A Brighter Tomorrow: My Journey with Julie

I can’t let Julie down, or let Stinger keep believing boys are better than girls, so I square my shoulders and say I’m in. Just as we’re about to start, a teenage boy and girl pass the court with tennis rackets. I recognize the girl from the photo in Julie’s room. It must be her sister, Tracy.

Stinger calls out to the boy, Mike, and asks if they want in on the game. The teenagers turn to each other and decide they might as well play, setting down their tennis rackets and joking it’ll be like Billie Jean King’s match against Bobby Riggs.

I ask who they are, and everybody looks at me. Tracy asks where I’ve been. Have I never heard of the Battle of the Sexes tennis match?

Apparently Bobby Riggs claimed he could beat any woman on the court and challenged tennis pro Billie Jean King to a match. Julie adds that she beat him easily, proving women athletes deserved to be taken seriously.

Tracy says we’ll play to thirty-five points: no double dribbling, no holding back other players, and if you step out of bounds, you have to step back in before touching the ball again. I ask who calls fouls. T.J. explains a foul only counts if someone else sees it happen. Then it’s time to play.

Stinger says we need a prize for when the boys beat the girls. Tracy rolls her eyes and insists the game is just for fun, with no trophy. Julie suggests that whoever wins gets to pick something for the losing team to do. The boys and girls each form their own huddle.

Julie, smiling mischievously, adds that if we win, we should make the boys do something embarrassing. Tracy nods toward some high school girls practicing cheers with pom-poms, and we giggle.

When we return to the court, the boys confidently say that if they win, we have to pack a picnic lunch and serve it to them, and Stinger demands submarine sandwiches, not PB&J. Julie holds back a giggle and adds that if the girls win, the boys have to stand in the center of the park and do a girl power cheer, with pom-poms.

The boys look shocked, and Julie and I break into a goofy cheer, mimicking the girls. Stinger’s already turning red at the thought of cheering in public. He gives us a condescending look, huddles with the boys again, and comes back to say it’s a deal. We all shake on it.

We flip a coin to see who starts. Julie inbounds the ball to me, and I drive downcourt for an easy pass to Tracy, who shoots for two points. The boys take it out, and Mike snaps off a quick corner shot. The game continues at a steady pace, and much to the boys’ surprise, we’re evenly matched.

Stinger sticks to me like glue, calling me Ponytail, and I have trouble getting around him. He snags a pass from Mike and twists out of my reach. I lean to try to block his jump, but he fakes and whips the ball at me hard. It stings off my leg and bounces out of bounds.

I call a foul, and Stinger taunts me, insisting I can’t take it because I’m a girl and he was only trying to pass the ball to T.J.

Tracy breaks in and says I get the foul. T.J. was nowhere near me when Stinger flung the ball my way.

I set up for two shots at the free-throw line. I’m pleased I caught Stinger playing dirty, but hearing Julie and Tracy cheer for me suddenly makes me nervous. My first shot bounces off the rim, but the second hits the backboard, circles the rim, and falls through the net.

The score is now 18-16 in favor of the boys, more than halfway through the game. A small crowd has gathered on the benches, cheering us on. This has turned into a serious game, and with an audience now, the pressure is on.

We change strategy to man-to-man, and I cover Stinger, determined to keep a close eye on him. Staying tight, I notice his shoelace untied and dragging on the ground. I know I shouldn’t, but it’s too tempting.

I step on it and keep my shoe planted there. When Stinger pivots to grab a pass, he falls flat on the ground, and I can’t help giggling as he struggles to get up.

Stinger jumps up, insisting it was a foul, but T.J. points to his shoelace and says that is what tripped him, and to tie his shoe and let it go. My face burns under Stinger’s glare, and I look away, feeling a twinge of guilt but also relieved that nobody saw what I did.

The game picks up and we’re drenched in sweat. Both teams score more points, and Stinger grows more frustrated with every basket the girls score, more focused on keeping me from the ball than on scoring himself. Mike calls to him to wake up when a pass from Julie zings past his face, and I grab the ball and send it into the basket.

Before we know it, the score is 34-33. It’s game point, and the boys are ahead. Whoever scores next wins the game and the Battle of the Sexes. From across the court, Julie’s eyes meet mine, and she gives a huge smile. I feel a rush of excitement.

The boys have the ball, and T.J. drives down half-court, but Julie glides past him and steals it. She dribbles for the basket but can’t get close, so she passes to me, wide open.

Out of nowhere, Stinger charges at me. Just as I jump to take my shot, I feel a tug from behind, and the ball spills from my hands and rolls out of bounds as I land with a thunk. When I look up, Stinger is right there, grinning wildly.

Didn’t anybody see that? Sneaky Stinger came up from behind and pulled my shirt to keep me from making the shot.

I run my fingers over the back of my shirt and feel where the fabric has stretched out. Even though nobody saw what Stinger did, he won’t be able to deny it once I show them the evidence. I can call foul, and if I make both free throws, we’ll win the game.

But then I think about when Stinger called the foul on me. I deserved it, and if he’d made even one of those free throws, the boys would be celebrating a win right now. Everybody thought Stinger was being a sore loser then, since nobody knew I’d stepped on his shoelace. I already called one foul on him. Will I look like a sore loser for calling another?