Dairy Queen

by Catherine Gilbert Murdock

  She pulled back and studied my face. "Oh! When did you cut your hair?"

  "In Madison." I tried not to blush—she was really looking me over. "I spent all the money on it. I'm sorry."

  "It looks great," she said, turning my chin.

  "It didn't fit under the helmet," I said. "With the ponytail."

  She brushed a wisp out of my face. "Oh, D.J."

  "Did you tell Dad?" I asked. "About football?"

  "I wanted to talk to you first. You don't have to be so hard on him, you know. He never wanted to be a farmer. He gave up a lot for this place."

  "Jeez." Which Mom doesn't like, but there wasn't anything else I could think of to say.

  She patted my knee. "He's not that unhappy. He loves to cook."

  There was another long silence, but it was okay. I could hear Dad downstairs, banging around.

  "I should go," Mom said, patting my knee again. "This was real nice, us talking."

  "It was," I said, feeling like someone at the end of an Oprah Winfrey show.

  "Do you really like football?"

  I nodded.

  "Then that's a good reason to play."

  "If I make the team," I added.

  "You'll make the team."

  "You always say that," I said.

  "I always know," she said with a smile, and she left.

  I lay there for a while longer, staring out the window. And you want to know what I thought about? That maybe I should leave those curtains up just a little bit longer because my mom wanted them so much. For me, her only daughter.

  24. Welcome to Schwenksville

  I spent Friday, what was left of it anyway, waiting for Brian to show up so he could see my hair and get all surprised about me playing football, now that Jeff officially said I could play. But then after lunch the phone rang and Mom answered it and said, "D.J., it's for you," with this little smile that I had no idea what to do with, and it was Brian.

  "Hey," I said.

  "Hey." He sounded like there was something wrong.

  All I could think about was his bloody nose, and I started blushing.

  "Hey" Brian repeated. Something was definitely wrong. "Listen. My dad works with this guy who has this house on Lake Superior. It's really cool. It's got a pool, and—anyway he just invited us up. For the weekend."

  "Oh," I said.

  "And I was wondering—I know we're working out this afternoon and all, but I was wondering if it would be okay if I went."

  "It sounds pretty great," I said. Because that's what you say.

  "Hey, want to come?"

  Which was just so completely out of the question, so wild and so crazy and so darn sad, that I had to laugh. "Sure," I said.

  "Really? That would be so cool!"

  And I couldn't tell if he was kidding, although he must have been kidding because there's no way in a million years that I could leave the farm and the calves and the twice-a-day milking, and more important, there is no way that anything in the world I do, ever, is cool. Except maybe my haircut. Which now he wouldn't be able to see.

  "I can't," I said. "we're haying tomorrow. But thanks for asking."

  "Oh. Do you need my help?" he asked. But it was obvious he didn't mean it.

  "Nah," I said, my heart breaking.

  "Then I'll call you Sunday night when I get back. Okay?"

  "Sure," I said, counting the days. And that's how we left it.

  I went back and sat down like nothing had happened because in our family that's what you do. And when Dad made a crack about knowing Brian would quit, I didn't say a word.

  Grandpa Warren told me once that there's a town in Pennsylvania named Schwenksville, which just about knocked me out. A whole town full of Schwenks? Then he explained a little more that it was just named after someone with our name, which still tickled me a lot. When I got older, though, and I'd be stuck on the farm working while every other kid in the world was out having fun, I began to think of our place as Schwenksville. This little spot that I'd be stuck in forever with only my family.

  The next three days, I was in Schwenksville. Dad's hip had healed enough that he could drive the tractor without it falling out or anything, which meant he could mow and roll and bale all by himself which I guess I should view as a good thing. But we still had to bring the hay in, me and Curtis, while Dad drove the hay wagon around the field and told us what we were doing wrong, him complaining nonstop about the weather when he wasn't complaining about us. And me the whole time thinking that if this was a real family I'd be off with Brian at Lake Superior if he even meant his invitation, which he probably didn't but he knew he could ask because I'd have to work. I couldn't figure out which was worse to think about, him meaning it or him not.

