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  "Sure," said Dad. "So anyway, Dan, the co-op's been around twenty-some years, and the biggest farm's got over two hundred head." And Mr. Nelson actually looked interested. Who was this guy?

  ***

  I didn't have much time to think about Mr. Nelson even if I wanted to, or about Brian (although thanks to his visit I was now suffocating in Brian memories), because I had this other problem called what to wear on my date with Beaner. In the end I settled on jeans and a Red Bend sweatshirt—real exciting choices there, D.J.—and did a teeny bit more work on my hair than I normally would, and even put on some lipstick I found on Mom's dresser. Maybe Beaner would bring his little sister along and she could pick something out.

  Dad and Mr. Nelson were digging in to the chili as I came downstairs. "Don't worry, I'll just send Brian over to help," Mr. Nelson was saying.

  I froze, one foot in midair.

  But right then there was a knock at the door. Dad hollered it was open, and Beaner came bouncing in. "Hey! That's some awesome ramp out there. You guys totally need a skateboard."

  "Um, hey, Beaner," I managed. Had Mr. Nelson really just said he was going to send Brian over? This is my dad, and, ah, a friend of the family—"

  "Dan Nelson." Mr. Nelson shook Beaner's hand. "So what are you two kids up to tonight?"

  I turned red, but Beaner just laughed. "I dunno. Burn the school down, cause a riot ... What were you thinking, D.J.?"

  "Um ... something like that."

  "You drive safe with my little girl, you hear me?" Dad said.

  Which made me turn twice as red—jeez, Dad, could you be more embarrassing? This would probably end up being my last date ever.

  But Beaner just said that he would, and he even helped me put on my coat, which made me blush even more, while Dad explained to Mr. Nelson how I was going to the U of M the next day to check out their basketball program, bragging about me while I had to listen, and then off Beaner and I went.

  I'll confess—just to be totally honest here—that I actually didn't mind so much having Mr. Nelson of all people watch me go off on a date with a guy, a guy as confident and relaxed and tall as Beaner is. Not that Beaner can help being tall, but still. And thinking Mr. Nelson might go home and report to Brian that I was seeing someone. That was okay, the notion of Brian chewing on that one. Especially considering the lovely chat the two of us had just had.

  Although I wasn't supposed to be thinking about Brian!

  I especially wasn't supposed to be thinking about him as I was riding along next to Beaner. But luckily Beaner didn't notice. He was singing away with the car stereo, drumming on the steering wheel and generally being his happy Beaner self. "'Not to put too fine a point on it, say I'm the only bee in your bonnet...'" he sang, squinting his eyes. "What, you don't know these guys?"

  "Uh, no." Which wasn't too tough an answer seeing as I don't know anything when it comes to music. And I'm not just being modest when I say that.

  "They're so awesome. My stepdad turned me on to them. 'Bluebird of friendliness ... like guardian angels it's ... always near.'"

  "What does that even mean?"

  "No idea. But it's totally cool." Beaner fast-forwarded. "Check out this one: 'The—sun—is a mass—of in-can-descent gas, a gi-gan-tic nu-cle-ar fur-nace...'" He was totally into it, lecturing me with finger as he sang. I couldn't help cracking up—you'd have to be dead not to. And he taught me the words so we could "sing a duet" as he put it, although I was laughing way too much to manage singing even if I could sing, which I can't.

  Going to the movies is pretty much the only thing you can do in Red Bend until you're legal, so of course the place was packed. Beaner kept his arm around me once we were seated, which I liked, but then he wanted to make out. Which, I know, I've watched millions of kids do. But still. Maybe that was the problem, that I couldn't get out of my head how I used to be one of watchers, Amber whispering jokes about them until I snarfed my popcorn. At least I didn't have to worry about Amber seeing me because she'd gone with Dale to St. Paul. But what if they hadn't? What if the two of them were here? Imagine how stressful that would be ... Plus I actually kind of wanted to watch the movie. Luckily it got pretty exciting after a while—onscreen, I mean—and we kind of forgot to do anything else.

