The Off Season

  Only he wasn't, or at least I didn't see him and he's really easy to pick out because he's so tall. There were kids everywhere making that enormous ear-bending racket you always get in gyms, and tables holding booths with flowers turned a couple different colors, and water soaking through different materials, and robots being displayed by kids who looked like robot builders ... A science fair. Great. Right in front of me people jostled around one booth, and through the racket I heard, "That is so totally disgusting" in that tone people use when they can't stop looking, and then someone moved and I could read the sign, really neat computer printing, DESICCATION AND ITS EFFECTS, and then someone else moved and—

  Remember back a zillion years ago when the milk house roof got smashed? And I found a bunch of dried-up rats that Curtis took away like they were diamonds or something? Well, here they were. Only now they were in little glass boxes, the kind you see in a museum, one in each box, or rat parts in some of them. And next to each box was a little paragraph in that same nice computer printing, and arrows going to one thing, like teeth or hair, or their dried-up skinny bald tails. It was the sort of exhibit you didn't even want to look at, and then once you started, you couldn't stop.

  20. Things Are Looking Better—No, I Take That Back

  ACTUALLY, IT TOOK ME a couple minutes to realize these were Schwenk Farm rats. At first I could see only that they were rats that had been all dried out, which rang a little bell in my memory because as you know I have some experience with that kind of rodent. Then I worked my way close enough to see the little rat bodies, which looked a lot like the rats I'd seen, and then as I went over each little description I happened to come across the words BY SARAH ZORN AND CURTIS SCHWENK, and I even thought to myself how bizarre this was because I had a brother with that exact same name, and it wasn't until I got to red bend middle school that it really began to sink in that this was Curtis's handiwork.

  My anger—it was like it had been sucked up by a vacuum cleaner or something. Now all I felt was amazed. And slowly this other feeling just bubbling up inside me—proud. Proud and happy. He wasn't cutting school at all, not if he was here at a science fair—that's as school as you can get. And he wasn't joy riding—he'd just needed the pickup to carry the booth. Sure, he was driving underage, which wasn't so smart, but my brother wasn't a felon lawbreaker at all.

  Just then a couple kids started whispering, "It's them, it's them!" and there were Curtis and Sarah walking up, both pink with embarrassment, holding—ready for this?—a trophy.

  Curtis saw me and his pink embarrassment turned to white-faced fear. "I'm sorry—I meant to wait out there ... they made me come in—"

  "This is awesome," I said. "I can't believe you did this."

  Curtis gulped, and then slowly managed a smile. "Yeah, Sarah has a laser printer."

  "That's not what I meant—" I began, but right at that moment they were mobbed by folks asking them questions, wanting their picture in front of the booth.

  Anyway, it turns out Curtis and Sarah came in third, which really ticked me off because their exhibit was so much better than anything else there, and so much more popular. But the winners were this kid who built a refrigerator "by himself" even though his dad owns an air-conditioning business so you can imagine, and a girl who recorded all these bird songs and made little charts of them, don't ask me how, and had the charts up and the recordings going and you had no idea what it meant but it obviously took her a huge amount of time.

  We packed the rat display into the back of the Caravan because I didn't want it getting jostled in the truck, and luckily the truck still started and I gave Curtis my best imitationMom lecture about driving safely because he'd get arrested if he got caught, and they followed me out. only before we even got on the highway I pulled into a pancake house because I was totally ravenous and because we needed to celebrate that third place trophy. Sarah ate a ton of food, which I would never have predicted, though not as much as I did, or Curtis who doesn't have a hollow leg, he's just plain hollow. The waitress was impressed, even. And I found out the whole story, though getting information out of the two of them was a bit like dentistry to tell you the truth, how Curtis skipped practice to buy the Plexiglas and then stayed up all night with Sarah arranging those dried-up bodies, Mr. Larson helping them out and keeping their secret, which is just one of the things that makes him an amazing teacher. He was supposed to drive them to Eau Claire but then his mom died, which is why Curtis had to take the pickup and Sarah and the display because he was too scared to ask another teacher, or me, for a ride. Too scared to let on about the science fair.

