Fair Game

By Robyn Ryle

Amanda Harkins is fed up. The Madison boys' basketball team has been getting all the attention and money for way too long. The boys barely even won a game last season while the girls' team almost made it to State. But here she is again, fighting to practice in the good gym with the girls' team, even though they signed up for it and the boys did

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robyn Ryle
• Release date: Jun 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987769706

Robyn Ryle

Dr. Robyn Ryle is an author, speaker, and Professor of Sociology and Gender Studies at Hanover College, IN. She has written for Gawker, Little Fiction/Big Truths, and CALYX Journal.

Book preview

CHAPTER

ONE

Amanda

Was owning the world as easy as the boys made it look?

Amanda inhaled the scent of the new court—varnish, fresh paint, and a hint of sawdust from the wood floors. Justin and Will dribbled up and down its length, the squeak of their shoes echoing off the folded bleachers behind her.

She tightened her grip on the clipboard with the list of drills until the edge dug into her palm.

Those were their squeaks Justin and Will were making. They were bathing in their warm light from the new overheads. This was their court, the one she’d expressly reserved for their informal preseason practice yesterday, pressing down as hard as she could with the black Sharpie to write GIRLS VARSITY!!! on the sign-up sheet outside Coach Hall’s office in thick, black letters. She wrote the words big and then circled them twice. No one who’d looked at the sign-up sheet could miss it, but here were Justin, Will and the rest of the boy’s team, running up and down the court like it and everything else on earth was made for them. Because it was, wasn’t it?

Not again. Dot dropped the mesh bag of basketballs onto the gym floor and pulled at the flippy part of her super-short hair. Maddie came up behind her.

Just let them have it, she said.

Amanda looked at her two best friends. Then she took a deep breath. What would Megan Rapinoe do?

She asked herself this question a lot. She had whole conversations in her head with the soccer star. She knew that was weird, but Megan Rapinoe was famous and successful and cool on top of being a kick-ass activist and, if she paid close enough attention, she could figure out how to be all those things, too. It was like having her own pink-haired fairy godmother. Thinking about Megan always made her feel calmer and like the whole world wasn’t against her. Which was good, or anyway it was better than screaming.

Thunk. A shot bounced out of the basket and Amanda winced. That was the sound that echoed in Southwestern’s gym last year, the sound of Amanda’s missed free-throw in overtime of the regional championship. It was the sound of the one point that should have sent them to State but didn’t. That sound was Maddie’s face as she’d tried to hide her disappointment. It was Dot looking crushed and the rest of the team staring off into space in that empty, defeated way. She’d heard that sound in her head every day for the last six months. They had to do better this year. She had to make sure they did better.

Doing better meant practicing on the new court, but once again, the boys were here instead.

Five times now. Five times since school started they’d signed up for the main court only to find the boys playing there. That didn’t count all the times it happened over the summer. Or the times once the season officially started that the girls would somehow be relegated to the back-up court—the dark and scary court they called the Pit of Despair. When they practiced there, they could feel it sucking years of their life away. The Pit was dark with uneven boards and a moldy smell. The Pit was not worthy of them—a team with a winning record for the past ten years and sectional titles the past three out of four.

The boys’ team on the other hand? They’d won three of their twenty-nine games last season, one of them by forfeit. That was how bad they were. Not a single person at Lanier Consolidated High School in Lanier, Indiana, proud home of the Cubs, could remember the last time the boys’ basketball team had a winning season. Three generations of losing boys’ basketball teams, but none of that mattered. She could press down as hard as she wanted with the Sharpie on Coach Hall’s door. The boys would still end up on the main court while she and Maddie and Dot breathed in the swampy funk from the Pit of Despair.

It’s not worth the hassle. Maddie shrugged and raised an eyebrow at Amanda, waiting.

On the court, Justin took a pass from Will and then glided toward the basket, cradling the ball in his hands as he lifted it toward the hoop.

Let’s see who can make the most layups in a row. She and Justin played that game for hours, back when they were still friends. Some days it rained so hard they could barely see the basket, but they kept going, adding a rule that the layup didn’t count unless you splashed in a puddle first. Extra points for the biggest splash.

