr. Hillier reminded him that you had nothing to do with the ‘debacle,’ that you were the victim. Mr. White said, ‘You’re missing the point!’ And Mr. Hillier said, ‘No, Mr. White, you’re missing the point.’ ”

  “Sounds like fun,” Alex said. “What did Coach Hillier say the point was?”

  “He said it was a legitima
te story because Max is a star basketball player, and athletes coming out has gotten a lot of press lately. He said that Max was going to make an announcement somehow. And that by having an article in the Roar, he got to tell the story in a way that he found comfortable.

  “The best part, though, was when he said, ‘Mr. White, is this about what’s best for the student or what’s easiest for you?’ That pretty much ended the conversation.”

  “Good,” Alex said. “White’s a clown.”

  “I’d go for buffoon.”

  “That’s because you’re a writer,” Alex said.

  She laughed again. “You know what I’ve been thinking?” she said. “Coach Archer has turned out to be a pretty good guy.”

  Alex knew she was right. If his mom had to date someone, she could do a lot worse. His father certainly had.

  At lunch the next day, Max told everyone that he and Coach Archer were working on a plan for dealing with the media. “He figures it’ll be a mob scene this afternoon. I said I wanted to talk to anyone who shows up, so he’s trying to find a way to do it so it won’t affect practice.”

  “Is Coach going to let them talk to the rest of us?” Jonas asked.

  “What difference does that make?” Christine asked.

  “What if they talk to Wakefield and Early?”

  Max shook his head. “Who cares? Let them say what they want.”

  “That’s why Coach may not want us to talk,” Jonas said. “Because they will.”

  They practiced that afternoon with the gym doors locked and a couple of security guards keeping an eye on the entrances. Even so, everyone was a little on edge. Alex hoped that dealing with the media today would allow them to be mentally ready to play at Haverford Station the next night. Coach Archer was apparently thinking the same thing.