The Off Season
Page 9
Amber took this big shaky breath. "We—we got back last night, you know, and it was really late and she never comes in—" It was hard to make out what she was saying because she was gasping so much, and also because a UPS truck was grinding up our driveway.
"Who never comes in?" I asked, wondering what Mom had ordered. A new back, I hoped.
"Lori! My mother? She just goes to work. But she came in!"
"In where?" I asked. The UPS driver—how come UPS drivers are always nice? Is that part of their job description?—handed me this flat package, the letter kind, and drove off with a wave.
"What, are you stupid? In my room! She caught us!"
"Oh. Wow." I tried to sound concerned—I mean, I should be concerned, it would really concern me if Mom caught me with Brian, these days especially—but the UPS package was addressed to me of all people and I was trying to get it open.
"Yeah! And she totally flipped. She was screaming, and hitting me, and she and Dale got in a huge fight, and she—she kicked me out."
All of a sudden a copy of People slipped out. With a Post-it note signed "The Turkey Farmer" and another Post-it note sticking out of the pages.
"We're taking off," Amber said. "Dale's packing the truck right now. I'm leaving this stupid town and my stupid mother and I'm never coming back."
I opened up the magazine and all of a sudden I couldn't breathe.
"D.J.! I want to see you. I want to say goodbye before I leave!"
"Can I—can I call you back?" I didn't even wait for her answer, just hung up the phone and collapsed on our driveway, dropping my head between my knees so I wouldn't throw up.
12. "He's Just a Friend"
THE HEADLINE WASN'T SO BAD, really. It was a standard People story too, like those articles about a housewife who invents a new thing, or a cat that sails around the world by mistake. The article—well, I've got one here I can copy.
FOR THIS GIRL,
Football Is Part of the Family
"It's just something we do." That's how Darlene Joyce Schwenk, a starter for the Red Bend, Wisconsin, High School football team, explains her part in a family gridiron tradition.
Her oldest brother, Win, a quarterback at the University of Washington, admits D.J.'s playing surprised him: "I wouldn't be comfortable playing against a girl." Next in line is Bill, a sophomore linebacker for the University of Minnesota. "With a gifted athlete like that, it just comes naturally," he says of his sister.
D.J.'s father, George Schwenk, a semi-pro player himself, coached Pee-Wee football for eight years, and always included D.J. "Not that she would stay away. I knew that whatever team she joined would be better for it, no matter what. I feel that way today."
Longtime dairy farmers, the Schwenks still occupy the home built by D.J.'s great-great-grandfather, although mother Linda explains the house now has plumbing. She, too, takes her daughter's playing in stride. "D.J. was climbing the furniture—oh, from birth, I think. She was always an active kid."
When not playing linebacker, D.J. is a forward on the girls' basketball team, averaging 21 points a game. "In a way, I can't wait for football to end because I love basketball so much," she says with a grin. But when her father needed hip surgery last winter, she left basketball to keep the farm going. "I don't know any other way of living," she explains modestly. "But I don't know many kids who'd want this."
Well, not quite. Brian Nelson plays quarterback for nearby Hawley High School, which has been Red Bend's rival "since the invention of air," in his words. Yet he finds time almost every weekend to visit the Schwenk Farm, and D.J. "I guess it's weird we're together so much, seeing how our teams fight. But she spent the summer training me, and, well, it just seems right to be here."
On the field, though, neither of them pulls any punches. In their first matchup, D.J. intercepted Nelson's pass for a sixty-yard touchdown run. "She's the kind of player who keeps you on your toes, all the time," he says. "I'm not looking forward to playing against her again, I can tell you that."
And afterward? He smiles. "We'll celebrate, no matter who wins. We're good at that."
That wasn't the worst part, either. There were pictures: little ones of Win and Bill in their college uniforms, and one from the local paper of me just after that Hawley touchdown with my helmet off and Beaner jumping on my back. And there was even a little picture on the cover that I didn't recognize because that's not the place I ever expected to find myself, on the cover of People above a caption saying "Darlene Schwenk, high school linebacker."