They’d be playing together forever. That’s what she’d thought, but she got everything about Justin wrong. A few months into their first year at the junior high, he showed up at the court less and less and, then, not at all.

Justin was her best friend—the person she told everything to. Now they were seniors, and she had no idea who he was.

He trotted back into line for the drill and his eyes swung toward her. He smiled and her stomach fizzed, like it had on those rainy days, both of them soaked to the bone and laughing. The whole town belonged to them.

Then he saw it was her, his smile froze, and the fizz was gone. She hugged her arms tight around her chest.

No, she said. Focus. Focus! She snapped the rubber bracelet on her wrist. This was not about Justin. This was about the fact that she’d signed up for the court, not them. THROW LIKE A GIRL, RUN LIKE A GIRL, WIN LIKE A GIRL, the all-cap letters on her bracelet read. She’d bought one for every girl on the team, but, of course, no one else wore theirs.

This is bullshit. She looked up at the Circle of Honor around the top of the gym, the banners from their regional wins, stylish and new in the bright overhead lights. They hung next to the faded banner from the last time the boys’ team had won anything, back in the 90s. The new paint on the Cubs’ mascot was so crisp it was like high-def. Any minute, the Cubbie would spring to life and cheer them on. This gym was perfect, and it should be theirs.

Not today. Amanda handed the clipboard to Maddie.

Maddie groaned.

Harkins steps on the court, her shoulders squared with determination, Dot whispered.

Amanda started with Will, the alpha male on the team, all compact swagger and testosterone. Match power with power. That was rule #6 in The Activist’s Handbook: Famous Women Rebels and Activists Who Changed the World, her personal Bible of social activism. She had a copy in her gym bag in the locker room, hidden away. Being an activist was supposed to be cool now according to TikTok, but no one in Indiana had realized that yet. She took The Activist’s Handbook with her everywhere, the spine taped where pages were falling out.

She waited until Will moved in for his lay-up and then stepped into his path. He had to either run into her or go around. Let him run into her. It would be like taking a charge and she loved taking a charge. Getting knocked on her butt and getting back up. She was good at that.

Will drove as close to her as he could and then stopped. She could see the acne scars on his forehead and breathe in his cologne. It smelled like wet dog and gasoline. He’d started wearing it about the same time his family moved from the apartment complex downtown to the subdivision on the Hilltop. More than once, she’d heard him mention how much the cologne cost, but why pay any amount of money to smell like that? She resisted the urge to wave her hand in front of her face and coughed instead.

Hey, Uh-man-duh. Will always stretched her name out, like it was some sort of cute joke between them. It was not.

She smiled to cover the urge to run and hide in the poorly-lit girls’ bathroom in the hallway by the junior high band room. Or next to the bench where the teachers sat at recess. She had a long list of places she’d hidden from Will because for most of junior high, torturing her was his full-time job. But not anymore. She wasn’t afraid of Will—gasoline-drenched, wet dog smell and all. He smiled and glanced at the boys around him, who stopped their drill to watch.

We reserved the main gym, Amanda said.

The opponents face off in the middle of the court, the tension high, Dot said. She spun her grandfather’s watch around on her wrist, while Maddie lingered at the sidelines, bouncing the clipboard against her chin.

It’s ours until seven, so you guys need to move to the other court. Amanda tried to arrange her face in an expression that was resolute, but not bitchy, even if bitchy was all the boys would see.

Oh, man. Will attempted a sympathetic face, but it was like his muscles had never learned to make that expression. I didn’t notice that you girls had signed up. He glanced again at the boys around him. We can’t really stop in the middle of practice now, though, can we? We’d have to pack up all our equipment and go to the other court. We’d lose all that time.

Well, if you’d paid attention to the sign-up sheet, you wouldn’t have that problem. Amanda nodded at Maddie, who still stood on the sidelines, her arms folded across her striped t-shirt. She always wore stripes. She’d read once that it made you look shorter. She was one of three Asian American people at Lanier, plus being over six feet tall. Sticking out less was all Maddie ever wanted from life. Right, Maddie?

Maddie nodded…barely. Amanda had to watch close to even catch the movement and no one else saw.

Come on, Maddie. Back me up. Risk it just this once. They had to stand their ground. There was strength in numbers. Even Megan Rapinoe had the rest of the team on her side.

