American Blue by Penny Birch Page B

of the court.
    That was not enough. Within seconds I’d managed to commit a foul I didn’t even understand, and while the referee didn’t seem to care about girls ripping each other’s clothes off on the floor he definitely wasn’t inclined to go easy on me. I was also the shortest girl on the court, by at least five inches, and undoubtedly the least sporty. By the time the buzzer went for the third quarter our lead had fallen to just four points, but the referee declined Tiffany’s furious demands for Bobby to be allowed back on, threatening to send her off as well if she didn’t shut up.
    All of them were glaring at me, even Jemima, and Hudson had his head in his hands, bringing me to the verge of tears as the game began once more. The others tried to avoid passing to me, but we were in a mess , while the Bitches constantly got the better of us, until the scores were only two points apart, and Tiffany was yelling at us to put everything into defence.
    Abi May was right next to me, about to throw the ball, but I couldn’t even have reached it as she poised herself, and in it went, unerringly aimed from half the length of the court. The scoreboard chimed and they were ahead, at fifty-eight to fifty-seven, and I was sure there could be only moments left before the end of the game.
    The game started up one more time, there was a frantic scrabble in the middle of the court and the ball bounced loose, slowly and right into my hands, so that even I couldn’t drop it. Time seemed to slow, the screams of the girls hanging in the air as I lifted the ball, threw it high, and watched it sail clean over the net and the board behind, to land in the lap of a man dressed in a lime-green suit over a black shirt, just as the buzzer went to signal the end of the game.
    We’d lost, by a single point, and I could only stare aghast at the scoreboard. It wasn’t my fault, not really. It was Talana’s for throwing a tantrum and not showing up. It was Melody’s for playing dirty. It was Bobby’s for getting into a fight. Somehow I knew that the others weren’t going to see it that way.

Seven
    THE CROWD WAS in turmoil, every man and woman on their feet, whooping with glee and yelling for the fucking to begin. I barely heard, standing dumbstruck where I had thrown the final shot and not knowing if I was going to burst into tears or hysterical laughter. Even as Buttman Bailey stepped out on to the court brandishing the six huge strap-ons in his fist it hardly seemed real, but my senses were slowly returning and I found myself trying to avoid the other girls’ eyes as we were ordered to get into a line on the floor.
    ‘Down you go!’ Buttman Bailey was calling. ‘Butts high, facing turn and turn about so everybody gets a good view. Come on, don’t be shy, you all know the rules!’
    I’d never heard so much glee in a human voice, but his girls were no better. Shana had come back off the bench and was helping Melody buckle a strap-on into place, while Felicita already had hers on, poking up obscenely from beneath the front of her tiny skirt as she made rude gestures to the crowd, tugging on the shaft in imitation of a man masturbating.
    Bobby tried to hold back, but they weren’t having it and two officials pushed her out on to the court, though they at least had the decency to leave her injured sister alone. Unfortunately that meant there were six of us and six of them, although I suspected that after my performance I would have been the first one put up for fucking and the last to be let off.
    It was going to happen, that was all there was to it, and I got down on my knees next to Jemima. She gave me a dirty look, which I answered with a shrug, and stuck her bum up as she had been ordered to, a little exhibitionist even in defeat. I did the same, feeling immensely self-conscious as I felt my cheeks round and spread, with only the split crotch of my furry shorts to protect my rear view from the lecherous gaze of the audience.
    The