  Afterward we hung out with a bunch of ball players at Taco Bell, chatting about the movie and making fun of Cougar Lake lice even though we shouldn't. I didn't say too much—big surprise there—but my mind was going about a million miles an hour, checking all the time to make sure I wasn't doing anything embarrassing, and then checking the other tables to see if anyone was looking at me funny, and then whenever someone asked me a question being extra careful to make my answer acceptable, you know, before I opened my mouth. Which put a brake, an even bigger brake, on my talking.

  Was this what it was like hanging out with cool kids? Was it always this much pressure? No one else seemed stressed at all. So maybe it was just my insaneness. Plus I couldn't help but remember that time this fall when I'd been in Taco Bell—with Beaner, interestingly—and Brian saw me and ran away before I ruined his life by saying hello to him in front of his friends.

  Well, at least Beaner didn't mind my presence. He didn't even hassle me for sitting there like a big old lump, and he told everyone how good my house smells and how they all had to figure out a way to come over just to get a whiff of that chili.

  You know, we could hold hoops practice in your driveway," he said.

  "In the snow?" I asked, and a couple kids laughed.

  "Oh, totally. Be all like, 'He shoots! His gloves connect! A snowball knocks it off the rim!' It could be like basketball and a huge snowball fight put together!"

  Which got us all on a huge discussion of that, and what an intentional foul would be, and when I suggested that the refs could be snowmen everyone laughed even more. And then on the way home Beaner and I made out in the car a bit, which was okay except he was really into it, a little too much, and I had to slow him down.

  Lying in bed that night, I almost started crying. Who knew a date would be so much work? It was never like that when I went out with Amber, hanging out with her at Taco Bell. That was just fun. And sure, I'd laughed tonight, and even cracked a couple jokes. But I was just so aware every second of what I was doing and how I was acting. Worrying I wasn't doing it right. Is this what being popular meant? Getting ulcers? Instead of being a background nobody with Amber?

  Maybe Brian had been smart to stay away from me in public. Maybe he understood me better that I'd even thought. Maybe he'd been right after all.

  You know how the Red Bend ladies had been in a flutter because they wanted to help our Schwenk Family Tragedy but didn't know how? Well, apparently they decided that the least they could do was clean. So Saturday morning three ladies showed up with brooms and vacuums and spray bottles—showed up while Curtis was still in bed, which must have been a shock—and set to work scrubbing and washing and taking care of stuff. This was especially great news for me, because Dad and Curtis had kind of counted on me doing all that work, I guess because I have ovaries, but it's not like the thrill of laundry gets me up every morning. So that was awesome. But Curtis didn't look too pleased about getting tossed out of bed so Cindy Jorgensen could wash his sheets. And Dad was fit to be tied over what they did to his frying pan because apparently he'd been treating it some special way and the ladies scrubbed it so there wasn't any grease left in it at all, which you'd think would be a good thing but Dad seemed to feel the opposite. Although I noticed he didn't complain to them, so I guess he didn't mind so much having clean underwear again.

  Then Kathy Ott showed up with a big cup of coffee, all perky and chatty and ready to go. Win must have done some kind of brainwashing job on her. You'd have thought she'd won a trip to Disney World or something, the way she carried on about getting to escort me to Minnesota in her nice new Subaru with its clean carpeting and unscuffed dashboard that no kid had ever put their feet on.

  In Minneapolis, whi
ch we found without too much trouble at all, we met that nice lady coach and my University of Minnesota student escort, who just happened to be my buddy Tyrona. Normally on these types of visits they take you to Mall of America, which is obviously a really huge draw seeing as it's the biggest mall in America. But I didn't have any money, and also I'd been there with Brian and didn't want to spend any more time being reminded of him. So I asked Tyrona if we could do something basketball-ish instead. I couldn't play or anything—the NCAA would totally spaz about that —but I wouldn't mind watching. Anyway, it turned out that this weekend her old school was holding a tournament! It was like the perfect solution.

  So we got there, taking the bus, which was a huge adventure in and of itself for a hick like me, and then when I saw her high school gym I must have looked like a hick times ten, standing there with my mouth hanging open. The building was big enough to hold all of Red Bend. The people and the houses. And maybe even the cows.

