Girls Quit Sports Over Trans Athlete—Supreme Court at Center of Gender Showdown

Paul Riverbank, 1/7/2026West Virginia girls quit sports amid trans athlete debate; Supreme Court set to decide fairness.

It was the spring track season at Bridgeport High School. Adaleia Cross, a poised but quietly anxious student, remembers stepping away from the team she once loved. What drove her off the track wasn’t a torn muscle or a packed academic schedule, but anxiety over sharing locker room space. The discomfort, she says, stemmed from interactions with a teammate: a transgender student who was assigned male at birth, competing on the girls’ team. Adaleia, with her mom by her side, describes feeling targeted by lewd remarks—words she claims sent her confidence spiraling.

Her mother, Abby, doesn’t mince words as she recalls what Adaleia told her. “She came home and told us what was said, and honestly I was stunned. The kind of language—nobody expects that in the hallway or a locker room.” The accusations were explicit, so explicit that family discussions about them tended to trail off, voices dropping.

Both Cross and her parents say they went to school officials, asking for some kind of action or—even more basically—a real investigation. “They promised a thorough review, but then nothing. Not so much as a follow-up email,” Adaleia recalls, still a little perplexed at being left in the dark. Her dad, Holden, shakes his head. “You’d hope if your kid was in trouble, someone at the school would at least return your call.”

On the other end, lawyers for the transgender student flatly deny that any of these incidents ever happened. Responses have come sharply from the American Civil Liberties Union, who are backing the student in court. They remind critics that school administrators, after a fact-finding probe, “were unable to substantiate any of these claims.” Framed this way, it’s a case of accusation versus counter-accusation: each side certain, the facts getting murkier by the week.

And there’s more. The Cross family’s legal representation at Alliance Defending Freedom (ADF) assert that Adaleia has given her account under oath, not just to lawyers but in official proceedings. “She had to walk away from a formative experience, with all the consequences that come from stepping out of team sports—and all to protect her own sense of safety and dignity,” said the ADF in a recent statement. The air of loss, both personal and communal, feels difficult to miss.

Nearly two years have passed since Adaleia last suited up for the track team. Sometimes she talks about how she still misses it: the rhythm of practice, the bustle of competitions, and the way team huddles helped break up the routine of teenage days. Her father, quietly rueful, sees it as a simple price that should never have been paid. “Team sports helped my own kids grow—but when you lose that, you don’t get the time back.”

The ripples spread to fields and gymnasiums beyond. Emmy Salerno, another student, describes a disquiet that went beyond running or jumping. She and several teammates, as a sort of protest, chose not to compete against the transgender athlete in a track event. Their move got the team disqualified—a decision that, whether seen as principled or divisive, was felt on the field. Emmy remembers a change in atmosphere: odd looks, stiff encounters at public events. She recalls, with a frown, seeing a Snapchat post in which the trans athlete seemed to mock her publicly: “Reminder that she has more testosterone than me.” The words stung. The sense of being surveilled, as she tells it, left her uneasy in ways that stuck long after the final whistle.

“It was like a switch flipped,” Emmy says. “After that, he didn’t talk—he’d just stare.” One night at a basketball game she found herself watching her back, half-worried something might crack open into confrontation.

Notably, the ACLU has yet to comment on these latest accusations. What’s clearer is that this case—which started over a local law aimed at barring biological males from competing in girls’ sports—has since exploded into a matter for the Supreme Court. After a federal court blocked West Virginia’s law in 2021, the litigation has now become a staging ground for a broader debate: How should schools navigate Title IX and the design of athletic programs?

Whatever the legal outcome, political leaders have rushed to stake their ground. More than 130 Democrats in Congress have backed the transgender athlete, their names on a legal brief read like a who’s who of progressive legislative power. The animating worry: that setting rules for a single sport or town could set national precedent for years to come.

For all the lawyering and headlines, for every exchange volleyed in courtrooms or on cable news, the real stories are playing out in lived moments—in the small towns where team rosters, locker assignments, and school policies shape lives in tangled, deeply personal ways. “I guess I just tried to forget it happened, to force myself to get on with things,” Adaleia says, a little embarrassed and a little regretful. It’s the kind of detail only someone on the ground, in the ordinary churn of American adolescence, might mention.

As Washington gets ready for the Supreme Court to weigh in, the mood on the ground in West Virginia is anxious—and more than a little unresolved. The stakes reach far past a single team’s season. One way or the other, the ground rules for sport, and for the broader debate over inclusion, dignity, and fairness in schools, are about to get rewritten.

