Front and Center

  So you can see why I say that Darey won the game for us. Because even if she didn't, she kept me from losing it—losing the game and losing it, period.

  And then afterward ... wow.

  There was a time not too long ago when Win wanted to die—not as in "Oh, I'm bummed," but literally die. Because he believed his life was over, so why not make it official. And for a while after that he didn't want anyone seeing him in a wheelchair, seeing him disabled in any way. And yet there he sat as the bleachers were emptying, shaking hands with hundreds of people, accepting their best wishes like he'd been born to the role. Talk about a natural leader.

  Ashley found me in the crowd and stood on tiptoes to whisper in my ear. "Do you think—um, would your brother mind signing my cast?"

  I cracked up. "Absolutely. He'd love it."

  And he did love it, signing away with his special big-grip pen. You should have seen Ashley's face when he asked how it happened and she got to say "Setting a screen." And then she said what a good coach his sister was, and Win grinned at me and said he already knew.

  Brian came over as well. Most of the Hawley fans had left by then, not wanting to linger for obvious reasons. But Brian just stood there waiting for the fuss to die down as everyone and their brother squeezed around Win, saying how delighted they were to see him, and how much they were praying, how good he looked. Which he did, I guess because he was happy. Brian didn't even flinch when some Hawley kids started giving him a hard time. He just said he needed to speak to someone and he'd catch up with them in a few minutes. How do you like that?

  I could see Win frowning as Brian came up to him, which you can understand seeing as Win had spent the past half-hour trying to place Sunday school teachers and fourth grade coaches and old girlfriends' parents.

  "It's Brian Nelson," said Dad. "His father got us that van, and built the ramp." This from a guy who a year ago couldn't admit that his kids helped him milk. Actually, he probably still can't admit that. But he sure seemed happy with the Nelsons.

  Win took Brian's hand. "I can't thank you enough for all your generosity."

  "Hey, no worries," Brian said with a grin.

  "You treating my sister right?" Jeez, Win! He still had Brian's hand too, like he wouldn't let go if Brian answered wrong. Talk about embarrassing.

  "Doing my best," Brian said, smiling at me. "Doing my best."

  Seeing that smile, my embarrassment pretty much vanished. And my happiness at winning the game—the second game, ha. And my satisfaction with Darey, Ashley's whole brilliant idea that seemed to be working out so well. And all my worries about college, which usually hung around nonstop waiting for a free moment to pop out and drive me insane. Instead, right at that moment, all I felt was crazy love for Brian. If he'd taken me in his arms and dropped me into one of those kisses, the kind you see in pictures from World War II, I would have been totally into it, and kissed him right back. Right there in front of everyone.

  But I didn't. Instead I called the U of M.

  Which probably doesn't make sense, those thoughts together like that. Because it's not like I wanted the U of M to kiss me ... although maybe I did. Because when you think about it, a scholarship is really kind of a great big swoopy movie-star kiss.

  I know, I know: I wasn't calling the University of Wisconsin. Even though UW's in Madison, which has Mica and great haircuts, and I'd be representing my state. And Brian would be less than two hours away. And Ashley still meant to end up there and then she could help me with my homework. And I really did like the Madison coaches, and the classes were probably okay too, which I probably should have been thinking about, but I wasn't.

  But the University of Minnesota, you know, has Bill and Aaron, which are two enormous pluses and I don't mean their size. And it's closer to home, to Red Bend, which is something I didn't think I'd care about, but it ends up I really care a lot. And I really, really liked that coach, and Tyrona, more even than the folks at Madison. Even more than I liked Mica.

  It was a tough call, I admit. Really tough. Kind of like having to choose between Beaner and Brian, which had only been about the worst experience of my life, and now here I was a couple days later on yet another torture rack of big decisions.

  Not to mention that I was calling at all, given I spent the past two months convincing myself that I'd never in my life play D-I ball.

  You want to know what changed my mind? That trip to Brian's house.