  Tyrona cracked up. "You've never been here?"

  "Why would I?"

  "They hold some AAU tournaments here."

  "What's that?" I said without thinking.

  "AAU?" Tyrona frowned at me. "You don't know AAU? How do you play in the summer?"

  "I, uh, I don't play in the summer."

  Tyrona turned me around, studying my face like she was a teacher and I was a student she didn't quite get. "You don't play summer ball."

  "We have to farm."

  "You have to farm."

  "I know I should—I will next summer ... Um, how bad is it? That I don't play."

  "It's no big deal. Coach found you without it, so it can't be that bad."

  But—obviously—it was.

  And then the game started and I found out why. Because those girls were good. They talked back to the refs just like on TV and two girls got in a fight right on the court—not that that's good, but at least it shows how tough they are, aggressive in a way that I'll never be. It was pretty intimidating, I have to say. Although it helped that Tyrona pointed out how the coach kept yelling at one girl to pass but she kept trying these three-pointers that kept getting intercepted. Finally he benched her. That perked me up a bit, because whatever I am in basketball, it's certainly not that dumb.

  Plus Tyrona kept telling me how great it would be if I played for the U of M—even though she's never seen me play! But she said Bill brags about me all the time, and so does Aaron, his roommate, which made my ears go bright pink I'm sure. And it was awesome to talk hoops with her, especially because there wasn't any of the "that's good for a girl" garbage you get sometimes when you try to talk hoops with guys.

  Speaking of which, we even got on the subject of guys, and I told her about Beaner, how much fun he is and how good at one-on-one, how he can steal but I can shoot so we're pretty evenly matched. She said she was totally jealous and that I needed to bring a bunch of guys like him with me when I came. Then she asked about the other guy—I had told her about Brian when I met her last time—and I shrugged and said we weren't really talking anymore.

  "Sounds like you got something a lot better now," she said. "Guys like Brian, they need a lot of time to grow up. Too much time, sometimes."

  So all in all, it was a pretty fantastic afternoon. And then that night Kathy and I watched Tyrona and the rest of them play Wisconsin, which is a big rivalry and of course Wisconsin was also on my list, so this was a chance to see them too.

  College players are so amazing! My jaw was on the floor at how fast they moved, and how much. It's like they never stop even for a second, like a bunch of gnats that always know where they're going and are all my size. And the arena was so large—the Barn, they call it, although I can't imagine keeping anything in a barn that size except maybe dinosaurs—and so loud you could barely hear yourself think. Tyrona was playing really well—they all were—and I have to admit that it was a rush to think about me out there in front of ten thousand screaming people, a million more watching on TV, and my picture in a nice shiny book. Not that I'm a fan of having my picture taken, but the U of M folks do a really nice job of it. Tyrona looks even prettier there than she does in real life. Being at that game was like realizing I might have a winning lottery ticket after all.

  Which shows how good Win is at brainwashing. I actually spent the game thinking I could play Big Ten ball. I was a hard worker, after all. I could play almost as well as some of the girls on the court, even though I was four or five years younger and didn't practice twenty hours a week like you do in D-I. With that sort of experience, I could really be something...

  Except. Except I'd forgotten to factor in one thing while I was sitting there making a big stuck-up list of all the stuff I was good at. I forgot to factor in me. And when I said that I watched that whole game feeling good about myself, I forgot to add "until the end."

  Because in the last twenty seconds they were tied. Then Wisconsin made a three-pointer. They both called time-outs, and then it was down to the last seven seconds. Tyrona made this totally amazing interception and raced downcourt for a lay-up that she also made, and on top of that she got fouled, which meant she got to stand at the free-throw line—just like everyone does, just like I do, bouncing the ball and saying a little free-throw chant—while eight thousand Minnesota fans cheered and two thousand Wisconsin fans screamed and booed and waved their arms and did everything they could to make her miss.

