She was Indiana gold on Indiana wood, with the Indiana shot and the Indiana smile. She came from the thoroughbreds; like a horse born in Kentucky was born to race and a man born in Kannapolis was born to drive stock cars, someone born in Indiana was born to play basketball. She was from Evansville, where the fresh smell of the knotty pine drew everyone together, girls or boys, where the game was crystallized by films and victories of small school triumphs, and whose mythic figures were basketball-playing siblings, of whom only one played in the state. From this background, she was their baby, the face that launched a thousand three-pointers - Helen.

Her parents named her after the mythical woman and she had the looks for it. Even as a little girl she was a prodigy who could shoot better than anyone, and she always had that smile that made everyone work harder. She was seventeen in 2006, when the White Widow consumed every class, and everyone turned to Helen - she was the great blonde shooter, and therefore the expert. Indiana was a red state through and through, but their love for basketball somewhat blinded them to the crimes of the White Widow.

"She isn't the same person off the court, I guess. Neither was Wilt, neither was Kobe, neither was Mickey Mantle. Didn't make her any less of a basketball player," Helen said with a smile, her blonde hair flowing down the side of her face. In the fall she was a cheerleader for the football team, and in the winter she was the captain of the basketball team. So her life went: she was in the eye of every boy in her high school. So beautiful yet so tough, such an individual, she was everything. She had all the qualities that a woman could have in 2006.

She knew there was something that didn't jive with her good girl image: she really liked her female friends, and couldn't get into boys like the other girls. In fact, she'd rather find a girl to live with any day. When she was home she would admire the beauty of the half-naked female pop stars of the day, yet she felt like there was a calling for both sides of the argument. She was always dainty, always painted her nails the deep crimson of her school, always wore the tight denim miniskirts with multicolored shirts. She giggled, she teased, but she never understood. The end of the school day came and she stared giggling at the pictures of pop stars streaming through her Carter computer as she did her research getting ready to go to college. She would spend hours online between chatting with her friends, and the pretty female pop stars pleased her eyes, mixed in with a few women's basketball icons: those of the woman now known as the White Widow, Dee Clay who had replaced the condemned criminal, and her idol of the past, the woman who was brave enough to let the world know who she was, but never let her sexuality betray her, having children and an early husband.

It was senior year, and she was confronted with decision after decision. It was the era of greatness; Bin Laden had been executed, and peace seemed near. There were the Koreans, but who cared? Basketball was life, and it was time to be the good girl. It was time to live up to her name and become a mythic figure herself.

She took the court with the same bubbly personality as when she flung her pom-poms in the fall. She would fly through the air, her beautifully shaved legs glistening as much as her blonde hair as she drove for a lay-up, her jump shot arching like the most beautiful bird cutting through the thick air of the gym, her passes finding their targets like well-planned missiles straight to her teammates' hands. She smiled after each made basket. She was the fan favorite and her gym was packed for each game. She was perfect, she was Helen.

After the games came the hard part, the men descending on her. She loved the attention but she found no connection, no attraction, no sense of love like she felt with her teammates. And so while all the boys walked off with their respective players, Helen just went home and practiced the beauty of her game outside her garage.

She knew who and what she was, having discussed it with her sex ed teacher at length, but yet she heard all the hatred, building more and more as the White Widow grew more and more prominent in the news. She liked the great nowhere in between, comfortable with herself but never making a move. The season ended in dramatic fashion, with Helen hitting the game-winning shot to bring them to the state tournament, she was proud, accomplished, and happy. It was after that game that she committed to Texas Tech, the home of one of her idols and a place where she hoped she would gain more fame. The fans supported her, since the local teams were behind the curve in women's basketball while Texas Tech was near the top; better for their state's favorite daughter that she should leave to make a name for herself than stay home and be nothing.

As the war in Korea bogged down once again Helen was the nice girl, the beautiful one, and the one who wasn't afraid to be herself. Yet still she was the conservative, the great middle, and the one who no one really knew. Then it happened, during preseason workouts to be exact. She saw her - the young and beautiful statistician sitting in the corner. She could tell by the way the girl watched with intense green eyes, enraptured by her skills, that she was a lesbian like her. Not just in the mere fact that they were attracted to other women, but in the fact that she was someone who kept peace between the gays and straights. So when the practice emptied out, she asked the long-haired brunette her name.

