That's why I called. To show that I could connect too. Leave a Happy New Year message on his cell. Just a message would be enough.
But instead he answered. To my total shock. Actually he hollered, over this incredibly loud music and screaming. "Hey! D.J.! How are ya?"
I held the phone away from my ear. "I'm great."
"What?"
"Great—"
"I can't hear you! Wait a sec!" A bunch of noise, and then silence. "Wow. It's really cold."
"You're outside?" I had to laugh.
"I'm in my car, actually. Hey—hey! Where are you?"
"I'm in New York City waiting for the ball to drop."
"Really? Oh, ha ha. Really, where are you?"
"I'm in Red Bend. Where are you?"
"I'm in Hawley ... Hey, you know that gas station with the cow out front? Can you drive there?"
"Meaning do I know how to get there or can I drive?" The Caravan was warming up, finally. I could talk to Brian forever.
"Can you drive. Because I could meet you there."
"Aren't you at a party?" But I was already pulling out.
"It's totally lame. They wanted to play Spin the Bottle—can you believe it? Plus the closet they picked was all mildewy."
I laughed. "You're kidding."
"No way. I have this buddy with asthma—he's like, 'I'll play if you want but I have to bring my inhaler in with me.'"
"That's romantic. Bet the girls couldn't wait to kiss him."
"Yeah. Let's go make out with The Lung." He cracked up.
We talked the whole way to the gas station, me keeping watch for homicidal drunk drivers although there was almost no one on the road, which would be one good thing to report to Mom. When I pulled up Brian was already there, and he jumped out of his Cherokee and into the Caravan, rubbing his hands together.
"Hey," I said. Smiling at him.
"Hey. Here." He held out a little package with beat-up wrapping paper, trying to straighten the bow. "I meant to give it to you before but..."
"That's okay. You didn't have to get me anything!"
Brian shrugged. "I know. Go ahead, open it."
Inside all that beat-up wrapping paper was a box, and inside that box was tissue paper. And inside the tissue paper was a pair of little gold earrings stamped like basketballs.
"Oh, Brian..."
"They're not real gold. I mean, the stems are, that's what the lady said, but the rest is gold plate. Or they'd cost like thousands of dollars..."
"They're perfect. They're absolutely perfect."
And they looked perfect too, in my earlobes, because of course I put them on right away. And my hair was now the perfect length to show them off.
"Thank you," I said. Thinking to myself that if this was a movie, it would be a really good time to kiss. If, you know, anyone in the Caravan happened to be leaning that way.
"You're welcome." He beamed at me. "I was really afraid I wouldn't be able to get them to you. They look fantastic with your hair, by the way. That's an awesome haircut."
"Thanks." Was it cheating to kiss someone who'd just given you earrings? But I didn't want to think that right at this moment; it was too girly and complicated and too not-now.
"Hey!" Brian said, glancing at the clock. "It's midnight."
I looked over. "No, it's not. It's eleven."
He leaned in closer. "Not in New York. Happy New Year."
The whole drive home, I was on a cloud. It's a good thing I didn't encounter any homicidal drunk drivers, because I probably would have crashed right into them. Now that's kissing, I kept thinking to myself, this little thing inside my head. Kind of like my free-throw chant but, well, not. Because you know, I hadn't just been imagining it. Brian really did know how to kiss. It was fireworks and rockets even without it being midnight.
I didn't think about Beaner—isn't that awful? Not once. Not until I was home. Because I had a sense I already knew the answer to my cheating question. Kissing ex-boyfriends is definitely a no-no. I didn't like the idea of doing a no-no, and I especially didn't like the idea of doing that to Beaner.
Which led to the next thought. The thought that sucked all the happiness right out of my body, every single little molecule. Beaner had invited me to his New Year's Eve party. Which turned out not to be my scene, but that wasn't his fault. And it was kind of cool that Brian left his party, wherever that was, just to hang out with me at a cheesy gas station. But didn't that just bring Brian and me right back to square one? Because Brian had always been good at that. At hanging out with me in private. Once again he'd left his real friends to slink away and see me on the side. And once again I'd let him.
