Front and Center

  Win especially liked how Ashley had calmed Coach K down. He said that was exactly the kind of leadership he was talking about, my directing her like that, and that I should be doing that sort of thing all the time. I couldn't help thinking it was just the opposite, that college coaches would be disgusted to see me bossing around adults, and besides, I'd only been trying to keep Coach K from embarrassing us. It had nothing to do with leadership at all. And then Mom said it was bedtime and if we didn't hurry Santa wouldn't come. Which made us laugh, but we still hurried off to bed anyway.

  Christmas morning I got up to milk—that was part of my gift to Dad—but it turned out he was up already, so the two of us did it together. You see, for Christmas I made him two Get Out of Milking Free cards, like those Get Out of Jail ones. There was joking about that, you can be sure, later that morning when we opened presents, and even more about two certificates I gave Win that promised I Will Listen To Your Advice, and way down at the bottom in tiny letters the words As Much As I Can. Even Win had to laugh at that. And there were the socks and pencils and potholders, and stuff Win made in art therapy that wouldn't have looked any better if he had functional hands because Schwenks and art simply don't mix. And Mom had knitted everyone hats that were kind of scratchy but still awfully nice and colorful. And Dad made everyone peanut brittle that left us all speechless because we couldn't unlock our jaws. And his Christmas dinner was extra delicious, and as we sat down with Bill still wearing his scratchy hat, Mom said how nice it was to all be a family again. So all in all it was a fantastic Christmas even with only our eighteen cents.

  The next day Mom and Dad and Win left for the hospital, Dad to help drive and also because he'd kept his pickup there, and Bill and I went over to the high school. Win had made me get keys to the gym because heaven forbid I wouldn't practice practice practice and then report to him what I'd done. We played one on one and horse, messing around and goofing on each other. Bill told me about a girl he was seeing who he was actually kind of serious about, which is a big first for him, and I filled him in a bit on Beaner and how crazy he is. Bill loved hearing about the pep rally, and he made me act the whole thing out and walk the way Beaner had walked and everything. He said Beaner sounded even funnier than he used to be, when he was just a skinny freshman Bill's senior year, and that he must be a pretty great guy. Which wasn't the worst thing in the world to hear.

  So it was pretty awesome when Beaner agreed—not that I had to twist his arm, but apparently he had all these relatives he was supposed to, you know, entertain, so he didn't have a lot of free time—but the next day he got away somehow and joined us. We talked Curtis into coming too, and then the four of us played until we could barely move. Bill's so big and so fast from football that his side always had a huge advantage, although Beaner's taller even than Bill and really fights for every rebound, and it's not like I'm some sort of wallflower. And Curtis, well, don't ever underestimate him. In hoops and also, you know, in life. Because while we were goofing off and laughing, taking these extremely illegal and hilarious shots, Curtis just kept plugging away, basket after basket, making the three of us look pretty darn lame.

  Then when we were stopped for a water break after a couple hours of this (we'd forgotten ice like a bunch of idiots, but luckily there was fresh snow right outside!) Beaner said to Bill, "Hey, I'm throwing this New Year's Eve party, you know, if you're around. You too, Curtis."

  Curtis immediately looked like he'd rather die, but Bill perked right up because there's nothing he likes like a party. Beaner described how his mom and stepdad were paying him back for entertaining all those lame relatives from Sheboygan, and how he was going to get Abby's karaoke machine going, and kids could even sleep over if they wanted...

  I sat there for like ten minutes listening to Beaner and Bill plan this out, Bill tossing in suggestions on how to make the party better and saying how totally bummed he was about missing it because he loved karaoke (Hello? Are we even related?), while I got more and more miserable because here was Beaner inviting my brothers, who he barely even knows, and he hadn't even invited me. His girlfriend. I guess he didn't want me there. This was just his Beaner way of telling me that. Maybe he wasn't that different from Brian after all.

  So I said, trying as hard as I could to seem nonchalant, "Well, it sure sounds like fun."

  "Oh, it'll be awesome—" Beaner said, and then he looked at me with this expression of absolute horror and said, "Holy crap, I forgot to invite you."

  Well, Bill just about fell off the bleachers laughing at that. Even Curtis broke up. Especially because Beaner spent another ten minutes explaining he assumed I knew I was invited, and what a jerk he was, and how just to pay him back I could make him sing any song I wanted, even that song where that girl who's a really good singer keeps saying she's not going.

  Then of course he went out onto the court and sang it, right then and there, and Bill literally—I am not exaggerating—had to lie down so that he wouldn't keel over. I have to say that it was a pretty impressive way for Beaner to apologize, especially at the end, when he dropped to one knee and swung his arms around and everything.

  Later, after we'd gone home, Curtis and me having to listen to Bill crack up every time he thought about Beaner, I called Mom to ask her permission and right away she said You are not sleeping over in that tone that means don't even think about arguing. That woman was watching too much television, the way she carried on like teenagers are all pregnant juvenile-delinquent idiots. But at least she said I could go to Beaner's for a little while.

  Before any of that happened, though, I needed to visit the University of Wisconsin–Madison, even though the school was on break, because Win wanted me to see this hoops tournament they were holding.