  All summer I was really hurt about how he never invited me over to his house. All summer, and fall. Then once I got inside and saw how huge and fancy it was, I was totally mortified about how bad our rundown farm must look in comparison. Of course that's why he'd never had me over! He was protecting me. He didn't want me to feel embarrassed. But then, later on, it occurred to me that maybe it wasn't that at all. Maybe he didn't want to be embarrassed about how unusual his house is, and how weird his parents are. I mean, it's not like they're the happiest couple in the world or anything, plus the whole Lutheran business, and Brian's dad being such a complimenter even with me. Not to mention that the guy watches golf for crying out loud. It wasn't that Brian thought his folks were better; actually, I think he thought they were worse.

  Which has nothing to do with D-I basketball, except that it does. Because all season long, I've thought I wasn't good enough to play D-I. Sure, I could rattle off my stats and scoring and abilities—I knew those were good enough. But I never thought I was. But, just like I never took the time to see the world, to see me, from Brian's point of view, I never took the time to see the world from the coaches'. To realize that maybe they had more experience with recruiting than I did, duh, and that because they believed in me, maybe I should believe in myself.

  Which is why I called. To acknowledge that I was scared, sure, but even so I might be willing to go for it. To try at least to be the player I believed now that I could become, that the U of M already saw in me. The player that Darey and I could become together.

  I asked Coach K if I could use his office for a minute, and he said okay, and right quick before I changed my mind I dialed. I wasn't sure what I was going to say actually, except that I was sorry for calling on a Friday night even though she had said to call whenever.

  "Hey there, D.J.," the coach said right off when I introduced myself. "How are you doing?"

  "Great. We just won a game. Against our, you know, rivals..." I took a deep breath. "Um. I'm, um ... I'm thinking about verbaling."

  "That's fantastic!" There was a little pause. "You do mean with us, don't you?"

  Which got me grinning. "Yeah. I mean with you."

  "You don't seem completely set on it, though."

  "Yeah. It's a huge deal, Big Ten ball."

  "It is. You're still thinking about the Wisconsin game, aren't you? I worried about that."

  Oh, it was cool she knew that. "Yeah. Tyrona."

  "That was tough. I won't deny it. It takes time to recover from something like that. Even though it's part of the game, it still stinks."

  "It's just I'm worried, you know. I'm worried I'll screw up." All of a sudden my voice cracked. I was almost crying.

  "You know, D.J., there's not a girl I've recruited who wasn't scared, only most of them are too stubborn to admit it. Frankly, I'd be a lot more concerned if you weren't worried."

  I swallowed. "Guess you've got nothing to worry about then."

  She laughed. "You think it's stressful now, just wait until you start coaching."

  "Great. Just when I thought I had something to look forward to." But I smiled when I said it.

  "D.J., I couldn't be happier about this. You'll just be a fantastic asset to our team, I know you will. And you know you're free to tell anyone you want, your local paper or—"

  "What?" Which was extremely rude of me, but I think you know by now how I feel about the entire news business industry.

  "Or not!" the coach laughed. "It's totally up to you. The point is, we can't tell anyone, not until you sign a letter of inten
t next November. Then we'll put together a press release, hold a news conference..."

  "Oh, great." Which was sarcastic, you know, the way I said it. But it also wasn't.

  So we chatted a bit more about the other eight billion NCAA rules I needed to know, how I could change my mind but she sure hoped I wouldn't (which she didn't say out loud because I guess that's against one of the rules, but it came through in her voice loud and clear). Then I got off the phone and went out to the lobby, where Mom and Dad and Win and Coach K and a bunch of other families were waiting, and when Mom asked what took me so long, I said I'd just called Minnesota to verbal.

  All the stress of that phone call—of the whole last two months—all that stress was totally paid back, just by the look on Win's face.

  "You called? Just now?" he asked, almost jumping out of his wheelchair, he was so upset. "Without ... without..."

  "Without you," Mom finished, patting him on the arm. "D.J., that's wonderful."

