Front and Center (2 page)

"Hello, Beaner," said Mrs. Henning, like his behavior was completely normal. Which for Beaner it is.

"Hey, guess what?" Beaner poked me. "I told Justin Hunsberger you were going to be playing boys' basketball!"

Even Mrs. Henning had to smile at that one.

"What'd he say?" I asked. Because of course Justin Hunsberger hates my guts like nobody's business. And totally vice versa, too.

"Oh, man, it was awesome." Beaner jumped down. "He was like, 'No way, no
way,
' and I was totally serious, saying all this stuff about how you'd found this loophole and really needed to grab recruiters because of missing last season and everything. And he totally bought it! You should've seen his face!"

Mrs. Henning went back to her desk with this smile like
Kids today,
and I couldn't help laughing with Beaner.

"Maybe I should suit up for it," I said.

"Oh, man, wouldn't that be awesome! He'd have a total cow!"

"Tell him we're running screens." I cracked up at the thought of Justin's face when he thought I'd be knocking him down on purpose.

"Oh,
man
...You gotta show up, just for today! C'mon, it would so totally rock! Hey, by the way, my folks are having this thing, you know, after the game Friday, for all the players and their parents, the guy players. You want to come?"

"All the
guy
players?"

"Hey, cut me some slack." He grinned. "It'll be cool. I gotta go." He dashed out the door like he'd keel over dead if he slowed down for just a second. Then he dashed back in: "And check out your locker!"

"My
locker?
" But he was already gone.

So, seeing as it looked like I was done with Mrs. Henning and her D.J.-is-not-a-juvenile-delinquent forms, I headed that way. Which I would have done anyway, of course, only now I was worried. I mean, I hadn't checked it in more than a month. I didn't think I'd left any food in there, but you never know.

I kept my head down on the way there, trying to duck the Win questions, though once when I looked up I did notice a locker decked out in wrapping paper and balloons like it was a giant birthday present or something, done up the way the popular girls, the cheerleaders especially, do each other's lockers sometimes.

Then I did a double take, because it was
my
locker that was all done up. And people were pointing at it, grinning at each other, and a couple kids were staring at the pictures stuck all over the front, although as soon as they saw me coming the kids slunk away.

I know all about the stuff done to lockers. Just a few months ago my best friend's locker got trashed because some kids get a kick out of picking on kids who are a little bit different. And even though part of my brain was pointing out that it wasn't graffiti, I still panicked. Because even though the gift wrap
looked
nice, who knew how mean it'd actually
be?

But here's the thing: it really was gift wrap. Friendly gift wrap, not Happy Birthday or anything like that, or Welcome Baby! which Mom had to use for Christmas one year because we'd run out of Christmas wrapping paper and it was too late to buy more. And taped on top was a big sign that said
WELCOME BACK! WE MISSED YOU!
signed by all the girls on the basketball team.

Other things were taped up as well, like a picture of me from last year before I had to quit the team, and basketball stickers. And right in the middle—maybe that's why those kids had been staring—was a copy of that photograph of me from
People
magazine where I'm dribbling in to shoot and Brian has his arm around my waist. Which hadn't been the best way to announce to the universe that Red Bend's girl linebacker and the quarterback of our eternal archrival were kind of involved. Just looking at it now, my ears got hot. But someone—probably Kari Jorgensen, she's so creative—had cut Brian out of the picture so it was just me, and then over my body where Brian's arm had been she'd made a perfect little T-shirt out of paper and colored it in with my number 12, with "Red Bend" printed on it and everything. It was nicer looking than our real uniforms.

Then
that
whole photo of me in my paper 12 jersey was stuck on top of
another
piece of paper—how long had this taken?—with just-as-nice lettering that said
D.J. IS #1!!!
Which when you think of it is a little dumb, because right below is me wearing #12. And
D.J. IS #1!!
was on the balloons too.