11. D.J. Schwenk Is Not Magic Johnson
SO YOU CAN IMAGINE HOW NICE New Year's Day was, for me and for anyone who wasn't smart enough to stay a couple of counties away. I finally went over to the gym and shot for hours, playing as hard as I could so I wouldn't have to think anymore.
That night I lay staring at my ceiling and wondering why I was such a total sucker, such a loser for falling for Brian yet again. Falling for a guy who was nothing more than a sneak. So what if Beaner couldn't kiss perfectly—at least he didn't act like I had cooties. He'd kiss me in front of the whole school without batting an eye. He'd look forward to it, even. Send out invitations ... Not that I wanted that, really—ever—but still. Still.
Dad came clumping upstairs. "You hear me? Win wants to talk to you."
I hadn't even heard the phone ring. "I'm busy," I said.
Dad stood in the doorway. "He's on the phone right now."
"I'm busy," I said again, studying my ceiling like there'd be a test on it on Monday.
Dad watched me for a minute, then headed back down. I could hear him talking but I couldn't make out what he was saying, and I sure as heck didn't care.
Brian called my cell, but I didn't pick up. I couldn't—what would I say? What could I say that I hadn't said already? He left a message, though, saying he'd try me later.
Which was good, actually, if anything in this horrible situation could be good, because it gave me time to plan. So when he called again, the next day, I was ready.
"Hey," I said. But it wasn't a happy hey.
"Hey, it's so great you're there—"
"Listen," I said, in my most serious voice. "We cannot do this. We cannot talk."
"What's wrong with talking?"
I sighed. "You know. I have someone now."
"That tall guy?"
"Yes, that tall guy. And I like him, and he likes me, and you know it will never work between us." It killed me to say this. But it was the truth.
"It could—"
"Come on, Brian. We've been here before. Let's not have history repeat itself." Which I'd learned in history class, that line, and I liked it a lot.
"You really believe that?"
"Yeah. I do. So ... goodbye."
There was a bit of a silence, and I hung up. Super gently, but I'm not sure he could tell that. Then I lay there, going over the conversation again and again. I like him, and he likes me: that's how I'd described Beaner. And it was true, I did like him. But that was the problem. I didn't feel anything more. I never felt a click. But there were so many other great things about Beaner that maybe asking for a click was just asking for way too much.
At least practice started again, Coach K figuring that anyone not lucky enough to go to Florida could get something out of winter break.
Ashley looked really excited to see me. Right away she asked if we could talk and I said okay, trying to figure out how to explain that I'd only visited Madison because of Mica, and because I needed to keep Win off my back.
Only it turned out Ashley didn't care so much about haircuts. She hadn't even known I'd been to Madison, although she said maybe we could hang out together if we both ended up going there—as if there was a chance I would and a chance she wouldn't. We were shooting baskets together after everyone else had left, grooving on having a real gym for once, when all of
sudden she blurted out, her eyes all bright, "I've got an idea." She sidled a little closer. "I read this article last week about how a lot of actors are really shy."
"Then why are they actors?" I couldn't help pointing out.
"That's just it! Even famous actors—when they're in public as themselves, they're totally shy. But when they're playing someone else, they can do anything!"
"Uh, okay..."
"Don't you see? That's how you can play! That's how you can do all that stuff Coach K keeps bugging you about. Just pretend you're someone else!"
I drove away, then spun and shot a three-pointer. It missed. "What, I'm supposed to pretend I'm Magic Johnson?"
"Who's he?"
How are you supposed to take advice on basketball from someone who doesn't know the best point guard in the history of the game? "Never mind," I said. And then, "I'll think about it."
"Will you? Will you really?"
"Sure. Now let's work on some passing." Because passing at least made sense, not like pretending to be someone else. How could I pretend to be someone else when I was already failing at being the person I already was?
