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Because, I realized, figuring it out at last, as great as the singing and goofing off and popcorn and snowballs had been, and the kissing, I would have traded it all, without a single speck of regret, for five more minutes of mucking out the barn with Brian.

B
ILL DIDN'T MAKE IT HOME
until Monday morning. He and Aaron pulled in around eleven while Kathy and I were sitting at the kitchen table, Kathy writing Christmas cards because I guess Schwenks aren't the only ones who leave things until the last minute, and me making presents. As soon as we caught sight of them, though, I was out the door—barefoot, so you can imagine—to give Bill an enormous hug, and almost as enormous a hug to Aaron, who's so big that he really needs two hugs just to get around him all the way.

Right away they took me out Christmas shopping. Which meant I got to ride shotgun next to Aaron as the two of them busted each other and listed all the reasons I should go to the U of M.

"Plus you'd be an itty-bitty freshman when we're seniors," Aaron pointed out. Which, you know, had already occurred to me. It gave me a pang, I have to say, the thought of how great it'd be to have these big handsome guys on campus showing me the ropes. Or how great it
would
have been, seeing as now I wasn't going there. I didn't say anything, though, because then they would have gone off on how I actually
am
D-I material, and besides, what do they even know about disappointing people? They deal with pressure like that all the time. So I just kept my mouth shut and nodded, and giggled whenever they called each other Milkshake and Tink. Although I didn't have the guts to call Aaron Tink because I'm not, you know, on the University of Minnesota football team. And I didn't call Bill Milkshake because I don't want to die.

We went to the local mall—which Aaron couldn't help pointing out was teeny compared to the malls
he
knew—and because Bill and I have about eighteen cents between us, we bought socks and potholders and pencils, things everyone always needs (well, Dad needs potholders) that don't cost very much. Aaron kept finding stuff like cheesehead hats that I guess you only see in Wisconsin, and he was having a blast. By the time we finished it was already time for afternoon milking, which Aaron quote-unquote helped with, which meant making Bill and me laugh our guts out while
we
did the actual work. The cows just flicked their ears like they'd heard all his jokes before. Once I couldn't help myself and squirted Aaron with milk, and Mark Donahue kicked me to teach me a lesson about fooling around with her own personal mammary glands.

Aaron spent the night in the little office before driving home to Detroit, making me promise to wake him when I got up for morning milking, which I did even though his bellyaching makes Brian Nelson sound positively saintly. But we still got him off before dawn, with a couple huge thermoses of coffee because he had one long drive ahead of him, all the way past Chicago. Then we ran around like crazy getting ready—you always think everything's ready and it always turns out not to be so—for Win's arrival, including shoveling the parking space again and sweeping off Mr. Nelson's nice new ramp and decorating it with a couple big bows.

Win's arrival—oh, boy. He could wheel himself out of the van, and up the ramp, and get from his chair to his bed without barely any help at all, and use a fork and everything. He was a lot thinner, but that's probably better for anyone who has to lift him. He was really psyched about the ramp too, and told Dad he'd done a really fantastic job, which cracked everyone up and made Dad a bit huffy. Mom of course said that Dad could have built the ramp if he'd wanted, which is a stretch coming from her seeing as she's lived with his carpentry skills for twenty-five years. And she was thrilled to bits about the decorating.

Guess what we did Christmas Eve? Not caroling or opening gifts or giving food to folks poorer than us. We watched Mr. Jorgensen's tape of the Hawley game. Seriously. Win insisted, and he parked himself in front of our TV with the remote because he said it was therapy, when really holding the remote is just his old controlling self. Mom wanted to watch too, and Bill since they hadn't seen it, so we all ended up in the living room, me sitting in the back wincing. Win kept pausing to point stuff out, letting me know how far I was from perfect. And he hit the roof about that bad call on Kari, so it's good he hadn't been at the game or Ashley would have had two guys to baby-sit. But afterward he said that he needed a couple copies of the tape, so I guess I wasn't so far from perfect. And I made a mental note to get copies to St. Margaret's and Ibsen most of all.