"Bess," the woman replied, fiddling with her glasses, trying to do something to cover up how nervous she was that Helen was talking to her. "It's different here. It's not like high school," she continued. "We have a lot of gays and lesbians here. It's another world, but on the court, we are ourselves. Still no one knows who we are really, and it's better that way." Bess smiled.

Helen looked at Bess awkwardly; she knew her romantic feelings were real, but it was the first time she had ever really felt this way. Maybe it was Bess's simplicity to her complexity, or just the fact that she was the pretty icon and she was coming on to the nobody instead of the other way around, but she could barely speak. Bess just stood and rubbed her hair.

"Have you ever acted on your feelings?" Bess asked with a coy smile.

Helen was confused. Was Bess was keeping stats of her own with talk like that?

"I still believe in love. Just because I like women d-doesn't mean..." Helen stammered.

"It's okay, Helen, I believe in love too," replied Bess as she kissed Helen softly on the cheek and walked away.

The next day they went out, and Helen realized more and more who she was as they sat in each other's arms in Bess' dorm room.

"Call me silly," said Helen "But the way you talk, you'd think I was a monster learning to cope with my powers. Isn't that what Bush says we are?"

Bess giggled, her native Texas accent coming out more than ever. "If that's what they want to think, call me Godzilla!"

Helen thought for a second; if perception was nine-tenths of the law, why didn't she feel like cutting her hair short and using the phone book as her date planner?

"But I want the people to love me! Just because I like you doesn't make me any less beautiful," Helen replied.

"Oh, that's a relief! I'd hate to turn a sweet blonde like you into a butch hag!" Bess smiled.

Bess was a senior, and Helen was a lowly freshman. Bess had the respect of her team, and Helen was fighting for playing time. Bess was going to go to law school after graduating cum laude, and Helen needed Bess' tutoring just to get out of remedial math. But despite these differences, they loved each other, and her teammates respected her, even if they were a little jealous of the freshman baby getting the object of wandering eyes in practice for the past four years.

As the season took shape, Helen got more playing time, her winning smile and dead-eye shot quickly making her a fan favorite, and her inner anger and determination making her a favorite of the coaching staff. They were complete opposites, the blonde beauty from Indiana and the angry and focused lesbian who would scratch and claw her way to a steal or violation. There were two Helens, but on the court the crowd only saw one, and so the song went:

"She looks like heaven and gives em hell, and they can't tell what hit them when the 3 pointers fell. And she kisses the boys and plays like other teams like toys, cuz that's our darling...the darling Helen McCoy!"

It was silent and subtle, but it was there from the first of the year to the end of the season. There was a darkness to the light, an evil that permeated the infatuation over Helen that she couldn't get. She was used to the love letters, the come-ons, the ovations and the secret admirers but it seemed the more time went on, the worse it got. She noticed small changes; she became the focal point of the offense even though she was a shooter, her teammates were becoming more and more aloof toward the coaches, who wanted to make them more like their darling Helen. In fact, her getting the ball late instead of passing it inside cost them their tournament game in the 2nd round. No one seemed to care. Little girls hung their picture on their walls like the pop stars she dreamed about. She wondered, "Am I becoming one?"

In the dorms she noticed Bess becoming more and more self-conscious. One day Bess' love for her game almost ended her love for her, and Helen struggled to understand. "I don't want to ruin it for you! I love you too much for you to be hurt by who you are. Get a boyfriend, have a kid! Hey, it's a standing tradition here," Bess said to her one day, pointing at the retired jersey hanging from the rafters of the arena.

"Come on, Bessie, I can't do that! I'll be careful, but I love you so much, I can't leave you. If they boo me because of who I am, then let them boo! I'm not her. I'd rather be happy than rich."

That night was like any other: laughing at the CCP and reading the fawning fan mail, some saltier than others, the byproducts of frat parties.

"Here's one" said Bess, "To my darling Helen, I want to eat you alive and make you a part of me. You are so beautiful it hurts to stand after you make your shots. If you want a man, go to the 3rd floor of the west hall! Jimmy"

"Two beers, one vodka, and a head first stumble to the wall!" said Helen.

"I dunno, I can deal with the eating you alive part," said Bess coyly, sliding a hand under Helen's shirt.

"First you want to leave me so I can have a boyfriend, now you need me more than your glasses? Not like there's anything wrong with that!" Helen giggled as Bess undressed her and the cold Texas winter turned briefly to summer.

That May, Helen saw Bess graduate and she attended commencement with a smile, proud of her lover and looking forward to her future.