Finally on Monday school started up again, all of us razzing Kayla because she had gone to Florida and came back so tan you could scream, and everything was back to normal. Only it wasn't back to normal normal, if there is such a thing, because all these Brian thoughts kept starting up whenever I least expected them, and because of Win. It wasn't like he said to himself, It sounds like D.J.'s busy so I'll just back off. No, he was still on the horn calling coaches and getting Mr. Jorgensen's videos and setting up campus visits. Whenever he called, I just said whatever I could in order to get off the phone, then passed him off to Dad.
Tuesday we played Cougar Lake, which apparently had gotten rid of its lice. I tried to do what Ashley suggested, I really did, pretending I was Magic Johnson. But I am not him, in so many ways, that it just scrambled my brain. Finally I bagged the whole thing and just focused on the game instead.
But you know what? I actually did okay. Not because I was Magic Johnson; maybe it was because I was so aware I wasn't Magic Johnson. I dunno. But I'd be thinking my automatic jock-type thoughts, like how Kari needed to guard 45 or Jess should double down on their best player with me, and then I'd remember with a jolt that Kari could help with this. And then I'd go find her to tell her to say something.
By the second half Kari and I were going downcourt together, talking away until she set herself up at the top of the key, organizing everyone else. And near the end of the game when I had some foul trouble, I even told everyone—all by myself with my very own mouth!—that I was switching to this Cougar Lake girl who was half my size and who stayed so far from the paint that I couldn't ever get accused of fouling her. So then their best player scored a couple times but at least I didn't foul out, which was awesome because I shot a three-pointer right at the end. Which we didn't need but it looked so sweet swishing through, nothing but net—it was like saving that one bit of pancake with all the butter on it for your very last bite. That's how nice it felt. So I guess you don't need to be Magic Johnson to win a game after all.
The next day Coach K went on and on about the leadership I'd demonstrated, how I'd called for double-teaming, how I pulled myself off when I'd gotten my fourth foul, acting like this was a big late Christmas present just for him. My ears went neon pink, I'm sure, watching everyone nod along with him. Then he brought up again, not even glancing my way, that any girl who was free after practice should hang around for my workouts with Ashley. And five girls including Kari and Brittany said okay, girls who also had to wait for their brothers and who apparently didn't want to spend that time on boring old homework.
It was pretty darn bizarre having them all there, let me tell you, and not only because of the look the cafeteria people gave us when we trooped in. It was bizarre how all the girls were looking at me. Like I was the coach or something. It's one thing to have little Ashley Erdel hang on everything I said, but this was different. Plus Kari and Brittany are both really good, which made it even harder.
But then I remembered Win. It'd be nice to able to tell him that for once I was doing something right. Then he'd talk my ear off about drills and techniques, how to review the basics because you can never get enough of the fundamentals, which is how Win actually talks. That would really make him happy, getting to jaw away like that, and maybe it would even get him to back off a little on all the other stuff he felt I should be doing.
So that's what we ended up focusing on, the fundamentals. Because Win is right for one thing, and I didn't want him chewing me out later. Besides, it's not my place to be designing plays or anything like that; lay-ups and passing and dribbling drills are more than enough.
And you know, it was really nice to discover I wasn't such a bad coach. I know I helped Brian last summer, and Ashley, who needs all the help she can get—she could get helped by anyone. But it was nice to see I could help other girls too, girls who were already pretty good. That I could come along and help them get a little bit better.
I even got to help Beaner—isn't that funny? Because the next day he talked his way out of the first couple minutes of his practice to hang out with us girls, which explains Beaner to a T. But he was being so puffy-rooster about it that I decided to take him down a notch or two, so we did this demonstration on stealing, and every time he stole the ball from me I'd steal it right back. I was trying to be educational, showing how you always have to protect your ball, but that point got lost in everyone's howling at how I was taking Beaner down. Of course then he started tickling, which got everyone howling even more, and I'll admit was pretty fun even for me.