Win especially liked how Ashley had calmed Coach K down. He said that was exactly the kind of leadership he was talking about, my directing her like that, and that I should be doing that sort of thing all the time. I couldn't help thinking it was just the opposite, that college coaches would be disgusted to see me bossing around adults, and besides, I'd only been trying to keep Coach K from embarrassing us. It had nothing to do with leadership at all. And then Mom said it was bedtime and if we didn't hurry Santa wouldn't come. Which made us laugh, but we still hurried off to bed anyway.

Christmas morning I got up to milk—that was part of my gift to Dad—but it turned out he was up already, so the two of us did it together. You see, for Christmas I made him two Get Out of Milking Free cards, like those Get Out of Jail ones. There was joking about that, you can be sure, later that morning when we opened presents, and even more about two certificates I gave Win that promised I Will Listen To Your Advice, and way down at the bottom in tiny letters the words As Much As I Can. Even Win had to laugh at that. And there were the socks and pencils and potholders, and stuff Win made in art therapy that wouldn't have looked any better if he had functional hands because Schwenks and art simply don't mix. And Mom had knitted everyone hats that were kind of scratchy but still awfully nice and colorful. And Dad made everyone peanut brittle that left us all speechless because we couldn't unlock our jaws. And his Christmas dinner was extra delicious, and as we sat down with Bill still wearing his scratchy hat, Mom said how nice it was to all be a family again. So all in all it was a fantastic Christmas even with only our eighteen cents.

The next day Mom and Dad and Win left for the hospital, Dad to help drive and also because he'd kept his pickup there, and Bill and I went over to the high school. Win had made me get keys to the gym because heaven forbid I wouldn't practice practice practice and then report to him what I'd done. We played one on one and horse, messing around and goofing on each other. Bill told me about a girl he was seeing who he was actually kind of serious about, which is a big first for him, and I filled him in a bit on Beaner and how crazy he is. Bill loved hearing about the pep rally, and he made me act the whole thing out and walk the way Beaner had walked and everything. He said Beaner sounded even funnier than he used to be, when he was just a skinny freshman Bill's senior year, and that he must be a pretty great guy. Which wasn't the worst thing in the world to hear.

So it was pretty awesome when Beaner agreed—not that I had to twist his arm, but apparently he had all these relatives he was supposed to, you know,
entertain,
so he didn't have a lot of free time—but the next day he got away somehow and joined us. We talked Curtis into coming too, and then the four of us played until we could barely move. Bill's so big and so fast from football that his side always had a huge advantage, although Beaner's taller even than Bill and really fights for every rebound, and it's not like I'm some sort of wallflower. And Curtis, well, don't ever underestimate him. In hoops and also, you know, in life. Because while we were goofing off and laughing, taking these extremely illegal and hilarious shots, Curtis just kept plugging away, basket after basket, making the three of us look pretty darn lame.

Then when we were stopped for a water break after a couple hours of this (we'd forgotten ice like a bunch of idiots, but luckily there was fresh snow right outside!) Beaner said to Bill, "Hey, I'm throwing this New Year's Eve party, you know, if you're around. You too, Curtis."

Curtis immediately looked like he'd rather die, but Bill perked right up because there's nothing he likes like a party. Beaner described how his mom and stepdad were paying him back for entertaining all those lame relatives from Sheboygan, and how he was going to get Abby's karaoke machine going, and kids could even sleep over if they wanted...

I sat there for like ten minutes listening to Beaner and Bill plan this out, Bill tossing in suggestions on how to make the party better and saying how totally bummed he was about missing it because he loved karaoke (Hello? Are we even related?), while I got more and more miserable because here was Beaner inviting my brothers, who he barely even knows, and he hadn't even invited
me.
His
girlfriend.
I guess he didn't want me there. This was just his Beaner way of telling me that. Maybe he wasn't that different from Brian after all.

So I said, trying as hard as I could to seem nonchalant, "Well, it sure sounds like fun."

"Oh, it'll be awesome—" Beaner said, and then he looked at me with this expression of absolute horror and said, "Holy crap, I forgot to invite you."

Well, Bill just about fell off the bleachers laughing at
that.
Even Curtis broke up. Especially because Beaner spent another ten minutes explaining he assumed I knew I was invited, and what a jerk he was, and how just to pay him back I could make him sing any song I wanted, even that song where that girl who's a really good singer keeps saying she's not going.

