“This is the boys’ side of the gym,” she commented...

I sat there paralyzed, watching Coach make his way to the side door of the gym. I really didn’t know what I was going to do. The incidents at the cafe had shaken my confidence that I was a boy named Pete and not a girl named Gayle.

Megan fidgeted beside me, my uncertainty evidently affecting her, too.

Coach put the duffel he had been carrying down beside the door while he fumbled with some keys. I still sat there behind the wheel of the Mom-mobile, trying to reach some conclusion about what to do.

Megan spoke up. “You want me to carry them up, Petey?”

I shook my head. “No, I’ll do it.” Her offer had gotten me to make a decision, at least. I reached into the backseat and retrieved the paper bags holding my jersey, uniform pants, pads and cleats. The helmet had rolled across the back bench out of reach.

Megan volunteered again. “I’ll get it,” she said, sliding out of the car, opening the rear passenger door and catching the helmet before it hit the ground.

Someone yelled, “Pete!” and we both looked up to see Coach Wilson waving at us from near the rectangle of the gymnasium side door. He looked happy to see us, and I wished I felt the same. Part of me realized that it was good that he was here to unlock the door, relieving me of the pressure of waiting for Leland Frick or a janitor to show up. It was either that or leave the gear in a pile by the door.

I started toward the gym, self-conscious as hell. Megan stepped close and linked arms with me. “I’m coming, too, Petey,” she said, and I was glad of the offer of solidarity. I tried not to slouch, to make it feel less like a trip to an execution and more like a simple, routine task. But I felt awkward, with a couple of itchy places on my chest and a consciousness of my ass that really unsettled me.

“Pete!” Coach called again, motioning that we should follow him into the gym. Feeling doomed,. I trudged on, Megan still serving as my supporter.

“This is the boys’ side of the gym,” she commented as we stepped inside. “I’ve never been in here.”

Overhearing her, Coach Wilson laughed. “You’re not the first cheerleader to see these sacred halls, though.” He grinned at us, and I wondered why he seemed so amused by the idea.

He’d already dumped most of the contents of his duffle into one of the two canvas laundry bins near the door and was shaking the big bag to dislodge any remaining smaller items from the bottom. A few socks and a jockstrap fluttered into the first laundry bin.

Seeing the last item, I felt my face turn red, and I tried not to look away, which was my first reflex. Megan giggled beside me.

The second bin held pads and other items that didn’t need to go into the big washing machines, and I quickly distributed my load between the two containers while Megan put my helmet on a table with the others.

Coach had finished first and gave me a manly whack on the shoulder. “Looking good, Pete!” he said, winking toward Megan at the same time.

I winced from the blow and managed to keep my yelp down to a mild “Ow!” He’d caught me by surprise, and I thought it hurt more than other such demonstrations of male camaraderie had in the past.

Coach laughed. “You looked good in the game, too, Pete!” he added. “And I dunno, have you had a growth spurt since the season started? You look a little taller.”

“Uh? Maybe?” I shrugged. Had Megan mentioned something about that? But was a little height gain all he had paid attention to? Maybe my increasing… girliness… wasn’t as obvious as I feared.

“And Megan,” he continued. “If you haven’t planted a new crop of teeth marks, maybe Pete can go back to using the main locker room.” He grinned at both of us. Oh. That was why he’d been winking at Megan. “The guys would have never stopped teasing him if they had seen the last batch.”

I stammered, unsure of what to say. Changing in the same locker room with the guys just wasn’t going to work—especially with the budding growths on my chest—but I hadn’t come up with another excuse for continuing to use the coaches’ private showers.

Megan glanced at me, probably seeing the near panic in my eyes. She spoke up before I could manage anything more than a strangled mumble. “Maybe not, Mr. Wilson,” she said. “There’s kind of a new problem I noticed last night!”

We traded glances and blushes, and Coach grinned at both of us.

“What now?” he asked. “You didn’t draw blood, did you, sweetie?” he joked.

“Uff?” I felt like the noise had been squeezed out of me. I looked at her, appealing for some kind of help. Any kind, maybe, but instead…

Megan swallowed hard, leaned away from me and suggested. “Show him your chest, Petey, Pet?!”

I stared at her. Then at him. My mouth hung open, but nothing came out.

Coach frowned.

Finally, desperate, I took the hem of my jersey and pulled it up to my armpits.

Coach’s eyes widened., “Hmm,” he said. “Looks like you’ve got a little goonish-commie-magic going on.”