By martin 
Imagine stepping onto the track, heart pounding, with protesters chanting outside the stadium and a plane buzzing overhead blaring “No Boys in Girls’ Sports.” That’s the world 17-year-old AB Hernandez stepped into this year. But instead of crumbling, she jumped higher, leaped farther, and kept going. Have you heard her story yet? In 2025, AB Hernandez became the face of a fierce national debate on transgender rights in high school sports. She’s not just an athlete—she’s a lightning rod for questions about fairness, inclusion, and what it means to compete as your true self.
As a junior-turned-senior at Jurupa Valley High School in Southern California, AB Hernandez has shattered records and sparked headlines. Her wins in track and field drew cheers from fans and fury from critics, pulling in everyone from President Trump to everyday parents. This isn’t just about medals; it’s about a kid chasing her dreams amid a storm. Let’s dive into AB Hernandez’s journey—the triumphs, the backlash, and what it all says about where we’re headed.
Early Days: From Quiet Determination to Spotlight Glory
AB Hernandez didn’t wake up famous. She grew up in Riverside County, navigating the awkward halls of junior high like so many teens do. But for AB Hernandez, there was an extra layer: coming out as transgender. She started identifying as a girl around middle school, a move that took guts in a world quick to judge. Her mom, Nereyda, remembers the shock at first. Raised Catholic in a macho household full of brothers, Nereyda thought, “This isn’t normal.” She pushed back, worried about the dangers ahead. But watching AB Hernandez’s courage flipped the script. “When I saw her bravery, I said, ‘Okay, I’m standing behind you,'” Nereyda shares.
By high school, AB Hernandez channeled that fire into sports. Track and field called to her—those explosive jumps where every ounce of power counts. As a sophomore in 2024, she snagged third in the state triple jump finals. Not bad for someone still finding her footing. But 2025? That’s when AB Hernandez exploded onto the scene.
Picture this: Early May, at the CIF Southern Section finals in Moorpark. AB Hernandez nails first in long jump with a leap of 20 feet, 1.5 inches and dominates triple jump at 41 feet, 4 inches—top marks in the state. She even grabs seventh in high jump. Suddenly, scouts whisper her name. Nationally, she’s not top-ranked yet, but in California? AB Hernandez is a force. Her coach, Keinan Briggs, sees the raw talent. “She’s got that drive,” he says, though he admits the spotlight adds pressure no kid should carry.
These weren’t flukes. AB Hernandez trained like a beast, hitting the track before dawn. Friends say she thrives on the rhythm: the hop, the step, the bound in triple jump—her favorite. “Triple’s always been my thing,” she told reporters later, grinning through the chaos. Short sentences like that? They capture her vibe—punchy, unapologetic. But as her rankings climbed, so did the noise. A right-wing activist doxxed AB Hernandez in February, spilling her name, school, and trans status online. What started as local chatter turned national fast.
The State Championships: Medals, Protests, and a Historic Twist
Fast-forward to late May 2025. The CIF State Track and Field Championships in Clovis, California, under a scorching 100-degree sun. AB Hernandez qualifies for finals in three events: long jump, high jump, and triple jump. She’s ranked No. 1 in long and triple, 14th in high. On prelim day, May 30, she crushes it—first in all three. But outside Veterans Memorial Stadium, a small crowd of protesters waves “Save Girls’ Sports” signs. An airplane tows a banner: “No Boys in Girls’ Sports!” Inside, adults heckle from the stands. Campus security shadows AB Hernandez like a bodyguard.
She doesn’t flinch. Finals day, May 31: AB Hernandez clears 5 feet, 7 inches in high jump with zero misses, sharing gold with Jillene Wetteland and Lelani Laruelle. They beam together on the podium, arms linked. In triple jump, she shares first with Kira Gant Hatcher, edging her by half a meter. Long jump? Silver, behind Loren Webster’s 21-foot monster. Two golds, one silver. For a 16-year-old, that’s legend status.
But here’s the kicker: The California Interscholastic Federation (CIF) bent the rules just for this meet. Normally, 12 qualifiers per event. With AB Hernandez in the mix, they added a 13th spot for cisgender girls displaced by her scores—a first-of-its-kind tweak nationwide. Medals got shared to spread the glory. Why? To balance inclusion with fairness, per state law AB 1266, which lets trans kids like AB Hernandez compete as their gender identity since 2013. Gov. Gavin Newsom’s team called it “reasonable.” Still, it fueled the fire. One coach lamented his star missing states because AB Hernandez bumped her down. Fair point? Or just the tough math of competition?
AB Hernandez handled it with grace that stunned even pros. “Like, 16-year-old girl with a mad attitude—you think I’m gonna care?” she laughed in a Chronicle interview. Tony Hoang from Equality California nailed it: She showed more class than the adults slinging insults. Amid boos and silence from the crowd, AB Hernandez focused on the jumps. Her personal bests? High jump at 5-7, triple at 41-4, long at 20-1.5. Not superhuman—just hardworking.
Enter the Politics: Trump’s Threat and a Federal Probe
You can’t talk AB Hernandez without the elephant in the room: politics. On May 28, President Donald Trump fires off a Truth Social post. He demands California bar AB Hernandez from the championships or lose federal funding—potentially forever. This ties to his February executive order, “Keeping Men Out of Women’s Sports,” pushing states to keep trans girls out of girls’ events. Days later, the U.S. Department of Justice launches a Title IX probe into California’s policies. Letters fly to the AG, school superintendent, CIF, and Jurupa Valley district. Is letting AB Hernandez compete sex discrimination?