  It was nice, though, working with Curtis. Sometimes we'd catch each other's eye and grin a little, and that was okay.

  Saturday night I thought a couple times about calling Amber, I was so bored and lonely. But I couldn't. I mean, what were we supposed to say to each other? We couldn't even talk about my haircut, seeing as it would really hurt her feelings that I drove all the way to Madison instead of using her. And that's not even bringing up the, you know, big stuff, the stuff we really couldn't talk about, like Brian. And her. Mom even said that she hadn't seen much of Amber lately—I think she was trying, you know, to egg me into getting out or something—but I just mumbled that she was busy and changed the subject.

  Sunday it rained and Mom insisted on taking me out shopping for school clothes, which is not one of my top thousand favorite activities, but she said if I stayed in the house moping I'd drive her to drink. So we went to this mall and along with jeans and T-shirts and stuff, Mom ended up getting me a couple new sports bras and some training shorts and things.

  And you know what the nicest thing was? She never said a word. She never said that I'd need those clothes for preseason. She never pointed out how my old sports bras were covered with paint and all worn out because I'd worn them every day, without a shirt a lot of the time. She never asked when I was going to tell Dad about football, although I could tell it was just about killing her, my not doing that. Most important, though, she never pulled an Oprah about Brian. Because if she had, I would have died. Seriously. I would have broken into a million little pieces and died.

  But she didn't, for the same reason she never got involved in The Fight to begin with, or mentioned she was e-mailing Win and Bill. Or made me talk to Dad directly about cleaning the barn, or took me on for walking out on Sunday dinner that one time. Because that's not her job, not in our family, anyway. Her job is to keep the peace, make sure everyone is doing okay, and not say too much about it. And you know, my mom might not be the most perfect mother in the whole world, but on that score, at least, at keeping quiet about awkward subjects, she's pretty great.

  So once I stopped being scared that she was going to Ask Something and stopped worrying that maybe I should, which would have messed this whole thing up again, it got to where we could just talk. And she told me about how excited she was to be principal, and how she needed to take all these education classes because apparently teaching sixth grade for twenty years doesn't count, and she just seemed so happy. It was great, actually. It was like we weren't even family, it was more like we were friends.

  We talked for so long that I even forgot about Brian, until I got home and Brian didn't call. He had promised to call me when he got back from the weekend and he didn't. If I ever have kids, which of course would depend on me meeting someone and getting married and everything, all of which I have real doubts about, but if I do, the one thing I'm going to teach them is that if they ever promise to call someone, they better keep that promise. You can wreck the car or flunk out of school or anything you want. But if you break a promise like that, you're no longer my child.

  Then I started getting worried that maybe something had happened, like he and his folks had a car accident or something coming back from Lake Superior. And it got later and later and I finally just c
alled him.

  His cell phone rang about three times and then he answered. "Hey! I was just thinking about you!" I could hear all this noise in the background, music and people shouting and laughing.

  "Hey," I said, so happy to hear him. "I just, um, wanted to make sure you're okay."

  "Who's that?" a girl asked in the background.

  "I'm doing great," Brian said to me, ignoring her. "It's been totally insane. Practice starts tomorrow and everyone's a little crazy. I wanted to stop by this afternoon and see you—"

  "Who are you talking to?" the girl asked. She didn't sound too pleased. At least Brian was ignoring her.

  "How about tomorrow after practice? Are you going to be around?"

  "Um, I think so. It's just that—" I started to explain about football.

  I could hear more laughter in the background. "I've got to go! I'll see you then, okay?"

  "Have fun," I said, but it sounded like he was already.

  ***

  So I lay in bed that night going over our conversation in my mind, thinking about how happy Brian sounded to be talking to me. Like he said, things are crazy the day before preseason. At least he'd wanted to stop by. I was extra relieved now that Mom had taken me shopping, because if I'd known I would have gone insane waiting for him to show up.