All this was bad, I admit. Those last few paragraphs on Brian, oh boy, I would never hear the end of it. Ever. But even that wasn't the worst part. The worst part was—remember when I was showing off for the turkey farmers a bit? Well, this is one reason never to show off. The camera guy must have taken the last picture—or the first one, right there above the headline, taking up half the page—right after they pulled into the driveway. I'm going in for a lay-up, and I'm wearing just my sports bra, which isn't a regular bra but still, and Brian is right behind me trying to swat the ball away, with his other arm around my waist in a way that would get him fouled in a real game but I wasn't minding at all, which you can tell because I have a huge stupid grin on my face, and so does Brian, both of us looking like Brian's arm around my waist was the best thing that ever happened to us.
But even that wasn't as bad as the caption—or maybe the caption was equally bad, I'm really not the best person to judge. But the caption might as well have just seared my eyeballs, it hurt so much: "D.J. enjoys a pickup game with Brian Nelson, the quarterback for a rival football team. 'He's just a friend,' she explains."
I sat in the driveway for I don't know how long. All I'd seen was the photo, the pickup game photo, so I figured it couldn't be as bad as I thought. Eventually I convinced myself to read the whole thing just to know.
Then I did, stopping a couple times to put my head between my knees again, like with Bill's crack about being a gifted athlete, which is an old joke in our family that no one else would ever get so why would he make me sound so stuck-up like that? And Mom mentioning that we have indoor plumbing—hello? How incredibly stupid could she sound? And Dad saying he played semi-pro ball—he played in the army, for crying out loud. It was "semi-pro" only if semi-pro means you get out of real army jobs because the captain likes football too. And then when I got to the bit about Brian ... I've done some pretty brave things in my life, but the amount of courage it's ever taken to drive through three girls for a lay-up, or block a tackle for Kyle, that's nothing compared to how strong I had to be just to finish the article.
It was so much worse than anything I could have imagined. Brian and I talked to those guys for hours, we were so nice to them, I even made them coffee, and this was how they repaid us? By making us sound like lovebirds? "We're good at celebrating"—jeez, Mom already assumed we were fooling around. Who knows what she'd think now. What everyone in town would think.
I heard a crunching noise and all of a sudden Dad was looking down at me.
"You okay, sport?" he asked. I hadn't even realized I was lying on my back, staring up at the sky without seeing a thing.
"Yeah," I said. I didn't have the energy to move. Then all of sudden I moved really fast but it was too late because Dad can move pretty fast too, especially for an old guy with a fake hip, and he snatched that People up and before I even knew it, opened to my article.
"Give that back!" I shouted, but Dad held me off with one hand while he kept reading, and then I put everything I had into grabbing it but Dad still has some fight in him from all those years of semi-pro army, and I just gave up and went inside because I could not stand watching him read it.
"Where've you been?" Mom called, but I didn't even bother to answer, just raced into the bathroom, Dad behind me already roaring with laughter, and I shut the door and knelt down on the linoleum because I wasn't just feeling sick anymore. I was really puking.
13. A Cabover Camper Really Can Hold Two People<
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I LAY THERE FOR SOME TIME, thinking I could just stay in the bathroom forever, with a hole in the door for food, maybe. I didn't need to see anyone.
That linoleum, though, wasn't the best place in the world to be, and not just because it's really beat up and chilly and kind of cramped but also because in a family with three boys, well, there's a bit of an odor issue. Plus I could hear Dad laughing, and Mom making noises like she at least wouldn't laugh, and finally Dad knocked and asked me to come on out.
"Why?" I asked.
"Because your mom can't stand here talking to you."
I slumped out into the living room.
"It's a good article," Mom said from the floor, holding the magazine. "You sound like a good person."
"I sound like—do you know what kind of grief I'm going to get?"