  "The guys would make cracks," he said. "And Dad. You know..."

  I had a little pang when I realized I was one of the people Curtis was afraid of. I'd already teased him even, last fall, pointing out how gross the rats were. "Forget about Dad," I said. "I'll take care of him." I meant it too. It was the least I could do.

  I paid for lunch with all the cash I had, and Curtis and Sarah chipped in, which I very much appreciated, and we managed an okay tip with all the change we could find behind the Caravan cushions, and then we bought gas with Mom's credit card, which I'm only supposed to use in emergencies, which I considered being stuck in Eau Claire to be.

  Then, totally stuffed, we set out for Red Bend at an extremely legal rate of speed, and I finally had some down time to collect my thoughts, and then my heart did a midair somersault because I remembered Brian. In all this Eau Claire rat drama, that one extremely exciting fact actually slipped my mind. Now, though, I could barely wait. I spent most of the drive getting more and more psyched. Brian would bust a gut about Curtis. He'd barely believed it last summer, Curtis driving Dad around after his hip transplant, and the notion of Curtis heading to a city with a girl for a science fair—that was pretty amazing. Although I'd stress the not-teasing part, just so you know.

  From the way dusk was falling, I could tell that football practice was due to end soon. Then Brian and I could just sit in a car and talk the way Amber and I used to, or go to the movies. Or he could help with the evening milking for all I cared. Whatever he wanted, I was up for it. I'd meet him anywhere. Which of course might be a bit difficult to arrange seeing as I didn't have my cell phone. But there were other options.

  We drove our Schwenk convoy straight to Sarah's house, parking the pickup around the corner so no one could see who'd been driving, and I rang the doorbell holding the trophy, Curtis pretty nervous because her folks haven't cared much for him since the basement incident. But when her mom answered—pretty mad about seeing her daughter with that troublemaker—I explained what they'd really been doing (skipping the part about the pickup, duh), and Mrs. Zorn was so shocked, and then so pleased, that she came out to the Caravan to see the exhibit, Paul right behind her just amazed I was at his house, and they both had that reaction I was getting used to, a barfing face followed by real curiosity.

  So Curtis went from being Troublemaker to Good Guy again, and Mrs. Zorn invited us in for some ice cream, and I said I'd love to but I had to run an errand, and would it be okay if Curtis hung out there for a few hours? And she said of course, and Curtis and Sarah looked even happier if that was possible, and I took off for Hawley.

  If you'd told me way back in September that D.J. Schwenk would be driving up to Hawley High School as cool as a cucumber, I'd have told you to go get your head examined. But after everything I'd been through these past few months, the whole Red Bend–Hawley rivalry seemed just a little tiny bit pathetic. Besides, Brian had said even his friends said good things about me. Not that I lay awake nights worrying about their opinion of me or anything, but it had to help Brian, hearing that.

  Hawley High School is a lot newer than Red Bend, which you'd expect given our two towns, and its football stands were a lot bigger and nicer-looking. Practice was already over, and I panicked for a second until I saw Brian's Cherokee in the parking lot still. I pulled up nearby, admiring the stars and wondering what the two of us would say after hel
lo. Whether we'd make out a bit. Not that I'd driven over for that, but I wouldn't, you know, turn it down.

  A group of guys came out of the gym, hard to see in the twilight, only I heard Brian's laugh and I knew he was in the crowd. They ambled toward the parking lot and I got out of the Caravan, nervous now because I wasn't exactly sure how to act with all those guys around, and wishing I'd been able to call Brian first. Plus I couldn't help thinking how crappy the Caravan looked next to all those cars the football players drove. Not that they all drove cars as new as Brian's, but they were all a lot newer than mine.

  The guys got closer and now I could make out Brian, his hair so shiny the way it always is. He turned in my direction and all of a sudden he saw me. He had this little start of recognition, and then his mouth dropped open. Not in surprise. In shock. In total, what-the-hell-is-she-doing-here shock.