Will glanced at Maddie, missing her nod, of course. Maddie was on the volleyball team and pretty and popular and so he would not be messing with her. Which was nice and all if you were into that, but what was the point of being popular if you couldn’t use it? Like now. Now would be a good time for Maddie to use her popularity super powers. Or was that the part of how popularity worked that Amanda didn’t understand?

She grabbed a ball out of the bag Dot carried and squared up toward the basket. Thanks for being so accommodating. She smiled, even though her whole face was a cramped muscle, and nodded at Will.

Act as if. Ignore Will and Justin and the rest of the boys and act as if the situation was already resolved. Act as if she didn’t care about Justin watching her, as if her palms weren’t sweaty against the dry surface of the ball.

She bent her knees in perfect form, shoulders-width apart. Shooting was automatic. Her brain turned off and sometimes that was all she wanted in the world—for her brain to stop.

Will, let’s just--. Justin had his hand on Will’s arm, but Will shook it off. He stepped toward her just as the ball rolled off the tips of her fingers and that was enough to throw her off.

Nice job, Justin, she wanted to say. But she didn’t talk to Justin anymore, so she kept her mouth shut.

The ball bounced off the backboard with that same jarring thunk. She winced again. One free throw away, Amanda. There was no worse sound in the world. She titled her head to one side and then the other. Shake it off. No big deal.

He threw off her shot. Dot pointed at Justin. No fair!

I just--, Justin started to say, then stopped.

With one wiry arm, Will scooped up the rebound. He held the ball out to her, the smaller size of the women’s ball cradled in his palm.

She hated when boys did that. As if she had personally requested that the balls be different. If it were up to her, they’d play with the men’s ball. She could shoot just as well with it, anyway.

Tell you what, Will said. Let’s settle this with some friendly competition. You make your next shot and after tonight, we’ll practice in the old gym for the rest of the week. No complaints. No bad feelings.

Um. Justin’s eyes darted from Will to her and back.

Or you could just give us the court we already signed up for. She smiled her best, I-don’t-really-care-if-you-think-I’m-bitchy smile. She had lots of opportunities to practice, so it was pretty good.

The whole week. Will turned the ball over, palming it easily.

Nope.

Two weeks. Will raised his eyebrow, the smirk still on his face.

She wanted to knock that smirk off his face so badly.

You’ve got this, Amanda, Dot whispered.

We don’t need to win a bet. She shot Dot a disapproving look. The court is already ours. We signed up for it.

Oh, just do it. Maddie snuck up beside her, lured by the possibility of an easy solution. She smiled at Justin and Amanda couldn’t tell if it was just Maddie’s mandatory, popular-girl-who-smiles-at-everyone-smile, or something else. Justin smiled back, but he looked nervous. He always looked a little nervous around Amanda, but did he look more nervous than usual?

Until regular season practice starts, Will said. We’ll take the Pit of Despair for that whole month and you can have the main court.

Amanda snapped the bracelet again and studied Will. A whole month on the main court. It was tempting. Of course, she could make the shot, but Will hadn’t specified what would happen if she didn’t. They’d have to spend the rest of the year fighting over the main court? That was what they did, anyway. The Pit of Despair was bearable one more time if it meant they never had to practice there again.

She looked at Dot, her lips moving in the whispered commentary she was always having with the world or herself or an invisible legion of fans. All that whispering stopped their freshman year when Dot missed two weeks because her mom was in jail with her second DUI and she had to stay home to take care of her little sister. For those few months, Dot was quieter than she’d ever been, so still it was like she was afraid she might fall apart if she moved too fast. It wasn’t during the season, so she hadn’t missed any games, but it took a long time for Dot to go back to being Dot again.

If they got to State this year, more recruiters would see Dot. That meant more chances of a scholarship for her and that was the only way Dot was going to be able to afford college. College was the only way for Dot to get out of Lanier.

Having the main court was a big deal. Every little thing could make the difference, including being able to practice during the off-season on an actual court instead of the dungeon that passed for one in the old gym.

The clock above the exit sign ticked. The sharp smell of varnish tickled her nose.

Something wasn’t right here. Something more than the way the boys’ team just did what they wanted and no one cared.