"They're just jealous," Dad chipped in.
"Oh, sure, they all want to 'celebrate' with Brian Nelson. Plus we have plumbing—why did you have to say that?"
"It was part of the conversation. It doesn't sound that bad."
"He didn't even mention milk prices," Dad chipped in again. "We talked probably fifteen minutes. You think he'd say something."
We both glared at him.
"What?" he asked.
Right then the phone rang. Mom answered since it was lying right there on her belly, and from the way her face lit up, I knew it had to be Win or Bill.
Sure enough. Mom handed it to me. "Bill wants to talk to you."
You could hear him from across the room. "Hey there, you gifted athlete, when you gonna celebrate with me?"
"Shut up," I said.
"Aaron bought three copies. He wants to know what you're doing with that skinny white boy when you could have a real man."
"Why didn't you tell me you talked to that reporter!"
"Aw, I talk to guys all the time. It was no big deal—"
I handed the phone back to Mom. If Bill had the magazine, if his roommate Aaron had three copies, that meant it was everywhere. I was dead.
My cell phone started ringing: Amber.
Oh jeez, I'd totally forgotten to call her back. And she was leaving town. There's no way she'd seen People, not yet, because she'd have mentioned it no matter how bad that fight with her mom was.
I had to get out of there. Off that stupid farm. I grabbed the Caravan keys, and the People right out of Mom's hands, and I guess she was too surprised, or smart, to stop me. I flipped the phone on. "Where are you?" I asked, already out the door.
When I pulled into McDonald's, I could see Amber and Dale sitting inside. They waved to me, but there was no way I was going into that building. Not unless it was guaranteed empty of people, which of course a McDonald's isn't—that's the whole point. Instead I just pointed to Dale's pickup and stood by the cab, my back to all those windows, and waited for them to come out.
Amber gave me a big hug. "Hey, I'll see you soon..." she said, misunderstanding.
I just shook my head and handed her People. If there was one person in the world I could talk to about this, it'd be Amber. That is, if she didn't blow me off.
"Hey, no sling," Dale said, giving me a thumbs-up. She got me settled in the cab and handed me food and stuff, a vanilla milk shake, which is my favorite, and generally just acted calm and nice while Amber read the article. Every once in a while Ambler's lips would move but she didn't say a word, just kept an f sound going like a hiss.
"Is this true?" Amber asked finally, handing it to Dale, and all I could do was nod. I had to shut my eyes because I couldn't bear looking at her.
"That's quite a picture," said Dale.
"When did this happen?" Amber asked.
"A while ago. These guys came by, I thought they were farmers—"
"Turkey farmers," said Dale. She handed me the Post-it. "Nice note."
Which I hadn't even read. It was a nice note—I mean, the guy was trying. He said that he hoped I enjoyed the article, and his editors agreed that Brian was the most interesting part of the story. And that I could get copies of the pictures if I wanted.
Like that would ever happen.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Amber asked.
"He said it might not even run, and then it didn't—"
"Tell me about Brian! I mean, is this true? Were you seeing him all summer ?"
"I don't know! We're friends, we're just—"
"Yeah, 'friends.'" Amber sniffed. "It's gross."
"Aw, come on," Dale said, studying the pickup photo. "He's pretty cute for a guy."
"He's from Hawley" Amber said.
"Worse things have happened. So what are you two crazy cats doing, anyway?" Dale grinned at me, and I blushed deep red. But at least I didn't throw up. It felt kind of good, actually. Like we were just girls talking about our boyfriends. Well, with a couple differences.
"He is kind of cute," Amber admitted.
"So are you...?" Dale pressed me.
I laughed—I actually laughed. "A, it's none of your business, B, no, and C, what would you know about it, anyway?"
"Ooh, that's cold," Dale said, laughing. "You'd be surprised what I know."