  That girl in the background asking who I was—you know what I really liked? That he seemed a lot more interested in me than he was in her. I don't know who she was and I don't want to know, but she wasn't making him happy the way I was. Maybe, it occurred to me, he and I would end up as friends. I knew a couple people like that, guys with friends who are, you know, girls. Not girly girls or anything but just girls, which pretty much defines me to a T. I liked that idea. He'd come by tomorrow after practice, and if I made the team or at least made it through practice we'd joke about it, and maybe throw a couple passes or something, and try to figure out how to survive the season as enemies and everything. It was too bad, actually, that we were on opposing teams, because it would be awesome to play running back to his quarterback. Dominate offense and all. If I made the team, that is. If I made it through the first day of practice.

  25. Practice Begins

  Monday morning, after about the worst night of sleep ever, and after milking because who else was going to do it, I drove the pickup down to the high school. I really should have asked Dad if I could use it, but I sure didn't want to talk to him so instead I just took it.

  I got there early and sat in the truck trying not to think too much because when I did all I could think about was all those guys looking at me when they figured out what I was doing. All those sullen, angry eyes.

  Other kids arrived, a couple freshmen with their moms, who were going to stay on those hot bleachers for hours watching practice because I guess they didn't have anything better to do, and some other kids like Justin Hunsberger, whose eye I blackened back in fourth grade and who now played lineman, and who'd be about as happy to see me as he would a large stinking pile of dog poop. And if you're wondering, I feel the same way about him.

  Just then there was a huge BANG and I jumped about four feet in the air, and Kari Jorgensen jumped up next to my window, laughing hysterically because she'd snuck up on me and kicked the truck.

  "You're here!" she said, like it was Christmas or something. "You're doing it!"

  "Yeah," I said, trying to look like she hadn't just scared the pants off me.

  "I was all worried you weren't going to be here because I'm not doing it without you. Hey, she's here!" she called to her brother.

  Kyle studied me. "You're really going out for football?"

  "I had to tell him," Kari explained. "He wouldn't believe me doing cheerleading."

  Looking at Kari, though, it was hard to believe she ever did anything else. She was always really keyed up during basketball, but right now, all tan from the summer with her hair in this big ponytail and her shorts and everything, she looked great. She also looked like she'd had about eleven cups of coffee. I guess she was a little excited.

  "Yeah," I said, "I'm going to try."

  So because I couldn't put if off any longer, I got my duffel and my water bottles and everything and headed to the field. And let me tell you, it sure was nice walking with Kyle instead of by myself, and Kari jumping along next to us, telling us how cool we were.

  "Nice haircut," Kyle offered. Which was nice of him.

  Being captain and all, Kyle started stretching, and I stayed off to the side stretching too, glad to be doing something beyond stewing, and Kari found the cheerleaders and I guess she filled them in because a couple minutes later right across the field came this huge cheer: "Let's go, D.J., let's go!" So that the three or four guys who hadn't seen me before now did.

  Right at that minute Jeff Peterson showed up and told everyone to run a couple laps.

  Every time I passed the cheerleaders Kari would start up again, which was about the most embarrassing thing I've ever had happen to me in my life, in public, anyway, and it didn't help that Jeff gave me a look like it was my fault she was doing it.

  So we all got back to the middle of the field and Kyle led everyone in warm-ups, and I was pleased to see how many guys could barely manage even fifteen pushups, because I guess when you're flipping burgers or shelving groceries you can waste the whole summer not training if that's the kind of person you are. And for once I was glad I was the other kind of person, the Schwenk kind who trained. Because I could tell it was really bugging a lot of guys how well I was keeping up, how I was keeping up better than some of them.

  Then they got a lot madder during sprints, because on the first one I came in eighth, but by the tenth one I was fourth because, well, that's what I'd done all summer. One kid even threw up, which I thought was a little early considering we had all day of practice yet.