She studied Justin’s face for some clue and then looked away. It hurt somewhere just behind her heart to look at Justin for too long. Once, he would have told her what was going on, but not anymore.

Fine. She snatched the ball out of Will’s hand and squared up to the basket. She lifted her left arm, elbow at the sharp right-angle Mom taught her as soon as she could pick up the ball. She bent at the knees—Always bend at the knees, she heard Mom say. You can’t buy natural talent you weren’t born with, but you can make it up with form. With practice. With work and study. Be a student of the game.

And she was. She’d worked hard to become one. She wasn’t fast. She wasn’t tall, like Maddie. She didn’t have Dot’s amazing court awareness. She was stubborn and determined to be the best student of the game ever. That was it. That was what she had.

She lifted the ball in her hand and imagined it dropping into the basket. She pictured the gentle arc connecting her hand to the rim, as if the hoop were an extension of her body. It was an impossible thing, basketball. A game in which if you got the ball to go in four out of ten times, you were killing it. It was part ballet and part forty-yard dash and part wrestling and a lot of pure will. She loved everything about it.

With one smooth motion, she let the ball fly. She smiled before it reached the basket. She always knew when a shot was going in.

Swish, Dot whispered. Even Maddie let out a squeak of joy.

A month, Amanda said. We get the court for a whole month.

Will put his hand on his heart, as if this meant something. As if he had a heart. After tonight, you get the main court for a whole month.

The rest of the boys shrugged or went back to their drill, except for Tyler Fitch, who laughed, and Justin, who frowned. Tyler Fitch was an idiot sidekick who laughed at everything. Why was Justin frowning, though? She didn’t know. She didn’t know why Justin did any of the things he did anymore.

Enjoy your last night in the Pit, Will called as the gym doors shut behind them.

Was that too easy? Dot picked up the bag of balls and slung it over her shoulder.

Way too easy. Maddie banged the clipboard against her leg as she walked.

Amanda didn’t say anything. It had been too easy. She wasn’t going to think about that, though.

Focus on the positive, Megan whispered in her head.

CHAPTER

TWO

Dot

Practice will resume after this brief word from our local sponsors. Dot turned the corner into the dark hallway that led to the Pit of Despair, dragging the bag of balls behind her. Maddie and Amanda stood in front of the gym door.

What? What is it? She squeezed between them and read the sign—CLOSED DUE TO FLOODING.

Right, but maybe it’s not that bad. It couldn’t be that bad.

Amanda and Maddie made the old gym out like it was so horrible, but Dot didn’t mind practicing there. It would be great to have the new gym for the rest of the season, but she just wanted to play. Now. In the new gym with the boys, in the new gym without the boys, the old gym, the hallway, the parking lot. She played in a parking lot next to her apartment all the time. It was fine. Whatever, as long as she could run up and down the court until the feeling that she would never fit inside her own skin disappeared for a few, brief moments.

She pushed past Amanda and Maddie and opened the door. Oh, it’s that bad.

Inside the old gym, the light from the exit sign reflected off puddles. The smell today was much, much worse. She took a deep sniff. Mmm, mildew on top of sweat and despair, with a healthy dose of sewer. It smelled like the laundry room in the basement of her apartment complex, which no one ever used because, yes, the smell, but also, none of the machines worked.

Ugh. Maddie held her sweater sleeve over her nose. That’s gross.

Dot shifted her weight from one foot to the other. But, we won. Also, they could just dribble around the puddles. She did it all the time in the parking lot. It helped with your ball handling.

We didn’t win, Amanda said. The boys can’t play here which means we don’t have the new gym for a month. Will tricked us and now we can’t practice at all.

Dot bounced her hip against the bag of balls. So, what happens now?

Nothing. Maddie tugged at her ponytail. We go on fighting with the boys over the new court.

No. Amanda shook her head and stepped back, almost tripping over the balls, but, good thing, not. This is not happening. She turned and headed down the hall.

Where are you going? Maddie called.

To the top. Amanda pointed at the ceiling. "Rule #32 in The Activist’s Handbook— ‘Seek alliances with sympathetic people in power.’ We’ll talk to Coach Hall."

Oh, yeah. That’s smart. Dot hauled the bag onto her shoulder and followed the