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He was still scratching Smut, scowling to himself. "No, it's not."

All of a sudden it hit me: He was right. It wasn't. And more than that, right now Brian was doing that thing he's so good at, the thing he's the very best at, which is talking. Using words to take away what he'd done. What he'd done with his actions.

"You hurt me so much." I didn't realize at first I'd said this aloud—isn't that funny? It just popped out without my even knowing.

"I know. I'm sorry. I know you don't believe me, not yet, but I'm going to ... It's not going to be the same."

I looked at him—I'd been real busy staring at the kitchen floor, memorizing patterns I already knew by heart—but now I looked him right in the eye. "You're right. I don't believe you."

"I
miss
you—"

"Yeah. I miss you too." I gulped. All of a sudden it was all I could do not to lose it.

An engine started up outside. The guys must have finished their driveway powwow.

Brian took a step toward me, looking as miserable as I felt. "I'm sorry."

"I know," I whispered. I squeaked, actually, because it took so much effort not to cry.

"Yo! Brian!" Mr. Nelson called. Through the kitchen window we could see him in Mr. Ott's headlights, waving to us.

"I've got to go," Brian said. "I'm sorry." He smiled at me from the doorway, then shut the door really softly behind him.

Smut watched him go, still holding her rope, her tail wagging slower and slower until it drooped to a stop. She let go of her rope with a sigh.

"Those are words," I whispered. "Those are just words."

Dad was heading inside, I could see, and all of a sudden I couldn't get out of the kitchen fast enough. I made it all the way upstairs and into my room before the back door even opened. Then, alone at last, I dropped onto my bed and sobbed.

H
ERE'S ONE FOR THE RECORD BOOKS:
our game Friday against Cougar Lake got canceled on account of lice.

Seriously.

Friday morning Beaner stuck his head into English to announce it, grinning like crazy.

"
Lice?
" Mrs. Stolze asked, touching her hair. It's really hard to hear the word and not do that.

"Yeah. So it's just afternoon practice instead. Hey, D.J., wanna go to the movies tonight?"

I'm surprised blood didn't start spurting out of my eyeballs, I blushed so hard. Everyone laughed. Although Kayla and Brittany and about four boy players are in that class too, so maybe they were laughing about Cougar Lake instead. Maybe.

I shrugged in what I hoped was a normal teen girl way. "Sure."

"Awesome. I'll pick you up at your place. Rock on, Mrs. Stolze." And he galloped off.

Did you see that? Beaner had no trouble asking me out—in front of a whole roomful of people! See the difference between him and Brian? If I was that kind of person, I'd take a video of Beaner and send it to Brian just to show him how some guys treat me. But I'm not that mean. Also I have no idea how to take videos. Also no equipment to take them with. And also I wasn't going to even
think
about Brian, not ever, ever again. So video was out.

Anyway, thanks to Cougar Lake we had a regular practice, but with fun stuff like dribbling blindfolded. Coach K gave us a little talk about how anyone can get lice and we shouldn't hold it against them, and we all nodded like grownups but inside we were thinking it'd be a while yet before Cougar Lake heard the end of it. And Ashley and I spent time afterward on her squaring up, getting her body facing the right way when she passed, which was especially tough given how hard it is for her to figure out how her body parts work or where the various parts even are.

There were two pickup trucks in the yard when I got home, a real one with scratches and toolboxes and lumber, and the other a shiny new tricked-out ride. A couple guys in parkas and tool belts were hammering away outside the kitchen door, building an actual wheelchair ramp out of new wood with nonslip patches and a handrail and everything, nothing like what Dad would have made out of leftover plywood and roofing nails. They nodded to me in that way worker guys do, and because I didn't want to bother them I stomped through the snow to the front door, trying not to get snow in my shoes. When I opened the door, this amazing smell of chili hit me, Dad's buffalo meat chili—seriously, it's real buffalo meat, which is pretty trippy to think about—which he keeps working on, each time making it better than it already is. And sitting there at the kitchen table, a beer in one hand, was Mr. Nelson.