  It was the most intense moment I've ever seen. In basketball, and in life. Because I was there for one thing instead of watching it on TV, which would be like watching from another planet compared to this. And it was so loud. Loud like you can't even imagine. The whole game rested on these two shots! This huge school rivalry, and all these fans who'd paid money for tickets and gone out on a cold Saturday night, driving all the way to Minneapolis, or taking the bus, and they were all expecting Tyrona to perform. To make it.

  Looking around the Barn, my heart stopped. It might as well have been me out there on the free-throw line, all these people waiting for me to win the game for them. My hands started sweating and my mouth went dry, and I had to close my eyes so I didn't see Tyrona take her first shot. But I heard the enormous groan, and the screaming from the Wisconsin side, and I knew she'd missed.

  I forced my eyes open because I had to be there for her second shot. I watched her face as closely as I've ever watched anything. Saw her whisper her little thing, and pluck at her jersey and touch the cross at her neck, and then set her jaw, and shoot.

  And miss. Again.

  The Wisconsin fans started shrieking, and all the Wisconsin players pounded onto the court while eight thousand Minnesota fans just sat there. Some of the little kids were crying.

  Tyrona had made kids cry. She'd blown it, and Minnesota lost. It wasn't her fault, I know that; it's everyone on the team who wins and everyone who loses. The other Minnesota players crowded around Tyrona who was crying, which she had every right to do, and you could tell they were all saying just the kind of things I'd say in that situation if I was there, and that their words weren't helping any more than mine would have.

  All of a sudden I had to put my head between my knees. I never in my life want eight thousand people disappointed in me like that, yelling and booing and crying. I mean, look at me. Look how freaked out I got when Jerry Knudsen from freaking Ibsen College watched me play! Look how freaked I got just sitting in Taco Bell!

  Kathy Ott leaned over and squeezed my knee. "You okay?"

  I nodded. I felt too sick to argue.

  "It can be pretty brutal out there." Which she should know as much as anyone, being married to a football coach. "Are you going to be okay with this?"

  "Yeah," I said.

  And you know what? I was.

  8. There's No Need to Panic, Because Everything's Going to Work Out Fine

  IT TOOK ME A WHILE, I'll admit. I spent a bunch of hours that night staring into the darkness. But I made my peace, finally, with this whole situation. And this is what I realized: Division I is not
for me.

  The next day we stopped by St. Margaret's College, which has a really pretty campus with no ugly buildings at all, and a gym that's as new and big as Hawley's, and I paid extra-close attention to the coach, who because of Win's brainwashing had made a special trip in on Sunday just for me, and everything I saw I liked. I'd probably be the star player, but that's not a bad thing. I might even get to play against the U of M, in money games that would get the school a new floor or a building or a private plane, and if I didn't lose my head I might even make my free throws and get a taste of what it was like to be booed and cheered by ten thousand people. That's all I needed. Just a taste. And it wouldn't matter if we lost so long as I played well, which of course I'd try my best to do, and I wouldn't ever feel guilty about the score.

  Sure, Bill played Big Ten, and Win PAC-Ten, but my brothers aren't me. Which is pretty obvious, but it's still worth pointing out. And pointing out that they weren't the ones who spent all summer managing the farm while Dad had surgery. They were off at fancy football camps. Maybe the same thing in my brain that made me too wimpy—if you want to call it that—to play D-I, maybe it's the same thing that saved the farm. Because everyone has bad and good in them all at once, the way Ashley Erdel is both bad at basketball and good at school, and maybe for the very same reasons.

  When Win called Sunday night, I didn't even get rattled. Because that's just the way his brain works, getting so caught up in sports and competition and being the absolute best competitor you can be, and until he got a real job I was just going to have to put up with it as best I could. So I said the visits were very nice and I really liked St. Margaret's, and I didn't even get defensive when he started ragging on it, and I let him blab away about how I still needed to take video and just kept nodding and saying okay, staying cool with my new inner peace.

  Beaner called too, to say he'd seen me in the audience on TV only for a second but he knew it was me, and he was so psyched that he knew someone on television, even for something as little as that. He was totally impressed when he found out I knew Tyrona, and he agreed those last two shots had completely sucked.