Beyond Blonde by Teresa Toten Page A

pounding the floor as they sunk in all their practice shots was unnerving. David threw me a ball and was in front of me, guarding, in a split second. “Suck it up and shake them off, Sophie,” he hissed. “Are you the captain, or do you want to fetch towels and oranges?”
    I hated his guts and each one of his internal organs, kidneys, spleen … he was right.
    Every time I peeked over at them lumbering through their drills, the power and snap of their passes, their sheer size, a little more of my mojo leaked out. Okay. No more. I made a quick and tiny sign of the cross, hoping that Buddha and Moses and everybody else who was holy would be okay with it, and then I deked by him and made my shot.
    “I am the captain,” I turned to him, “sir.”
    He shot me another ball. “Yes, you are, Sophie.”
    Would it kill him to smile?
    “Yoohoo, yoohoo, Sophie!”
    I knew they were coming and still it was a shock. I think Igo into hard-core denial until I’m faced with incontrovertible proof. In this case it was Mama, waving a white lace hanky at me. “Hallo, darrrling!” The Blondes waved back, knowing full well that that just encourages them. Auntie Eva, Auntie Radmila, and Auntie Luba all fished around their handbags until they found their white lace hankies. This was hampered somewhat by them trying to find good seats right behind the basket, which required displacing some Oakwood fans who were even more menacing looking than their team.
    We were whistled off the floor, reviewed our strategy in the huddle, and whistled back onto the floor to start. Our fans were whooping and waving their little hankies in a furious show of support.
    Madison jogged around me before she took her place for the jump. “Soph?” She smiled. “What’s with the Kleenex?”
    “Hankies,” I corrected. “Papa made the fatal mistake of trying to explain ‘the terrible towel’ tradition that the Pittsburgh Steelers football team started last year.” She looked blank. “Thousands of Pittsburgh’s most loyal fans noisily wave team towels at every opportunity to throw off the opposition. Unfortunately, Auntie Eva thinks it’s the most brilliant strategy in the history of sports.”
    “So, we have the horrible hankies?” She trotted over to centre court.
    “Seems like it.” Since he had to work, Papa swore that he would review all the rules and finer points of the game before he dropped them off. Easier said than done. My devoted fan base had been getting it exuberantly wrong for years. Twenty minutes of rules review wasn’t going to change that.
    The ref blew the whistle, we lost the toss, and my stomach rearranged itself into a gnarled knot.
    “Boo, boo, yoohoo, boo, boo!” Dear Moses, was that their new cheer? Hankies waved with abandon. The Oakwood fans looked confused.
    They were down our throats in an instant. “Move it or lose it, captain. Let’s go!” David ran up and down the court with us on the sidelines.
    Suddenly the floor charged with electricity.
    I stole the ball and ran up with Kit. As soon as I snapped it to her, I glanced in the direction of the hankies, then farther up. Yes, top right, last row. The ball came back to me, over to Sarah, back to me, to Kit, fake, to me, double fake, and over to Madison for two points. We were on the board. The horrible hankies went wild. He was sitting now, trying to blend in. Luke could never blend in.
    I remembered that they lived nearby. They. Did anyone else see?
    Oakwood snapped a pass to their left forward. I shot through and stole it. Kit was up the court in a flash, snap to Kit, back to me, a fake to Madison, and I walked in for the layup; 4 to 2.
    “ Da, da, dat’s it, baby girl!” Mama was standing and yelling now. There was no passing her off as a casual fan. “Papa said to show your balls!”
    My Oakwood forward looked puzzled for a nanosecond, just long enough for me snatch the ball again. I fired it to Madison, who leapt like a gazelle over an Oakwood player, got