'A' jogged over. 'Hey you're Lyndon Watson aren't you. Great game. Thanks for making up the numbers. I wish we could have you around all the time.'

The group broke up with the girls heading off to their showers and Lyndon, still wet with per- spiration, jogging much more happily the rest of the way home.

At home his mother was angry for his not having had a shower before heading home but he ex- plained what had happened and she also sympathized with him for missing the football team whereas in reality she was de- lighted because he was her only child and she dearly wished to protect him from the physical violence of football. She was intrigued and interested in his story of the game with the girls and secretly wished that was the game he played all the time. In fact she had to admit to her- self that she wouldn't have minded at all if he had been a

girl. Her husband, Lyndon's

father had left them for another woman when Lyndon was only two years old and she had had little time for men ever since.

After dinner the phone rang. It was Dianne. She wanted some help with her assignment and asked if Lyndon could come over for a while. He had al- ready finished his so he was quite agreeable to do so. She met him at the door and led him off to her bedroom where her desk was set up. Lyndon en- joyed Dianne's bedroom. It was spacious and prettilly decorated

in a soft feminine manner. For some reason he could not quite understand he always felt quite at home there. They attacked the assignment with enthusiasm and an hour later Dianne had acquired enough information to

be able to carry on alone. Lyndon got up to go.

'Listen, before you go there's somthing I want to talk to you about.'

'Sure, what is it?'

Lyndon sat down again.

'It seems as though you're not going to be playing any sport at school, huh?'

'Seems that way.'

'How about playing basketball with us?'

Lyndon sat staring at her, mouth agape. 'You're mad. How could I possibly do that, for heaven's sake.'

'Well it's not so hard as you think. We're allowed two players from outside the school and at the moment we only have one. So you don't have to be a ring in. We could just say that you attend attend another school.'

'But that's not the point. Christ, the point is that I'm not a girl.'

'Oh that's easily fixed. That's all part of the disguise. As a girl, no one would recognise you as Lyndon Watson. Look at you. You're a perfect size and you're very good looking. You'd make a great girl.'

But for God's sake, Dianne, I don't want to be a girl. I'm perfectly happy being a boy.'

'You want to play sports don't you?'

'Yes but....'

'Yes but nothing. It's the only way you'll get to play anything

-6.

unless you want to be a jockey and race horses.'

'Nothing doing.' Lyndon was adamant.

Look, just listen to me for a minute and I'll tell you how it can work. Foolproof. Now because you come from another school you don't have to use our lockers. So on practice days you come straight home after school and put on your gear and come back across to school and train with us. When we finish you just trot off home again. On weekends when we play competition, you can come with me and go home with me. No one would ever know.'

'But I'm a boy, Dianne. You can tell just by looking at me. I'd never get away with it.'

'Oh yes you would, believe me. Look do something for me. Take off your sweatshirt.'

Knowing he was mad for doing so Lyndon removed his shirt while Dianne rummaged around in one of her drawers. She took out a white bra.

'Here put your arms through here.'

Almost involuntarily Lyndon stuck out his arms and Dianne threaded the bra straps over them and went behind his back and fastened the catch.

'This is madness,' he was saying, even while she was doing it, 'just madness.'

'Just put your shirt back on,' Dianne demanded, and went back to the drawer and pulled out a blond wig.