  All this time no one said a word to me. A couple times guys would say things under their breath to each other; I couldn't hear what they were saying, but I figured they were talking about me. For all I know they could have been talking about socks. But I do know that no one was saying anything under his breath to me.

  Some of the freshmen looked a little scared, to tell you the truth.

  Then Jeff split up everyone by position and I headed on over to join the running backs and receivers. When I got there, Beaner Halstaad was sprawled out on the grass, grinning at me. "What the heck are you doing, woman?"

  I shrugged. "Didn't have anything else to do this morning."

  He laughed. I like Beaner, as much as I like Kyle. He's in my class, and the fastest kid in Red Bend. He's called Beaner because even when he was a baby he was as skinny as a beanpole. I run track with him and, well, he's fast. He's a receiver.

  "They going to let you play?" he asked.

  "Dunno. I've got to make the team first."

  Then we started drills, Kyle and the other QBs passing while we took turns receiving. I was about fifth in line so I got a real chance to study Kyle's arm. It's not like I hadn't spent an awful lot of time watching him play, and when I came up he kind of gave me a look and went long, and I ran for it and got it and you could tell, just from the way everyone turned away and went to the next play, that I'd done okay.

  And we did that for a while, me catching the ball every time, just loving that feeling so much, and then we went to running plays, and then Jeff had me cover Beaner during some passing drills, which wasn't what I was expecting but it was fun too because I'd had so much practice over the summer with Brian.

  I'd hoped I'd be good at football, and it was turning out, compared to a lot of boys in Red Bend, anyway, that I was.

  For lunch I went out with Beaner and Kari and Kyle, although we were all too beat and hot to eat much. When we got back, Jeff took us all into the gym, which was so nice and dark and cool that it might as well have been heaven, and he gave us each paper and a pencil and spread us out on the basketball bleachers to write our names and all.

  "Well," he said finally, "I guess you all
know D.J. Schwenk is trying out for the team."

  Everyone looked at me. Which was just superduper, I can tell you.

  "I'm not going to force this team to do anything they don't want to do," Jeff continued, picking some mustache hair off his tongue. "We've got a tough season ahead of us. Real tough, and something like this, it could be real divisive if you want to make it that way. It could bring down the team." He paused right there and looked up at me.

  "D.J.?" he asked. "You got anything you want to say?"

  Everyone stared at me twice as hard. If this was a movie or something I'd give this awesome speech and everyone would cheer and it would be great. But it wasn't a movie—it was my life. And I don't have much to say even in the best of situations.

  Everyone waited.

  "I guess—" My voice cracked. "If a guy wanted to go out for girls' basketball, I'd pretty much want to kill him."

  A couple guys laughed like what I'd said was stupid.

  But Jeff didn't look like what I'd said was stupid. He looked a little pleased, if you want to know the truth. "So I want you all to write the answer to this question: should D.J. Schwenk play on the Red Bend football team?"

  Everyone stopped staring at me long enough to write. And I was supposed to write too! Jeez. Jeff should have warned me before putting me through the wringer like this.

  Jeff stroked down his mustache. "Now I want you all to answer this: why?"

  Underneath "Yes" I wrote, "Because she knows the game and has a good attitude." I thought "she" instead of "I" made it more official. Then I wanted to change it, and I guess some guys wanted to change what they said too because I could hear scribbling sounds everywhere, and I wondered if Jeff chose pencils without erasers on purpose. But I still liked that business about good attitude. That counts a lot. Ask my brothers. And I do have a good attitude if you forget about me wanting to kill any boy who plays girls' basketball.

  So Jeff and his assistant gathered up all our papers and we all went back outside while Justin Hunsberger complained to everyone about how stupid that was, and then we scrimmaged. After a while Jeff told me to play defense and I ended up racing a lot against Beaner, who of course is superfast and who I could almost never catch, but when I did I always brought him down because, well, I know a lot about tackling and because he weighs pretty much nothing. Once Justin Hunsberger tackled me even though he was playing defense too, and Kyle called him a name and it got kind of ugly for a minute. Then, finally, we were done.