And that was when the darkness grew deeper. She saw the CCP there, gathering louder and louder ovations to their propaganda disguised as a pop concert- worse, a sold out concert. She held Bess close in her apartment that night as she saw the lynching of her teammate; now that she was done with school, there was no need for her, so they disposed of her and sang Helen's song to justify it.

"God will teach us what he wants to." Bess said, but it was easy to tell that the words were hollow, a rationalization to explain such a terrible act.

"I want to come out," Helen said. "Maybe it'll..."

"No, please, darling, no! I love you too much. I know I'm being selfish, but not now! I don't want to lose you. I love you so much, I don't know what I'd do without you!" Bess embraced Helen and couldn't let go. "It'll change, those radicals will never accomplish more than to give Obama a clear shot at the presidency, and then we can come out with pride and in peace. It'll get better, trust me."

Helen went along with Bess' hope, but she could see things getting worse. Then came the best and worst day of her life. She scored 55 points in a non-conference game against a loser school, the best performance of her career. Her fans carried her off the court, and then she came home to see Channel 1 rejoicing like Jesus had been resurrected again, Bess staring in tears at the TV.

"Richardson won. How could they? How could they vote for that fiend? He wants to kill us, he wants to destroy blacks, and yet all I hear on TV is how good he is compared to even Jeb!" Bess sobbed and Helen held her. Somehow she knew it would only get worse, but she loved her Bess, despite the time Bess buried behind the computer doing work for law school, barely seeing her except on weekends. Helen was more confused than ever, but the next game, there she was, blonde, beautiful, and the best on the court.

There never was suspicion with her, she was so beautiful. People would say she was just like Britney, and Helen just laughed and wondered why she would be compared to a washed-up pop princess. Still people steered her toward a boyfriend, and she finally met the great quarterback, but there was nothing to it, not even a kiss. He was so much like her that it almost made her love him, even if it had to be in a nonsexual way. So she and Andy were the darlings of Texas and their legend grew as Texas Tech made a trip to the BCS and the Final Four in the same year. But as 2008 became 2009 the distance grew. She could tell there was something sickeningly wrong going on. Her teammates were being pulled further and further away from her because they were lesbian, yet she was immune. She saw fewer and fewer lesbian fans in the stands, but in their place was a packed house of students looking to feast their eyes on the legend that was Helen McCoy.

Then she'd return home only to see Bess once again buried in her work. This was more and more frequent since Richardson was elected. It seemed that Bess was more determined than ever to get a good job in law and make a difference. Some days she couldn't wake her from her studies, and she started to miss that fun-loving Bess who would read the love letters from the men, and use them to satisfy her in a way only a woman could. Helen softly stroked Bess's long brown hair and she finally awoke.

"Hey there! If it wasn't for you, I'd know how much a sinner I am, such a pretty one, the one everything and everyone thinks is so righteous. I feel so proud to be the one who leads you to sin," Bess said with a raunchy tease in her voice and Helen smiled and flopped down on the couch.

"Well, don't just stand there! Drag me down into that little brown hell of yours. It's chilly here on earth," Helen said, playing along with Bess' sarcasm.

Bess paused and then took Helen into her arms, and they were happy again. Helen could tell that the stress was making both more depressed than they wanted to be. Bess also had a token boyfriend, a classmate at law school, and it was making her miserable to have to hide like this. She was always for keeping private out of public slander but not like this.

As the months passed, it was hard for Helen to keep up. The men were now descending on her more than ever, and only dating the quarterback made them step back. She felt like a doll, and she really didn't like how much divinity played into the sports recently. She never spoke up, she just went on playing. She was now the leader, and she was happy, but then she got an awakening in the locker room.

"Hey, bitch! Hey, blonde motherfucking bitch!" cried Leslie, the hard-nosed lesbian center, someone she always knew had a crush on her. "You know some motherfucker tried to rape me last night? Thanks to you, I might add. Because I happen to be a tall blonde he decided I had to be straight like you and tried to impose that punishment on me. Luckily he was a wimp and I kicked his sorry ass. You goddamn liar! Let yourself be yourself, or just go home and die, bitch! Stick around, and maybe next time I'll send the wannabe to your dorm room!"

Helen broke down in tears and her other teammates rallied around her. They knew the attention wasn't her fault and if the fans took as much liking to them, they'd do the same thing.

She went home to try to find relief in the arms of her Bess, but there was none. Again she was alone, Bess in law school working late again. Her performance never suffered, though, and she made the world championship team for the college division and took home the gold for her country. It was 2010 and yet it felt like a hundred years.