  Which is really something to think about, in and of itself. I mean, most college students cut classes whenever they feel like it and stay out late, basically get to do anything they want. But not athletes. Athletes have curfews every night, and hours of workouts every single day, not just practice but weights and flexibility and meetings, and they have to play in every single game, show up even if they're injured or benched or something, because that's their scholarship requirement. And travel all over the country, getting back to their dorms at two or three in the morning maybe, but even so, they can't skip class. Or they miss a whole week of classes because of tournaments and have to run around afterward getting all caught up. And even when everyone else is off enjoying winter break, and spring break too, when that happens, they're still at school playing. Bill had to leave Saturday morning, just as I was driving off to Madison, for this camp thing he'd signed up for. He'd only had five days of vacation, after a whole semester packed with football and classes and papers and exams.

  Thinking about that, I was doubly relieved with my secret no D-I decision. Because even though I wanted to get out of Red Bend ASAP, I'd like to come back occasionally. Come back for more than "Hello, thanks for the scratchy hat, I've got a game two thousand miles away." That was one great thing about St. Margaret's and Ibsen: at least they take a breather every once in a while. They don't have round-the-clock athlete curfews. That was nice to know.

  So I drove to Madison all by myself, which the UW people sounded a little weird about because I guess you're supposed to show up with your folks seeing as college is such a Big Decision. But of course Mom and Dad couldn't come, and Kathy Ott had already done enough for us. Too much, really. And I kept insisting I was totally okay, and I promised Mom I'd be extra safe and would stop driving the second it started to snow.

  It must sound pretty strange that I was going to all this effort, driving ten hours just to keep Win off my back. But the real reason I was going—not that I would ever tell this to anyone, not in a million years—was that I needed a haircut. Seriously. I was about ready to duct-tape my hair back, it was driving me so crazy. I hadn't had it cut since the summer, when Curtis and I had driven to Madison and I'd found this really cool salon with this really cool girl named Mica
who gave me this totally awesome haircut because she was so psyched I was trying out for football. I even saved the little card she'd given me, even though at the time I knew I'd never, ever be back. But guess what, now I was, and I'd even snuck into our downstairs bathroom where no one could hear me and made an appointment.

  So I was pretty psyched to be hitting the road, and I spent most of the drive imagining how I'd explain to Mica that I'd quit football, hoping she wouldn't be too disappointed in me. But wouldn't you know it, she already knew. And taped to her mirror was that People article! And a little sticky note next to it saying I CUT HER HAIR!!!

  Well, that was something to see. And I guess it shows that everyone's different. I mean, there I was so impressed with Mica and her cool salon, so intimidated, and at the same time Mica was just as impressed with this cheesehead hick that was me. Isn't that funny?

  She didn't even act disappointed about my having to quit. She said she understood completely, and once she found out I was back in town to look at UW, she just went off on how cool Madison is, making it sound like her city was the only place in the world to play basketball or study or live or basically to breathe. I didn't point out that people breathe in other cities too, and even in the countryside sometimes, because she was so sparkly and excited. But I did decide that wherever I ended up, that school had to play in Madison once or twice a year, so I'd be able to keep looking halfway okay. It's too bad when you find a decent haircut you can't just freeze it there and not unfreeze it until you're sure you can make it back to Madison.

  Just so you know, the Badgers arena is huge. Bigger even than the U of M's, and all set up for TV broadcasts. Only most of the seats were empty when I showed up, because I guess a women's tournament in the middle of winter break doesn't attract too much attention. Even so, walking in I got that same icy feeling in my stomach, seeing all those empty seats and knowing that sometimes they were full of people all ready to judge whoever it was out there on the floor, and I was doubly, triply relieved that whoever that person was wouldn't be me.

  I met the assistant coach who'd been talking to Win, who of course said how excited he'd be to have me in their program, what a hard worker I was and how much Coach K respected me, and who talked my ear off as he showed me around. And I knew enough to bounce his compliments right back at him, telling him how great the arena was, and his team. Plus I answered all his questions about Win and the work the two of us had done together, which he really wanted to hear about.

  One of the players showed me around campus that night, telling me again how utterly fantastic Madison is, and when she heard I'd seen their game against the U of M, she got all pumped. I didn't have the heart to tell her that the girl who'd lost was kind of my friend. Because it wasn't her fault that Tyrona missed two free throws, or that I almost threw up.

  I was as nice as I could be—I guess tactful is how you'd describe it—agreeing with them all the time, but also saying I was looking at other schools and Madison was five hours from home, and tough academically for someone with my little brain. I didn't put it quite like that, but I made the point. Got across that they should be looking at other players as well, at lots of them.

  Driving back, that super-long five-hour drive, I couldn't help thinking about Brian. I'd controlled myself for a good long while there, but then it snuck in when my guard was down, just as I was stopping for gas. I went in to get myself a pop and saw the milk cartons all lined up in the case and pow, there went all my protection. Dang, it had been nice milking with him! Even seeing him in Taco Bell had been nice. He'd been so different that night, in the two seconds we'd actually looked at each other. Maybe he really had done some of that growing up that his mom and Tyrona mentioned. People do change, you know; they change all the time. Look how much easier my dad is to deal with just since this summer. If Dad can change, well, anyone can. You know, if I went to Madison and Brian went to Milwaukee, we'd be less than two hours apart. We could visit on weekends, and maybe he could even come to my games...