  21. Wanted: A Town Full of Strangers

  FOR ONE INSTANT, Brian and I stared at each other—him with that shocked face and me with my heart basically stopped—and a few of the guys caught sight of me and froze, looking back and forth between me and Brian while he didn't do a thing. Then I climbed into the Caravan and drove off.

  Which wasn't quite the exit I was looking for because the Caravan has some exhaust issues and it backfired a couple times, which is something you never see on TV when the hero peels out. Plus peeling out is something else our Caravan isn't too good at.

  But I barely noticed because all I could think about was that expression on Brian's face. What was that? I didn't get it. It was like that time in Taco Bell, only worse because this time his friends weren't even being jerks. Not that they were jerks in Taco Bell, but they could have been—I mean, if they'd seen me, and seen the other Red Bend players. And they sure were jerks last summer, calling me names right to my face. And roughing me up during the scrimmage.

  It made me feel sick inside. If Brian was, you know, sleeping with me or something and then blowing me off in front of his friends, that I could understand. That happens all the time, boys using girls like that. But his behavior just now I didn't understand at all. AH those long talks we'd had these past weeks as he'd told me how great I was, listening to my depressing life. All those times he came to the farm super early on weekend mornings when he could have been asleep, the meals he had with us and all the help he provided without even being asked. And all that kissing too, which he didn't have to do but that, duh, he really seemed to enjoy ... Call me crazy, but isn't that the stuff you do when you like a girl? Like her for her company and her family, and her feelings? Whenever the two of us were together, we had a special connection. I felt it, and I know he felt it too. He did like me. He liked me a lot. Which meant his expression now wasn't just blowing off some dumb girl you really don't care about. It meant he was embarrassed about me.

  I was almost home before I remembered Curtis and had to turn around. He wasn't very happy to see me, especially with Sarah's mom so pleased with him again, but he caught sight of my face and drove with me to the truck right away, not saying a word, which was good because if he had, I would have removed his head right from his body and put it in a box for the next middle school science fair.

  It was pitch dark when we walked into the house finally, Smut so relieved because it was way past her dinner, which I'd forgotten about. Curtis hit the answering machine button that was blinking away although I didn't care one bit, and the very first message, from nine o'clock that morning, was Dad.

  "D.J.? Pick up, sport. Your mother, she hurt her back again, really bad ... We need you here. We need you to stay."

  And all the rest of the messages said the same thing only with curse words by the end because Dad couldn't figure out where I was, and why I wouldn't answer my cell phone either.

  It's not like I'd been ignoring Dad on purpose, you know, I'd just forgotten to take my cell. Which I got him to admit after about ten minutes of cussing me out, that maybe it was an honest mistake. Then Kathy Ott showed up—she'd been talking to Dad all day and sounded just as stressed as he was—and said she'd spend the night with Curtis so I could drive back to the hospital as soon as possible.

  I suppose I could have said I wouldn't do it. That's what some people would say and they have a right to, I guess, when the situation gets too overwhelming. I sure didn't want to go back to Minnesota and Win, no matter how much Mom needed me. But I couldn't come up with any other solutions; I needed a couple days just to figure out what had happened with Brian. It's not like I decided that thinking about Brian would be a great thing to do in Minnesota, though. It's more that I wasn't thinking, period. Instead I stuffed a bunch of stuff in a duffel, more stuff this time because who knew how long I'd be there, and a basketball in case I had some free time to practice, although at the moment the chances of me playing girls' basketball were looking about as probable as me playing for the Vikings.

  I said goodbye to Kathy and Smut, who'd gotten fed at least, and to Curtis. Dad called again and Kathy said, "She just left," and told me to drive safe because Mom wasn't there to say it, and off I went.

  At least my cell phone was charged. And I had a ton of messages, which I didn't want to check one bit but I needed to erase them, and most were from Dad still cussing me out, and then a happy-sounding one from Amber checking in, and the last one was from Brian.