  "Congratulations, sport," Dad said, catching me up in a huge bear hug. And Coach K hugged me, and the parents and girls, and Win even managed after a couple minutes to stop choking himself and grunt that the U of M might be okay even though I hadn't looked at many other schools, and I could have waited a little bit more. Which was especially rich coming from him, but at least the guy was trying.

  I called Brian Saturday morning to tell him, and he said he'd always known I'd pick Minnesota but he couldn't help but hope. And he said he'd definitely be there every time I played Madison, and that maybe tonight we should, you know, go out together. To celebrate.

  Only when he went to tell his mom, let her know he was going out and everything—I love this so much because it's such a relief when other kids' folks are mortifying—she really put the screws in him. Because apparently Mrs. Nelson and my mom had run into each other at the Super Saver and while they were chatting and Mom was thanking her for the Christmas decorations and everything, she let slip about our big trip to Mall of America and how beautiful (her word) I looked in my dress. And so when Brian told Mrs. Nelson the two of us were going out, she said in that way moms have that is more ordering than suggesting that it would be awfully nice if he treated it like a real date and we both got dressed up.

  And you know what? Brian actually went for it. He actually seemed kind of into it. I couldn't tell if it was his Oprah Winfrey mom or just because he's such a good guy. I didn't mind either, to tell you the truth. I guess I like that dress more than I thought, getting to wear my b-ball earrings and all. Brian looked pretty nice too, with this sweater, and shoes that were shiny black and very much the opposite of tennies, although he said they're surprisingly comfortable, which I have to believe because why would anyone lie about a thing like that.

  Dad even got a little teary seeing us, which was weird, and he made this big deal of trying to find the camera so Mom could have a picture because she'd left that afternoon with Win, heading back to Minnesota. But of course he couldn't, so he ended up taking a picture with Brian's cell phone and Brian promised to e-mail it to her.

  We went out for pizza—real exciting, I know, but what can you do. It was either that or the Alpenhaus. It was mostly families eating seeing as it was still pretty early, the little kids bouncing around the way they do in restaurants. I told Brian Amber's meatballi story, and he agreed that meatballi was such a better term than meatballs and that he was never again going to call them anything else.

  And then Amber and Dale walked in.

  Dale caught sight of us and came right over, which of course she would, pulling off her hat and her big coat like she was settling in forever.

  Well, I just about died. Amber's never been a big fan of Brian, for one thing. Plus I'd never really explained to Brian about her and Dale. I mean, he's got a gay cousin in Chicago and all, but it's different when you're in high school in middle-of-nowhere Wisconsin.

  But. But Brian was my friend, and Amber and Dale were my friends, and I needed to stop being such a baby. If I could play D-I ball, I could at least for once act like a freaking grownup. "Um, hey," I managed. "You ... want to join us?"

  Dale immediately plopped down next to Brian, introducing herself and saying they could stay for a few minutes, while Amber squeezed in beside me. She took a long look at my dress.

  "It's silly, I know..." I said. Trying, you know, to cut her off.

  "No, it's not. It looks real pretty on you. Makes you look all straight."

  "Oh. Um, thanks." Because I think this was a compliment. Plus she said it was a really good color, which is actually something she's great at, colors and stuff, even if the combinations aren't the sort of things Mom would choose.

  So Amber and I chatted away while Dale told Brian all the best restaurants in Milwaukee, and he acted like this was the best information he'd ever heard in his life. Then the pizza guy shouted something and Dale hopped up because they were just there for takeout, because Dale had a friend visiting who's a vegetarian so they were picking up a couple veggie pizzas. Which sounded like a total waste of money to me, but Brian asked to see them and said they smelled so good that he was going to order one too.

  Looking at Dale, I couldn't help thinking that she could get along with anyone. All those tough barbecue guys, Brian, my dad ... No matter who it is or how much you'd think that person wouldn't be so into a lesbian, she makes it fine. And it occurred to me that the reason she makes it work, probably, is because she's so comfortable with herself. And you know, that's not such a bad notion, in the whole life-lesson business. Being comfortable with yourself. Because if you're not okay with who you are, why should anyone else be?

