I finally managed to unscramble myself from the pile. I looked around. The two coaches from the other team were arguing with the refs. From this distance, over the noise of the crowd, I couldn’t hear anything, but I could tell by their expressions and gestures that they were very angry. It also didn’t take a genius to figure out what they were arguing about — they must have been saying that the shot didn’t count, that it was still in Mark’s hands at the buzzer.
The refs seemed to be holding their own in the arguing department. Finally, the two refs shook their heads, turned away and the two coaches stormed angrily away – obviously unhappy with the result.
I wanted to just ask Coach to make sure that we’d won and that was the end of it and… Coach and my father were standing by our bench along with three men wearing tournament-official shirts. I recognized the mayor, but not the other two. Coach was jumping up and down. I stopped in my tracks, afraid to go any closer. I’d seen him upset — heck, I’d seen him down-right lose it, he was so angry — but that was nothing compared to what he looked like right now. Why was he so angry? Had they told him that we’d lost the game? And, if we’d lost, then why weren’t the coaches from the other team happy? Both teams couldn’t have lost.
The three officials started to walk away. My father was holding Coach by the arms, physically stopping him from going after them. My father half pushed, half dragged Coach toward the dressing-room door, and the two of them disappeared through the door.
None of this made any sense at all. What was happening? I looked over at the other team’s bench. The kids were just sitting there with their heads in their hands. A couple of them looked like they were in tears. One of their coaches was stomping around like an elephant. I looked up at the scoreboard. The score still stood – we’d won by one point. We had to have won.
I ran down the floor to where everybody else was still celebrating, completely oblivious to whatever was happening.
“Kia!” I screamed. “We have to get to the dressing room!”
“We have to celebrate!” she shouted, bouncing up and down.
“Something’s wrong!” I yelled, and not only Kia, but Mark and David and Jamie as well stopped cheering and looked at me.
“What do you mean?” Jamie demanded.
“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “We have to ask Coach. We have to go to the dressing room.”
Everybody grabbed somebody else and got their attention. The whole team trailed after me across the floor. I pushed open the dressing-room door. I expected to hear yelling, but the only noise was coming from the people behind me. Coach was sitting on a bench. My father was standing right beside him. They both looked up as we entered. Coach didn’t look angry. Worse – he looked sad.
Everybody stopped talking and, without being asked, sat down on the bench across from Coach. Silently we waited. And waited. Finally Coach spoke.
“I’m not exactly sure where to begin.”
“We won the game… right?” Tristan asked. Coach nodded. “But that’s not the issue.”
Coach didn’t answer right away. I could see him thinking through his words before he spoke.
“We were told that there was going to be a meeting this morning by tournament officials,” he began. “And they met and have decided that we have been playing with an ineligible player.”
“A what?” Jordan asked.
“A player who isn’t supposed to be playing in this tournament,” I answered.
“You mean like somebody who’s too old?” he asked.
“We’re all the right age,” Jamie protested. “Aren’t we?”
Again Coach nodded. “It isn’t the age of our players that’s being questioned. It’s a matter of gender.”
“What’s gender?” L.B. asked.
“Kia,” Coach said quietly. “They’re saying that Kia can’t play because she’s a girl.”
“But there was another girl who competed!” I exclaimed. “Your sister… thirty years ago!”
“She competed in the first two rounds. Before the championship game we were told that she couldn’t play or we’d forfeit the game,” Coach said.
“And?” L.B. asked.
“And she didn’t play.”
“But that was thirty years ago,” I argued.
“Even more,” my father agreed.
“So that was in the olden days. Things have to be different now!”
“That’s what I thought, Nick. That’s why I didn’t think there could be any problem with Kia playing. It wasn’t like I made a secret of her being a girl. Just think about how she was dressed at the reception.”
“No mistaking her for a boy, for sure,” I agreed.
“She’s got to play. There has to be something that we can do!” Tristan protested.
“There’s an appeal process. We can put our case before the final appeal board,” my father explained.
“And we’re going to do that,” Coach confirmed. “There’s just one problem. The board doesn’t meet until after we play our semifinal game.”
“How is that a problem?” L.B. asked.
“Well, if we play Kia in that game, after being officially told that she’s ineligible, and we lose the appeal, then the entire team is disqualified.”
“And that is our problem,” my father agreed.
“So, if she plays and we don’t win the appeal, then everybody is kicked out. Is that what you’re saying?” L.B. asked.
Both Coach and my father nodded in agreement.
Kia, who hadn’t said a word or moved a muscle during the entire discussion, slowly got to her feet.
“There isn’t any problem,” she said. It was obvious that she was fighting back tears. “There’s no problem because I’m not going to play.”
Kia turned around and ran out of the room, leaving us all there too stunned to say a word. I jumped to my feet and took a few steps after her.
“Nick!” my father said as he quickly got to his feet, “you stay here and I’ll go after her!” He ran out the door right behind Kia, leaving the rest of us behind in stunned silence.
“So… ” L.B. said. “You’re saying that Kia can’t play in the next game… right?”
“I’m not saying that,” Coach said. “The tournament officials are saying that.”
“But you said she could play as long as we won the appeal,” I said.
“That’s right. And if she plays in this game and we lose the appeal, the whole team is eliminated.”
“You mean that even if we win the game none of us would play in the finals?” Jamie asked.
There was silence. It was obvious that everybody was taking this seriously.
“Coach,” Tristan asked. “Do you think we can win that appeal thing?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think we can win the game without Kia playing?” L.B. asked.
“I don’t know that either,” he admitted.
“So what are you going to do? Is Kia going to play?” L.B. asked.
“Me? It’s not my decision,” he said.
“Then whose decision is it?” Tristan asked.
“Yours.”
“Mine! It’s my decision!” Tristan exclaimed.
“Not just you. The whole team.”
“But you’re the coach! You have to decide!” He shook his head. “Thirty-four years ago they said my sister couldn’t play and she didn’t because the coach decided we couldn’t fight against the ruling. And do you know what I did about it?” he asked.
Nobody answered.
“I did nothing. I knew it wasn’t right, and I knew how bad it hurt my sister, but I didn’t say a word. I just went out and played. I didn’t act like her brother or like a teammate.”
Coach got up from the bench. “You eleven decide whether your teammate plays or sits. I’ll be waiting outside.”