  I slapped myself across the face—really hard. So hard it left a huge mark on my cheek, but I had to do it. I was driving again when I did this, so at least I didn't freak anyone at the gas station out. But I had to show myself just how stupid I was. For one thing, I was not going to Madison, for reasons I believe I've explained in pretty thorough detail. And even if I did go there, because I'd lost my mind or something, having Brian watch me play would be pretty much the stupidest thing ever. The thought of playing in front of strangers makes me freeze up; imagine how well I'd do in front of him. They'd have to take me off the court on a stretcher. Besides which—besides the fact that I wasn't ever going to play D-I ball—there was also, thank you, another guy in my life. Who didn't give me goose bumps, sure, but at least he never made me cry. Which is a big huge check in the plus column. And who loved going out with me—I mean, literally "going out," as in movies and hoops games and Taco Bell. And who could make me laugh—laugh so hard I could barely stand up sometimes. Which is also a big huge check.

  Just thinking about that karaoke night at Beaner's made me smile. Sure, I'd gotten all soppy later about Brian, but you can't deny that I'd had a blast, tossing snowballs to the Halstaads' dog and busting a rib at the sight of everyone twisting and shouting away. Plus Beaner was throwing a New Year's Eve party—the first one I'd ever gone to that was just for kids instead of a family party with my parents and stuff. With kids sleeping over, even. Plus thanks to my new haircut I was actually going to look okay. Which was nice to think about too, and got me singing about twisting and shouting the rest of the way home.

  I wore a skirt for once, which was good because the other girls were really dressed up, Kari in this slinky dress that looked amazing, and Beaner's basement had streamers and glittery mirror balls and colored light bulbs. Amber and Dale were in St. Paul visiting friends of Dale's—not that they would have gone to Beaner's, but they didn't even have the chance to say no, which I have to say was kind of a relief, not having to worry about them—but there were tons of hoops players there. And some punch that I knew better than to taste, having seen Bill get sick on punch once. That's an image that stays with you awhile, that one. Plus, Abby and Gabby hung around acting like they were teenagers too. Which they almost were, those girls are so mature.

  The girls were extra excited to see me, and made me come up to Abby's room so they could play with my hair, telling me how great my new haircut was, and wouldn't you know, it actually looked better when they were done. And they insisted I wear lip gloss, which Abby had a suitcase of it looked like, and they wanted to put big glittery earrings on me but I was happy just with the studs that were in there, the same studs I've had since I got them pierced because really I don't need anything else.

  After a while the karaoke started, and Abby and Gabby did their dance routine until Beaner finally got his mom to drag them upstairs. Then the punch got everyone going, I guess, or maybe Beaner's natural unembarrassedness relaxed them. A couple guys performed a song about "gimme some loving"—that's the only line I could make out—and they were really good, although Kari whispered that they were just copying the Blues Brothers, which made me really want to see that movie if it could get two Red Bend basketball players dancing like that. Kari sang too, spelling out the word respect and dancing around in her dress like, well, like a girl who really knows how to dance. Her boyfriend looked surprised even.

  After Kari was done singing, the two of them got a little hot and heavy in the corner. And it gave me a pang. Maybe it was because I wasn't drinking, I don't know. Every once in a while Beaner would give me a hug, just being friendly, and that was great. He even got me dancing which normally only Aaron does and only when I'm outside Wisconsin. But even so, I was getting that feeling like I didn't belong there anymore. Plus Mom had given me this huge lecture about all the drunk drivers out on New Year's Eve and she'd be a lot happier once she knew I was home.

  So I said goodbye. Beaner wanted me to stay until midnight but I said I
needed to get up for milking. Which wasn't a complete lie seeing as Dad still had time to call in his coupons, and it sounded better than saying I just felt out of place. Kari gave me a huge sloppy hug—she'd had a lot of punch, it looked like—and some boys slapped my hand, and I said good night to Beaner's mom, reassuring her I hadn't had anything stronger than pop, and finally I was outside in that cold cold air, just me and the stars so far away.

  I started the Caravan and sat there while it warmed up, enjoying the quiet after all that noise. You know—you know what I really wanted? Brian.

  Which was stupid. I know. I know that. But I felt this emptiness, like I was a mitten and he was the only mitten that matched. Which probably sounds like I really had been drinking, but I was sober. Crazy, sure, but sober.

  So I called him. Which I shouldn't have done. But he'd helped with milking, which I'm sure he could have gotten out of if he'd really insisted, no matter what his dad might have said. And at Taco Bell he'd actually looked happy to see me, and had even told his friends off, it looked like, for being jerks. And he'd come to my house, that kitchen-visit day, just to apologize. And had saved me some coffee cake, just one more little way of showing he still wanted to be friends. So you know, maybe it was time for me to do something too. So it wasn't just him doing the reaching out.