  "I'm so sorry about what just happened. I really screwed up. Please call me."

  I erased that one too. It's not like keeping it would help any. And I didn't call him back. I wasn't ready for that yet.

  Instead I drove our rattling Caravan on the same highway Jimmy took to drive Dad and me to the airport, and that Brian used for the Mall of America. That Mall of America trip had been one of the best days of my life. And not just because we ended up making out like movie stars at the rest area I was just passing now, the Brian Nelson Memorial Make-Out Truck Stop. It was because that whole day he'd been so great. He bragged about my football to everyone and he kept really close to me with hundreds of people all around us, he even put his arm around my shoulders when we were looking at something extra exciting. Plus he got me that cell phone, and even paid for my pierced ears.

  But—I suddenly realized with a gasp—you know why? To make me cooler. I could see it now. I mean, the earrings looked good although by this point I didn't even notice them. And calling our house on the home phone probably wasn't much fun. But that day he wanted to buy me so much more, and get me to buy more, clothes that were cool even though I didn't need them, and CDs of music I don't care about. And it was only after coming back from the mall with my brand-new earrings that he kissed me. Because by that point I guess I was cool enough.

  But not really cool enough, or he wouldn't totally ignore me whenever we ran into each other, and refuse to invite me out with his friends or go with me to the movies, and then uninvite me—or try to if I hadn't uninvited myself already—that one Saturday we were planning to watch TV at his house, once it looked like his friends were coming over. Because apparently blowing me off was easier than disappointing them. Because being my kind-of boyfriend in the Mall of America with thousands of strangers, or with that tailgate guy, or those two turkey farmer reporters didn't bother him one little teeny atom as much as it bothered him to be seen with me in Taco Bell in front of his buddies.

  Maybe that was the solution to all this. If I could find a place, if Brian and I could find a place where no one knew us, then we could do whatever we wanted and be happy about it. A town full of strangers.

  As soon as this thought came into my head, though, I knew it wouldn't work. Someone would always know one of us. That's why Brian had gotten so upset about People. I mean, I got upset too, I'm not denying that, and I sure took a lot of grief about it. It's not like I wanted the entire United States to know about the two of us. But at least I wasn't embarrassed about him.

  Just then my cell phone rang: Brian.

  Wait a minute, I said to my paranoid and miserable brain. Brian isn't like that. There must be anoth
er explanation of all this, and he had a right to explain it. If he was brave enough to call me—to call me twice—then I could talk to him at least.

  "Hey," I answered.

  "Jeez, I'm glad you picked up."

  Just hearing his voice made me feel so much better. Almost all better, in fact. Just those few words. "No problem," I said. "So, how's it going?"

  "I called your house looking for you, and Curtis said you were going back to Minnesota. Is everything okay?"

  "Mom's back went out again ... Listen, I never, you know, asked you, but remember that People magazine thing?"

  Brian laughed. "Yeah. Why, are they doing a sequel?"

  "No. Um, wait—would that be a bad thing?"

  "Are you kidding? Just tell me now so I can leave town." He chuckled again.

  "It was that bad, huh?"

  "You have no idea. The crap I got, you don't even want to know."

  "Because I was from Red Bend?"

  He paused. "Yeah. My friends had no idea I was, you know, seeing you. They—they don't know what someone like you is like."

  "What do you mean, someone like me?"

  "Well, you know ... You're really different."

  "Meaning I'm not cool." And it was kind of icy, the way this came out.

  "Come on, you know how kids are. I'm sure your friends acted the same way."

  "Actually, my friends didn't. They thought it was okay. They even thought you were cute. And they're lesbians." Which was the first time I ever said that word out loud, and I hope it never gets back to Amber and Dale, my using them like that. Although it sure felt good at the moment.

  "Oh," said Brian. Because that was a curve ball, I admit.

  "Is it uncool when we make out? Is it uncool when we talk about Win and all his problems?"