"Yeah," said Amber, treating this like a big opening, big enough for her anyway, to change the subject to their news of how the two of them were asleep—really asleep, not anything else—in Amber's bed, which is just a twin even though she's so big, but her room's too small for anything else, and they were sleeping as close together as two people who are in a twin bed and also dating and also not wearing very much could possibly sleep, and Lori came in to check on Amber, which is extremely unusual because she's not so big on the whole mothering thing, and saw them. And flipped.
Which was bad enough, but the problem was that even though Amber was used to Lori flipping out, Dale wasn't, and she took offense at some of the things Lori was saying, and came right back with how it was pretty disgusting that Lori would go out with just about any guy including the assistant bank manager until his wife found out and walked him up to Lori's front door at eleven o'clock at night and made him break up with her, which says something about the kind of guy Lori picks, and maybe if she wasn't so busy chasing every wimp in Red Bend, she'd notice that Amber and Dale were totally in love.
That's when Lori kicked Amber out.
Although the story took a lot longer than that, and involved Amber going back for another round of milk shakes plus a Happy Meal because we all love those things although the toy wasn't very good. Sometimes they are but not this time. It didn't even move or glow in the dark. All their talking even made me forget my problems for a while. Then all of a sudden I caught sight of a big bag of Amber's clothes.
"You guys aren't really taking off, are you?"
"I hate this town," Amber said. "And Dale's got a job outside St. Paul."
"Just some catering work," Dale explained.
"And I can work checkout anywhere," Amber added, which I guess she would know.
"Where are you going to live? In this?"
"Heck, yeah. The couple I bought it from lived in it for two years, traveled all over the country. They had a YMCA membership—that's where they'd shower."
Which was an image, all right. "What about school?"
Amber shrugged. "Who cares?"
"I care," said Dale. "You're getting that diploma." She sounded a bit like Dad when she said this, to tell you the truth. Like there was no point in even thinking about arguing. Then she went back in for a couple pies.
Amber and I sat there. All I could think was how lucky she was. Sure, her mom had kicked her out, but at least she was going places. Without a huge stupid article about her in a magazine that everyone in the world reads. "There's no point even going to school if you're not there."
"Hey baby, wish you could come with us," she offered in her Bob voice.
I shook my head, too sad to even smile. I'd be some kind of third wheel in that little camper. Besides, I had Mom. "Wish you could stay," I said back, talking normally. "You're my best friend."
I on the other hand headed back home because there wasn't a single other thing to do. I thought about calling Brian, but it was probably too late to warn him. Besides, I wasn't sure how to explain. I chewed on this the whole drive back, and then just as I turned onto the last road to our farm there was a squeal of brakes and gravel shooting everywhere, and Brian pulled up in front of me.
I'd never seen him so upset. I wanted to hug him or something just to calm him down, but he was pacing too much.
"Did you see it—that article? You've seen it, haven't you?" He rubbed his face like he wanted to wipe the whole experience away. "Jesus, D.J. It's illegal, you know, to print that. It's false representation or something. We can sue. We're gonna sue them for a million dollars."
"Brian—"
"What was school like for you today? Because I just finished the worst football practice ever. I almost got beat up!"
"Brian, those two guys, those turkey farmer guys—"
He shook me, staring into my eyes. "It was them! I knew it. We are going to sue their butts. They never even told us, just walked around pretending—"
"Yeah, they did," I whispered.
Brian let go of me. "No, they didn't."
"After you left. They'd called but Curtis didn't believe them—"
"You knew?" Brian asked, and all that distress in his face melted into anger. "You never told me? You never warned me—"
"I was going to, but then it didn't come out, I didn't think it would—"
"You didn't think? About me? Do you have any idea—any clue—how screwed I am?"
You might recall I don't think so fast when I'm being yelled at. All I could do was nod.
Brian opened his mouth to say something else—a bunch more things, it looked like. But then I guess he changed his mind. Instead he just shook his head. "Why do you always do this to me?" he asked, his voice cracking almost, he sounded so upset.