Her parents named her Raquel, Raquel Davis, born to a Plains father and a Puerto Rican mother, and one hell of a basketball player. Growing up in New York she learned her toughness playing against the boys on the street; she inherited her fine touch from her father, a country 3 shooter in his day, and her court vision from her mother, a longtime soccer player in her day. She was before the days of New York's madness; she knew of some of the hate that happened outside of New York, but opportunity was opportunity and Ames came calling. The Cyclones were still well loved, selling more tickets than the other local teams, and they had a spot open for her. So she went.

Those were the years when Britney sang her loudest. Alone in the small town, all she had to cling to were her memories and her teammates. But she did not possess the strength that her teammates had. She was not homosexual, although most of her teammates were, but she didn't care. She still loved and led her teammates, yet the longer time went the lonelier and angrier she felt.

Unlike the thousands around her and millions across the country just simply changing without giving a thought about it, she knew something was happening to her. Alone in her dorm room with the television on, her computer browsing various web sites and gabbing over the latest episode of "pious women at home" with her friend over the cell phone, she would feel like she had more friends talking to her than when she was with hundreds at a party. She realized what she was being told was wrong. She lived in New York, she knew gays and lesbians: her best friend was lesbian, her mother was Hispanic, and she dated an Asian. But wherever she turned she could hear that all fags were doomed to hell, that Hispanics should learn English and be part of the great melting pot, and that Chinese communists were an imminent threat to the fabric of American culture and must be dealt with after the Arab terrorists were all dead. She felt trapped, so she ran, trying to call her parents, but they just thought she was homesick- Britney's power was still not well known at the time. New York was deaf to the whispers until 2012; it was the conservative countryside that had gone under enough to bring the new regime to power.

She still tried to avoid it, but it was hard to get away when God spoke all around you, in every fellow student, every class, every teacher, every break, whispering, "be a girl, be a blonde, giggle, flirt, support your man, praise the Lord, give your soul to Jesus". She ran home every break she could. She tried to transfer after her freshman year but the whispers kept her in Ames: "you have to waste another year of your life on the bench if you transfer, stay home, you go to school in the most American place in America, be proud!"

She still had her teammates, and they realized what was happening; their friends were falling all around them, their coaches were urging them to go straight, setting them up on blind dates with members of the men's team, making them wear dresses on game days. They shrugged. Their straight teammates still played with them, but they were their own clique, only speaking to them when calling out a play or discussing strategy. They realized Raquel really wanted to help them because she still hung out with them and was the unifier of the two sides, even though she could barely escape what was happening.

The summer after sophomore year, she couldn't come home. She wanted to come home, craved home, but a voice in her head said, "stay here, this is your home now, just relax and watch TV, it's your summer vacation, enjoy it!" She tried to shake it but she couldn't. She never quit, the last shred of New York left in her not letting her go easy. She tried drinking but it made her sick, first after 5 drinks, then 3, then 1, until just the smell made her queasy.She was so desperate that she locked herself in her room, with no TV, no phone, no radio, silence at last, silence from the whispers. She stayed there for 3 weeks but the whispers still were there, she was unable to sleep, climbing the walls, going hungry thinking that the fast food served in Ames was somehow drugged, trying to keep her sanity by singing a mishmash of God-fearing hits, old standards her father hummed around the house, and snatches of Spanish lullabies her mother used to sing to her when she was a child.

Finally the concern from her teammates grew and her center and best friend Martha came over. She was 6'4", blonde as the corn that grew in the fields off campus, a lesbian through and through, living off campus with her lover so that no one would suspect enough to kill her or her lover, but yet she was proud and made no secrets about her sexuality. She realized Raquel's pain, the threat that that she might become like the others, but she would at least give her all to keep her focus. She looked at Raquel, trying to hold back the tears. She was hardly a shell of herself, not eating in days, her hair out of line, not changing out of her I Love NY T shirt and basketball shorts; the last shreds of her past that she keeps on her, she runs to her teammate and clings to her, fear in her eyes. "I want to hit you," she said, "I don't know why! You're my best friend, but everywhere I go, the whispers say 'Don't talk to her, she's a dyke, she'll rape you, she'll kill you, she'll make you one of them, you'll never have children or a husband, just be some whore who lies down for whatever comes your way, never satisfied, doomed to Hell.'"