  Later on, after Dale and Amber left and our food came—that's one thing I can say about being non-size-zero; it sure makes it fun to eat—the door banged open and a bunch of Hawley guys came pounding in.

  Seeing them, it was like every stomach butterfly I've ever had in my life showed up all at once. Only the butterflies were the size of vultures.

  From the look on Brian's face, he was getting major butterflies too. He glanced at me and you could just see him trying not to be nervous.

  "I've got two words for you," I said. (Okay, I admit this was really mean of me. But I couldn't help it.) "Club football."

  "Ha ha." He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "Yo, dudes. Over here."

  The guys looked our way, and I could see them doing a double take, eyeing each other kind of sideways as they piled into the booths near ours, saying hey to Brian and punching his shoulder.

  One of them held his hand out to me. "Hey. I'm Carl Dietz. Tyler's cousin? Congratulations, man." He turned to the guys around him. "She just got offered a free ride to Minnesota. As a junior."

  "Yeah," said one of the other guys in this real snotty voice. "For girls' basketball."

  Well, you should have seen the reaction to that. All the guys went "Oooooo" the way you do when someone's just been dissed, and started grinning like crazy at each other, and Brian said to the guy, really coolly, "You want to take her on? One on one?"

  "Wait—hey—that's not what I meant—"

  "How about you, D.J.?" Brian turned to me. "You up for it?"

  I shrugged. "I wouldn't want to bruise my hands." Which was a line I learned from Aaron, just so you know, but I don't think he'd mind my using it.

  Well, this cracked everyone up, and a couple guys slapped palms with me and really started putting it to that anti-girls'-b-ball guy, who kept trying to explain what he'd meant but of course there's no way he could have meant anything other than what he said. Then someone else asked how my brother was doing.

  "He's doing okay," I said. Because he was. Now that I'd verbaled, he was going to have to find a new bone to chew on. Knowing Win, though, that wasn't going be too hard.

  "You should hear my dad," the guy said. "Whenever we complain the least little bit, he's all like, 'You think Win Schwenk is whining right now? Get off your butts and go shovel!'"

  "Tell me about it," another guy said. r />
  They all laughed, nodding at this ... and you know what? All of a sudden I realized my stomach butterflies had flown away. Every last one.

  So. Meeting Brian's gang ... that was pretty trippy. Finding out that those guys are normal, more or less. As normal as the rest of us, anyway. That was okay.

  And there's one more guy I should probably mention. Remember when Kathy Ott drove me to Minneapolis to visit the U of M, way back when? And the whole way there she was chatting away? Well, one of the things she told me was how much Win appreciated everything I'd done for him. Apparently he'd called one night and had a long talk with Jimmy Ott about it. He even said—according to Kathy, who's not the kind of person to make stuff like this up—Win said I'd saved his life.

  Which you have to admit is a pretty strange way to hear that, you know, through your ex-boyfriend's high school football coach's wife.

  At the time I was pretty angry about the whole thing. That my own brother couldn't even say "You saved my life" to my face. Because I've thought it myself more than once, you know, those exact words, and to hear them from Win would have been ... it would have a been a boost. It would have meant the world to me. And the fact he couldn't say them aloud, even to his lifesaver ... well, that didn't make me so happy. It made me even more ticked off at him than I usually am.

  But I've thought a lot since then, about what Kathy said and what Win didn't. Of course, for one thing there's the whole truth that Schwenks can't talk. I mean, look how bad we are even with little issues; no wonder he couldn't bring up something as big as that, bring it up to my face and all. Finally, after I'd thought about this and chewed on it for weeks and weeks, in between all those other big subjects I was chewing on, it occurred to me that maybe his riding me these past months, hassling me about scholarships and videotapes, his insistence that I play D-I, the way he called all those coaches himself with his special SCI phone and typed his way to all those websites ... maybe that was his way of demonstrating gratitude.