A heated debate is winding its way through the halls and gymnasiums of West Virginia, spilling out into courtrooms and, now, the nation’s highest bench. At its core? A dispute over a transgender athlete at the center of a closely watched Supreme Court case—a case that has become a lightning rod for bigger questions around fairness, inclusion, and the boundaries of girls’ sports.It was the spring track season at Bridgeport High School. Adaleia Cross, a poised but quietly anxious student, remembers stepping away from the team she once loved. What drove her off the track wasn’t a torn muscle or a packed academic schedule, but anxiety over sharing locker room space. The discomfort, she says, stemmed from interactions with a teammate: a transgender student who was assigned male at birth, competing on the girls’ team. Adaleia, with her mom by her side, describes feeling targeted by lewd remarks—words she claims sent her confidence spiraling.Her mother, Abby, doesn’t mince words as she recalls what Adaleia told her. “She came home and told us what was said, and honestly I was stunned. The kind of language—nobody expects that in the hallway or a locker room.” The accusations were explicit, so explicit that family discussions about them tended to trail off, voices dropping.Both Cross and her parents say they went to school officials, asking for some kind of action or—even more basically—a real investigation. “They promised a thorough review, but then nothing. Not so much as a follow-up email,” Adaleia recalls, still a little perplexed at being left in the dark. Her dad, Holden, shakes his head. “You’d hope if your kid was in trouble, someone at the school would at least return your call.”On the other end, lawyers for the transgender student flatly deny that any of these incidents ever happened. Responses have come sharply from the American Civil Liberties Union, who are backing the student in court. They remind critics that school administrators, after a fact-finding probe, “were unable to substantiate any of these claims.” Framed this way, it’s a case of accusation versus counter-accusation: each side certain, the facts getting murkier by the week.And there’s more. The Cross family’s legal representation at Alliance Defending Freedom (ADF) assert that Adaleia has given her account under oath, not just to lawyers but in official proceedings. “She had to walk away from a formative experience, with all the consequences that come from stepping out of team sports—and all to protect her own sense of safety and dignity,” said the ADF in a recent statement. The air of loss, both personal and communal, feels difficult to miss.Nearly two years have passed since Adaleia last suited up for the track team. Sometimes she talks about how she still misses it: the rhythm of practice, the bustle of competitions, and the way team huddles helped break up the routine of teenage days. Her father, quietly rueful, sees it as a simple price that should never have been paid. “Team sports helped my own kids grow—but when you lose that, you don’t get the time back.”The ripples spread to fields and gymnasiums beyond. Emmy Salerno, another student, describes a disquiet that went beyond running or jumping. She and several teammates, as a sort of protest, chose not to compete against the transgender athlete in a track event. Their move got the team disqualified—a decision that, whether seen as principled or divisive, was felt on the field. Emmy remembers a change in atmosphere: odd looks, stiff encounters at public events. She recalls, with a frown, seeing a Snapchat post in which the trans athlete seemed to mock her publicly: “Reminder that she has more testosterone than me.” The words stung. The sense of being surveilled, as she tells it, left her uneasy in ways that stuck long after the final whistle.“It was like a switch flipped,” Emmy says. “After that, he didn’t talk—he’d just stare.” One night at a basketball game she found herself watching her back, half-worried something might crack open into confrontation.Notably, the ACLU has yet to comment on these latest accusations. What’s clearer is that this case—which started over a local law aimed at barring biological males from competing in girls’ sports—has since exploded into a matter for the Supreme Court. After a federal court blocked West Virginia’s law in 2021, the litigation has now become a staging ground for a broader debate: How should schools navigate Title IX and the design of athletic programs?Whatever the legal outcome, political leaders have rushed to stake their ground. More than 130 Democrats in Congress have backed the transgender athlete, their names on a legal brief read like a who’s who of progressive legislative power. The animating worry: that setting rules for a single sport or town could set national precedent for years to come.For all the lawyering and headlines, for every exchange volleyed in courtrooms or on cable news, the real stories are playing out in lived moments—in the small towns where team rosters, locker assignments, and school policies shape lives in tangled, deeply personal ways. “I guess I just tried to forget it happened, to force myself to get on with things,” Adaleia says, a little embarrassed and a little regretful. It’s the kind of detail only someone on the ground, in the ordinary churn of American adolescence, might mention.As Washington gets ready for the Supreme Court to weigh in, the mood on the ground in West Virginia is anxious—and more than a little unresolved. The stakes reach far past a single team’s season. One way or the other, the ground rules for sport, and for the broader debate over inclusion, dignity, and fairness in schools, are about to get rewritten.