Martha saw the tears in her eyes. Only a short year before she'd think Raquel was crazy, but she knew what was happening. She'd seen it before; she missed 5 games because her former sorority sisters jumped her and bruised her knee, only stopping because they wanted her back in a month to take on Iowa. Her own mother locked her in her room with nothing but pictures of naked men, Bibles, and a television tuned to Channel 1 that she couldn't turn off, thinking that she could cleanse Martha's mind, awaken the natural desires for men that the lord gave her, and save her daughter from the evil eating her inside and making her into a fiend sent straight from hell. She knew that Raquel was dying, and some mindless blonde sheep was hatching into her skin, a clone from the television. But unlike everyone else she knew, Raquel wouldn't die easy, she was too tough and too smart to just lie down and let the television take her over. But Martha could sense it was too late for her, otherwise she would have transferred closer to home by then. She couldn't go home; she was too far under, an addicted woman going through a withdrawal that would kill her if she didn't return to her Bible and television. But yet Martha knew that Raquel wanted her to do something, anything, to try to get her blurring vision back if only for a few minutes, to have her go back to the person she was, the person she was proud of. Martha took a deep breath and planted a deep kiss on Raquel. Raquel's eyes lit up and she smiled afterward. "That felt good, it cleared up my mind. You know I'll say you tried to rape me probs, ummm, probably. I can't even talk straight! I've cut myself off for 3 weeks and I still can't even talk straight!"

Martha smiled. "It's ok, I have the perfect defense. You enjoyed it more than I did."

Raquel laughed, then grabbed her head. "There she goes again! Calling me dirty, a dyke, wanting me to kill you because you tried to rape me. No! Damnit! When will it stop? Leave me alone!"

Martha couldn't help but cry. She knew that this was the end of her best friend, but yet the end was better than the suffering. She grabbed hold of Raquel as she cried, shivering, and looked into her eyes. "I'm sorry. I know you tried, but you can't run forever. You will always have this time, you will always have my respect, you can kill me and I'll know it wasn't you. But I can't let you die over us, I respect you too much, now let me get you some food and hook up the television again." Raquel surrendered; when the lesbians usher you back to the television, you know you've done all you can.

That fall, Raquel ceased to exist, and a blonde named Rachel took her place on the team. She pled for the lesbians to reform, yet she still respected them, and it was that respect that credited her as the leader of the Iowa State national championship team in the 2011-2012 season, her last year. She was drafted in the 1st round, by New York, but she held out for a trade to Indiana; she did not want to go to New York, fearing that she would become "just another three-shooting blonde dyke, pawed at by insane perverts".

Now it's 2019, Rachel's basketball career finally done. A mother with two beautiful children, she goes to out the basketball players. Martha is on trial here; she could never, would never, leave her home. She felt that that would show weakness and would give Britney what she wanted, a world free of gays and lesbians. She would instead help young lesbians coming into the program break free and command the respect of the people no matter how many times they spat at her, called her a dyke, or beat her lovers. Her status as a basketball heroine protected her from the worst mistreatment, the lynchings, the HOPE camps, the jailings, but they still always turned her down for a job on the coaching staff. She was relegated to being little more than a 30-year-old tape rat and watergirl living off the school's pity and hope that she could marry and become as great as she was on the court. She lost many lovers who grew tired of being treated like a leper and went to seek refuge elsewhere. Martha hated the world but she would not give up hope that it would change, and that was what kept her determined to stay home, that Britney would die and she could live in peace. Then the government finally gave up on any hope of reforming homosexuals and destroyed the sport that she loved and that protected her back. Rachel takes the stand; the government found out about the kiss and Martha was arrested for raping her, "the ravenous sex fiend pervert that she is, she couldn't be satisfied with the lesbians on the team!" The court heard how Martha's size overwhelmed and controlled her in a vain attempt to transpose the devil's lust that she possessed into an innocent and pious woman of faith.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

"Yes," Rachel says.

"State your name and occupation for the record."

"My name is Raquel Cross, and I'm a dyke." And the courtroom erupts in gasps and the district attorney frantically flips through his notes.

Martha smiles, tears in her eyes, as Raquel pleads her case, convincing the jury that she was not indeed raped, that Martha was innocent because the sex was consensual, that she was a lesbian and Martha's secret lover. She says that the day Martha kissed her she realized she was gay, went down for her, and was her lover by the end of the day. No one ever knew because they only expressed their sexuality in the showers after games. She wanted a career and she would have a better chance professionally if she was seen as a darling straight girl. She married to save face and give her Martha children that she couldn't have. When she utters those words, the court recesses. Almost everyone runs to the toilet and the charges are amended to where both are charged with corrupting youth, conspiracy, sexual misconduct, and marital fraud.

Martha chokes back the tears as Raquel is sentenced to die with her, an innocent woman. As they are led out of the courtroom together to die as villains in the arena where they were once heroes, Martha whispers to her, "Why? You didn't have to do this."

Raquel replies, "Don't whisper, whispers kill. Good-bye, old friend, you saved me more than you know."

Martha understands now, death with honor, death with pride, so she jokes back, "I'll save you a tanning bed in Hell." Raquel smiles at her, further building the ire of the crowd.

And then there is the booing from the gathered audience, and a series of short sharp reports, and silence.