Well. I stood there just staring, wondering how long they'd been planning this, probably coming in way early with the custodians to have it ready for me, girls like Kari who had so much important stuff to do and are pretty popular, not to mention just plain pretty. All that effort for me. No one had ever decorated a locker for me before. No one had ever singled me out like this, with pictures and balloons and announcements to the world that I'm number one.

And then who should show up but Justin Hunsberger.

"Hey," he said. Which usually isn't insulting, but it sounds really different coming from him.

"Hey," I said back, just as cold. Now what was I supposed to say?
Sorry I missed the rest of football season just because I had to save my shoulder and my brother? Sorry for even trying out considering how you whined about me to anyone who would listen until pretty much the day I left?
No, I don't think so. Sorry's out.

Justin kicked at the floor. He was wearing a Red Bend Football T-shirt in case someone in the building by some freak of ignorance still didn't know he played. "Hey," he said again. "Your brother—"

"He's not walking yet. But thanks for asking." Although I sure didn't sound thankful.

"No, that's not ... It's just..." He looked up. "I'm praying for him, okay? I pray for him every day. He's ... he's a really amazing guy." He kicked the floor. "That's all."

I swallowed. "Oh."

"Yeah. So. See you around."

"Yeah," I said, wishing I had some idea what in the
world
to say other than that I actually wouldn't be playing boys' basketball, which I didn't think had quite, you know, the right tone at this particular moment. But of course I couldn't think of a thing.

Justin nodded and headed down the hall.

Of course then I thought of something. "I'll tell him!" I called out. But I'm not sure Justin even heard me.

I was still staring after him, wondering what the heck had just happened, when out of nowhere Beaner showed up again. This time at least he didn't jump on me. He just put his arm around my shoulders in his buddy way.

"Pretty awesome, huh?" he asked, studying my locker.

"What? Um, yeah. It is."

"So you coming?" He squeezed my shoulder.

"To what?"

"To my
party.
" He sighed this huge sigh. "I can't believe you forgot
already.
The parental units? Post-game? You're coming?"

"Beaner! You just asked. Give me a bit of time here."

He looked at the ceiling and whistled to himself. "Okay ... Was that time enough?"

Now he had me laughing. "No! This is my first day back—I'll have a ton of homework—"

"Homework, schmomework. This is a
date,
girlfriend."

"A date?" I grinned at the joke, even though he wasn't grinning that way.

"You betcha ... Hey, my man! Wait up!" And with that he zoomed away.

A
date?
Like—like what people in the movies do? What was he talking about?

"Hey!" Beaner shouted. Far down the hall, he was holding himself up on two guys' shoulders. Don't blow me off now! This is a
date,
you know!" Then he shot me a pretend lay-up and disappeared into the crowd.

Everyone—
everyone
—in the hall heard him. Maybe everyone in the whole school. And every single one of them turned and looked straight at me.

Double quick I spun away, my face burning five kinds of fire, and made a big project of opening my locker.

Which was just wonderful considering I hadn't been all that confident about the combination before this, and Beaner's little announcement sure didn't help any.

I got it open, finally. The good news is that nothing smelled. It was just snapshots of Win and Curtis and Bill, and our good dog Smut with the slimy football she carries everywhere, and books I could have used in Minneapolis, and an old Red Bend Basketball sweatshirt that wasn't even dirty.

I should have been relieved, but I didn't feel relief at all. Well, I was a little relieved my locker didn't smell like a lab experiment. And it was nice to see those pictures I like so much, and my favorite sweatshirt, after six straight weeks of not seeing them once. But it wasn't enough. Four snapshots and a sweatshirt weren't nearly enough to balance out all this other weirdness.

By which I mean: How are you supposed to hate a guy who prays for your family? How mind-blowing, how totally mind-blowing, is that?