Mr. Jorgensen even showed up a couple days after that to videotape us—not Beaner tickling, just a normal fundamentals practice. I guess the ice cream store business is so slow in January that he was pretty desperate for entertainment. And even that didn't faze me too much, because if Jerry Knudsen or the St. Margaret's coaches want to see me helping Ashley with her free throws or Brittany with her left-handed lay-ups, well, that probably wouldn't be so bad.
So maybe helping girls with their fundamentals was what did it. Maybe it was that I'd made peace with the kind of school I was going to—and maybe even the exact school I was going to, if everything worked out between me and St. Margaret's. Maybe it was Beaner's tickling and me trying to run away but not too much if you know what I mean. Whatever it was, our game Friday against Bison High turned out to be our best one yet. At least that's what Coach K said afterward, and I sure wasn't going to disagree.
The only bad thing was that late in the game Kari landed wrong and twisted her ankle. It wasn't that serious; she just sat icing it while hollering her lungs out from the bench. But it meant she'd be on crutches for a week or two, which was bad news for the team and was especially bad news for non–Magic Johnson D.J.
During the game I was too busy playing to think about what it would mean to lose my Kari Jorgensen vocal cords. Over the weekend, though, the reality really sank in. Because it wasn't like I could rush over to our bench every time I had an idea and tell her what to shout to everyone; our system had been awkward enough as it was. And then Monday it got even worse, because it turned out that Kayla on Sunday bruised her tailbone playing pickup hockey. Which was exactly how she said it, "I bruised my tailbone," in this really tough voice to remind everyone not even to think of describing it any other way. She even had to carry a pillow everywhere to sit on.
This always happens, I know. Injuries are just part of basketball, you have to factor them in the same way you do bad foul shooting or a rebounder who always travels. Besides, it wasn't just our team that was suffering; that mean number 23 girl from Hawley tore her ACL playing Whoopsville and was going to need surgery, which shows why you shouldn't go around pinching people, because sooner or later you'll pay for it. But it was clear we were going to have make some changes, and Coach K spent most of Monday running through plays that drew out the clock instea
d of relying on a constant press like we were used to. He also started going pretty deep into the bench, so deep that he even had Ashley playing some, which meant even more work for me because I had to direct her in addition to everything else. A bunch of these girls hung around after practice, and we spent our cafeteria time reviewing K's new plays until even Ashley kind of understood them in her physics-brain way.
Beaner showed up too for a couple minutes, talking his way yet again out of his practice, and I couldn't help but interrupt our review work to play a little one-on-one, showing everyone how much better he was getting. Over the weekend he and I had used the gym for a couple hours both days, playing hard but goofing around too, like when he'd give me a kiss for a really good shot, or I'd put him in a bear hug to keep him down. Which we didn't do in front of all those girls, thank you very much, but the girls were pretty impressed with Beaner's improvement, applauding him and everything.
Our game Tuesday against New Norway was ... Oh, man, I love playing full-court press. But it turns out that passing and passing and passing before each basket, taking as much time as you possibly can because your team doesn't have very strong players, well, it turns out that that can be really fun too, especially because New Norway got so frustrated waiting for us to do something, and sooner or later they let their guard down, every time, so that when we did shoot we usually scored. So, odd as it sounds, even though my points per game went down, my percentage went up. Isn't that funny?
Friday's game was just as wild. I still really missed Kari the human megaphone, but I have to say that this new playing style meant a lot less pressure on me. Plus West Lake isn't very good. So, again, it was one of the best games of the season, not because I scored a ton but because there wasn't any of that frozen-stomach tension. It felt—not that I'll ever say this to Coach K because he'd freak—but it felt like a driveway pickup game almost, only with a much better playing surface and a bunch of kids we normally don't have over. And no Smut getting underfoot breaking everyone's ankles, which we certainly didn't need, not given the size of our bench. Even Ashley scored. That's how great the game was.
Front and Center Page 12