Then of course he went out onto the court and sang it, right then and there, and Bill literally—I am not exaggerating—had to lie down so that he wouldn't keel over. I have to say that it was a pretty impressive way for Beaner to apologize, especially at the end, when he dropped to one knee and swung his arms around and everything.

Later, after we'd gone home, Curtis and me having to listen to Bill crack up every time he thought about Beaner, I called Mom to ask her permission and right away she said
You are not sleeping over
in that tone that means don't even think about arguing. That woman was watching too much television, the way she carried on like teenagers are all pregnant juvenile-delinquent idiots. But at least she said I could go to Beaner's for a little while.

Before any of that happened, though, I needed to visit the University of Wisconsin–Madison, even though the school was on break, because Win wanted me to see this hoops tournament they were holding.

Which is really something to think about, in and of itself. I mean, most college students cut classes whenever they feel like it and stay out late, basically get to do anything they want. But not athletes. Athletes have curfews every night, and hours of workouts every single day, not just practice but weights and flexibility and meetings, and they have to play in every single game, show up even if they're injured or benched or something, because that's their scholarship requirement. And travel all over the country, getting back to their dorms at two or three in the morning maybe, but even so, they can't skip class. Or they miss a whole week of classes because of tournaments and have to run around afterward getting all caught up. And even when everyone else is off enjoying winter break, and spring break too, when that happens, they're still at school playing. Bill had to leave Saturday morning, just as I was driving off to Madison, for this camp thing he'd signed up for. He'd only had five days of vacation, after a whole semester packed with football and classes and papers and exams.

Thinking about that, I was doubly relieved with my secret no D-I decision. Because even though I wanted to get out of Red Bend ASAP, I'd like to come back occasionally. Come back for more than "Hello, thanks for the scratchy hat, I've got a game two thousand miles away." That was one great thing about St. Margaret's and Ibsen: at least they take a breather every once in a while. They don't have round-the-clock athlete curfews. That was nice to know.

So I drove to Madison all by myself, which the UW people sounded a little weird about because I guess you're supposed to show up with your folks seeing as college is such a Big Decision. But of course Mom and Dad couldn't come, and Kathy Ott had already done enough for us. Too much, really. And I kept insisting I was totally okay, and I promised Mom I'd be extra safe and would stop driving the second it started to snow.

It must sound pretty strange that I was going to all this effort, driving ten hours just to keep Win off my back. But the real reason I was going—not that I would ever tell this to anyone, not in a million years—was that I needed a haircut. Seriously. I was about ready to duct-tape my hair back, it was driving me so crazy. I hadn't had it cut since the summer, when Curtis and I had driven to Madison and I'd found this really cool salon with this really cool girl named Mica who gave me this totally awesome haircut because she was so psyched I was trying out for football. I even saved the little card she'd given me, even though at the time I knew I'd never, ever be back. But guess what, now I was, and I'd even snuck into our downstairs bathroom where no one could hear me and made an appointment.

So I was pretty psyched to be hitting the road, and I spent most of the drive imagining how I'd explain to Mica that I'd quit football, hoping she wouldn't be too disappointed in me. But wouldn't you know it, she already knew. And taped to her mirror was that
People
article! And a little sticky note next to it saying I
CUT HER HAIR!!!

Well, that was something to see. And I guess it shows that everyone's different. I mean, there I was so impressed with Mica and her cool salon, so intimidated, and at the same time Mica was just as impressed with this cheesehead hick that was me. Isn't that funny?

She didn't even act disappointed about my having to quit. She said she understood completely, and once she found out I was back in town to look at UW, she just went off on how cool Madison is, making it sound like her city was the only place in the world to play basketball or study or live or basically to breathe. I didn't point out that people breathe in other cities too, and even in the countryside sometimes, because she was so sparkly and excited. But I did decide that wherever I ended up, that school had to play in Madison once or twice a year, so I'd be able to keep looking halfway okay. It's too bad when you find a decent haircut you can't just freeze it there and not unfreeze it until you're sure you can make it back to Madison.