The stakes? Billions in education funds. Trump frames it as protecting girls’ sports, but critics call it bullying a teen. Protests swell—mostly women outside the stadium, some in MAGA gear. One activist, Sonja Shaw, clashes with Nereyda at a school board meeting. “You’re a coward!” Shaw yells. Nereyda fires back: Harassers doxxed and stalked her daughter, turning school into a “hostile environment.”
Locally, the Placentia-Yorba Linda board tries a ban on trans girls—fails 3-2. Board prez Leandra Blades wants funding yanked if AB Hernandez plays. Coach Briggs? He sympathizes with displaced kids but pushes for welcome mats for all. “No separate category for trans athletes,” he says. “We need a system where everyone feels included.”
Nationally, it’s a split screen. Over half the states ban trans youth from gender-aligned sports. California sticks to inclusion, no hormone tests required. Experts weigh in: Studies show post-puberty males hold edges in jumps—10-20% from testosterone. But AB Hernandez? She’s on blockers since junior high, per her mom. Does that level the field? Debates rage on.
I remember chatting with a track coach years back about this stuff. “It’s not zero-sum,” he said. “More spots, better for everyone.” AB Hernandez’s story tests that. Her wins displaced some, sure. But sharing podiums? That felt like progress—three girls hoisting gold together, smiles all around.
Volleyball Season: Forfeits, Lawsuits, and Team Spirit Tested
Summer fades, and AB Hernandez swaps spikes for volleyball sneakers. As a senior, she joins Jurupa Valley’s Lady Jags. Team sport, right? More fun, less solo spotlight. Wrong. The backlash follows.
September hits: At least three schools forfeit matches against them. Chaffey High bows out, citing “safety concerns.” AB Hernandez calls it heartbreaking. “I can’t take a team sport win alone,” she tells CBS. “My teammates fight with me—that’s what wins titles.” They still beat Chaffey in a four-set thriller when they do play. Nereyda watches from the stands, tearing up. “Those girls mean everything. They help AB get through the hard times.”
October worsens. Eight teams total forfeit. Then, bombshell: Three current and former teammates sue the district. They claim sharing a locker room with AB Hernandez violated their privacy and Title IX rights. “Unfair and unsafe,” the suit argues. AB Hernandez’s career? Likely over, per reports—playoffs tanked by absences.
She speaks out anyway. “People see one thing and label me,” AB Hernandez says. “They don’t bother knowing me. It’s frustrating.” Teammates rally, though. One posts on Insta: “AB’s our sister. We play for her.” It’s raw—urgency in every spike, authority in their unity. Social proof? Look at the podium hugs from state track. Competitors like Lelani Laruelle high-five AB Hernandez post-jump. “She’s tough,” Laruelle says. “Deserves her spot.”
This hits different. Track’s individual; volleyball’s us-vs-them. Forfeits punish the whole squad. AB Hernandez feels it deep. “I’m just a normal kid going to school, playing sports,” she insists. Yet here she is, collateral in a culture war.
The Human Behind the Headlines: Family, Friends, and Fierce Resolve
Strip away the protests, and AB Hernandez is still a teen. She scrolls Insta (@abbb7266), hyping her PRs: “3 PR’s after a million hours—blessed.” Loves triple jump’s flow. Dreams big—maybe college ball? Her mom’s her rock. Nereyda’s journey from denial to fierce advocate mirrors so many families’. “Parents like me didn’t get it at first,” she admits. “But schools protect kids from us.”
Friends shield her too. At meets, they form a wall against hecklers. One buddy recalls a local event: “Some jerk yelled ‘boy.’ AB just smiled and jumped 40 feet. Shut ’em up.” That’s her edge—not biology, but that “mad attitude.”
Real talk: I’ve covered sports long enough to know talent like AB Hernandez’s is rare. But the hate? That’s on us adults. She deletes nasty comments but keeps the wins. “Oh my gosh, I did it,” she whispers after state gold, eyes wide. Pure joy.
What AB Hernandez’s Story Means for the Future of Sports
So, where does this leave us? AB Hernandez’s 2025 saga spotlights cracks in the system. Science says trans girls on blockers can compete fairly—no massive edges after years of care. Yet fears linger: What about bone density? Muscle? The Endocrine Society pegs male advantages at 10-50% in jumps. CIF’s extra qualifier? A smart patch, but not a fix. Experts push for open divisions or hormone caps, like old Olympic rules.
Broader picture: 122,000 trans youth could play high school sports. Bans in half the states? That’s exclusion. Inclusion without tweaks? Displacement. AB Hernandez shows sharing works—podiums with smiles, not snarls.
Her impact? Rules evolve. The DOJ probe drags on, funding hangs in balance. But kids like her keep jumping. As Nereyda says, “Don’t hope—make it happen.” AB Hernandez did. And in doing so, she made us all rethink the game.
What’s next for AB Hernandez? College scouts watch. Volleyball might end bitter, but track’s legacy shines. She’s proof: Talent doesn’t care about labels. It just wins. If her story moves you, think—what would you do in her spikes? Drop a comment below. Let’s talk fairness, not fights.