Not to mention the whole locker business. Don't get me wrong: it was super nice of the team to spend all that time making my locker look like a homecoming parade. I should have been totally, 100% grateful. But now all around me I could hear kids laughing and whispering about it. About me. And now everyone would know where my locker was, and maybe even think about it—think about
me
—whenever they passed. Sure, I was stoked to be back for hoops season, and I know I'm a pretty big part of the team. But I'd never in a million years want anyone thinking I
expected
this sort of number-one treatment; that's the last thing I wanted. I just wanted, you know, to play. The girls should have saved their wrapping paper and balloons and all their enthusiasm for someone else. Someone who didn't want to trade it for a boring old anonymous life.

Speaking of which, it's also pretty hard to have a boring old anonymous life when your best guy friend in school decides to announce the two of you have a date. Which I'm not even going to get started on except to say
WHAT THE HECK
WAS BEANER THINKING?
Meaning what was he thinking to be saying that in front of two hundred kids,
and
what was he thinking about us even dating, whatever a date with Beaner even means?

That's the thing. When I said that it sure felt good to be going back to school, I didn't mean just going to
school.
I meant having everything go back to the way it used to be. The way it's always been. With D.J. Schwenk in the background, just like always. In the background where I belong.

But instead, it was the exact total opposite. Instead of being a nobody, now I was front and center.

And let me tell you something. Front and center sucks.

I
F YOU DON'T KNOW BASKETBALL,
you probably don't think too much about positions. I mean, I'm sure it looks pretty crazy out there sometimes, players running around everywhere all over the court. And really, it's every player's job to score and defend and pass, and put that way positions don't matter a lot. But there
are
positions in hoops, even if they're not obvious. And just like the quarterback is the most important position in football because he holds the ball and calls the plays, the most important player in basketball is the point guard. More important even, because point guard plays both offense and defense the way a QB doesn't, and calls plays continually, changing strategy and directing the four other players almost like a coach, because of course the coach can't be out on the floor. And just like
quarterback
gets shortened to
QB,
at some point folks started calling the basketball positions by numbers instead. Like small forward is three, and center is five. And point guard is number one.

Which is why I was so freaked about my locker even after it was clear that it wasn't mean or anything. Because all those #1 signs—even though I'm sure the girls didn't mean it this way—they were bringing up, yet again, that I should be playing point.

Ever since grade school it's been obvious that I have the potential to be a pretty good point guard. I've got the ball skills, after all, and I know my way around the court like nobody's business, and both of those are really important attributes. From my very first day of practice, coaches have been nudging me that way. But then after a while—sometimes it only takes a couple of minutes—the coach will decide I'm probably better as a forward, or a center. And instead they'll play as point guard a girl who maybe can't dribble so well, and isn't such an accurate passer, and who doesn't get strategy in that automatic Schwenk way. But that girl, whoever she is and however bad she plays, is always a better number one than I am because she can do the one thing I can't. The most important thing of all for a point guard. That girl can
speak.

Freshman year of high school, Coach K had big plans for me. Amy Hagendorf was starting at one but she was a senior, and he figured he'd have a whole season to break me in, slipping me in so I'd get a feel for the position. It didn't work. I mean, it worked when we were really far ahead so there wasn't any pressure, and once it worked when we were really far behind and everyone knew we'd never make up those seventeen points, not if we had the whole NBA playing for us. Then I was okay. But crunch time? No way. Maybe if you stopped the clock and everyone in the gym shut their mouth and gave me a couple minutes to figure out how to express myself ... But that's pretty much the opposite of how crunch time works. Dump that kind of pressure on background-loving D.J., and I might as well be out there with a piece of duct tape over my mouth.

Sophomore year Amy Hagendorf was gone, of course, off to UWM, and so it was all on me. Which lasted one game until Coach K decided Kari Jorgensen should play one and make the position, you know, an actual asset to the team. Which is why we beat Hawley in a total upset, because Kari played point and I played the game of my life as center, just taking the court apart and not even fouling out until the last minute of the game. There were times actually when Kari and I would sort of pair up together and I'd whisper what to do, or what to say, and then she'd get it done in a way neither of us could working alone. And then after that, well, it didn't matter anymore because I had to quit basketball because of Dad's hip.