And then she was a senior, the cold air of 2010 stinging even Texas. Bess was becoming a memory more than a lover, but Helen stayed faithful; she understood the rigors of law school and expected Bess to return. Her teammates were falling apart around her, the straights and gays drawing lines in the sand, fighting during practices, leading to the lesbians getting suspended despite never instigating a single fight or doing more than what was needed to defend themselves.

Helen was Helen, now a senior, and with a glistening pro career ahead of her. Despite the discord, Helen was leading Texas Tech to a perfect season and the sadness started melting away. She started going to church more often and hanging out at television parties with the straights. She got a new boyfriend, the running back this time. She was blonde, she was great...she was Helen, making her name in a land far from home.

And then the day came in 2011, right before the big game with fellow unbeaten Iowa State and Rachel Davis. She saw her hanging there, right over her fan mail, one last letter pinned to her "I must go, because I must let you live a free life, a good life, God bless you, Bess".

Helen understood the depression now, the hatred that entered and poisoned both their minds. She had been about to let herself be violated by the promises by the pop stars, and her Bess was now dead because of the false promises. She for once saw the torture that her fellow lesbians felt. But not her, never her; she was too pretty to be gay, she was created in Britney's own image. She was immune to torture, because they never could see her as gay. She threw up on the floor at this thought as the campus police investigated. "We will find out how this dyke rapist broke in, Helen, but at least she killed herself so you won't have to worry anymore. You're lucky, these perverts are insatiable!"

Helen nodded as the body was taken away. The noose remained, and she almost thought about it, one last 'fuck you' to the stupid. But no, she knew of a fate for the fools better than her death. So one last time she put on the sexy denim skirt and tight shirt and headed for the game. Her lesbian teammates offered no condolence, thinking that she was one of those who denied her sexuality and just let herself be unhappy in the arms of a man, while the straights had no clue and thought it was some gay stalker. Helen just smiled as she changed into her uniform. Something in her eyes lit a fire under the lesbians and as she took the floor Rachel was no match for her. With each drive against Helen, Rachel became more and more timid and frightened; with each push off the legs, each innuenendo-laced taunt, each swat at the ball that Helen insured left a lingering impression on Rachel's breasts, the straights were nauseated, but the lesbians played even harder and the crowd couldn't see the subtlety.

"That's enough! She may be a brainless straight, but Raquel's still my teammate!" said the big center as she swatted at Helen, drawing boos and a double ejection. Helen's smile only grew as she turned to Rachel and yanked her pants down before leaving the court to a cacophony of boos, her fans turning on her savagely when they realized the truth about her sexuality.

"Be shooting threes with you in New York, sexy!" Helen said as the lesbians laughed while the crowd stood stunned.

When the team returned to the locker room, Helen was gone for good. No one would find her. She left a profanity-laced letter to her coach, saying that she was quitting before the coach could kick her off the team. The lesbians just laughed; they sensed her pent-up feelings, the anger, the sadness, and that this was her rebellion, her way of saying "If you killed my Bess, I'll kill myself and still live to tell YOU motherfuckers to go to Hell!" this was echoed by the last words in the note: perception is 9/10ths of the law.

That night in the secret gay bar deep in Lubbock, so secret it was shared by both genders, Helen sat, still in her purple sweater, blonde hair, high heels, and denim miniskirt. Leslie found her.

"Why did you throw away your career like that? I know you're upset but...but..." Helen's seductive grin that grew larger with every sense of reason Leslie tried to throw at her told all she needed to know. She threw away her life to be accepted and her teammates suffered, none more than Leslie herself. Helen had to give something up, and if it was her life, so be it.

"So, now that you're done with basketball, what do you plan to do with your life?" Leslie asked.

"I don't know. First I need someone to turn me into a goddamn dyke," Helen said with a wink. Leslie knew exactly what she meant as she led Helen into one of the rooms kept in the basement of the bar for privacy, Helen trying to get rid of her past life's clothes as fast as possible as they walked, before Helen gave Leslie a chance to strip.

It was a one-night stand, but it was so much more. By the end Helen had shaved her head, wore all black and had a car to drive to New York in. After finishing her remaining credits at Brooklyn, she returned to basketball, becoming a globetrotting journeywoman.

Then it was 2016 and she met her... and it all started again, the good-girl lesbian meeting the tough girl. Everything old was new again. So she met Dee, and so came her rebellion as she whispered in Dee's ear when she wondered how badly the homosexuals would be harmed, "perception is nine-tenths of the law".