That explained it. Because it's not like worker guys had ever been to our place before—for a moment I'd thought I was at the wrong house, even, when I first pulled in. They were with Mr. Nelson, part of his Schwenk family charity project.

"Hey there, sport, where you been?" Dad asked, stirring away, a beer in his other hand.

"Practice. Game got canceled," I said. Wondering what Brian had told Mr. Johnny Appleseed Nelson about me.

But he didn't seem to be thinking anything, or at least nothing bad. "No kidding. Why?"

"Lice," I said. Like it was nothing. "I'm going out tonight, okay?"

"Sure," said Dad. "So anyway, Dan, the co-op's been around twenty-some years, and the biggest farm's got over two hundred head." And Mr. Nelson actually looked interested. Who
was
this guy?

***

I didn't have much time to think about Mr. Nelson even if I wanted to, or about Brian (although thanks to his visit I was now suffocating in Brian memories), because I had this other problem called what to wear on my date with Beaner. In the end I settled on jeans and a Red Bend sweatshirt—real exciting choices there, D.J.—and did a teeny bit more work on my hair than I normally would, and even put on some lipstick I found on Mom's dresser. Maybe Beaner would bring his little sister along and she could pick something out.

Dad and Mr. Nelson were digging in to the chili as I came downstairs. "Don't worry, I'll just send Brian over to help," Mr. Nelson was saying.

I froze, one foot in midair.

But right then there was a knock at the door. Dad hollered it was open, and Beaner came bouncing in. "Hey! That's some awesome ramp out there. You guys totally need a skateboard."

"Um, hey, Beaner," I managed. Had Mr. Nelson really just said he was going to send Brian over? This is my dad, and, ah, a friend of the family—"

"Dan Nelson." Mr. Nelson shook Beaner's hand. "So what are you two kids up to tonight?"

I turned red, but Beaner just laughed. "I dunno. Burn the school down, cause a riot ... What were you thinking, D.J.?"

"Um ... something like that."

"You drive safe with my little girl, you hear me?" Dad said.

Which made me turn twice as red—jeez, Dad, could you be more embarrassing? This would probably end up being my last date ever.

But Beaner just said that he would, and he even helped me put on my coat, which made me blush even more, while Dad explained to Mr. Nelson how I was going to the U of M the next day to check out their basketball program, bragging about me while I had to listen, and then off Beaner and I went.

I'll confess—just to be totally honest here—that I actually didn't mind so much having Mr. Nelson of all people watch me go off on a date with a guy, a guy as confident and relaxed and tall as Beaner is. Not that Beaner can help being tall, but still. And thinking Mr. Nelson might go home and report to Brian that I was seeing someone. That was okay, the notion of Brian chewing on that one. Especially considering the lovely chat the two of us had just had.

Although I wasn't supposed to be thinking about Brian!

I especially wasn't supposed to be thinking about him as I was riding along next to Beaner. But luckily Beaner didn't notice. He was singing away with the car stereo, drumming on the steering wheel and generally being his happy Beaner self. "'Not to put too fine a point on it, say I'm the only bee in your bonnet...'" he sang, squinting his eyes. "What, you don't know these guys?"

"Uh, no." Which wasn't too tough an answer seeing as I don't know anything when it comes to music. And I'm not just being modest when I say that.

"They're so awesome. My stepdad turned me on to them. 'Bluebird of friendliness ... like guardian angels it's ... always near.'"

"What does that even mean?"

"No idea. But it's totally cool." Beaner fast-forwarded. "Check out this one: 'The—sun—is a mass—of in-can-descent gas, a gi-gan-tic nu-cle-ar fur-nace...'" He was totally into it, lecturing me with finger as he sang. I couldn't help cracking up—you'd have to be dead not to. And he taught me the words so we could "sing a duet" as he put it, although I was laughing way too much to manage singing even if I could sing, which I can't.

Going to the movies is pretty much the only thing you can do in Red Bend until you're legal, so of course the place was packed. Beaner kept his arm around me once we were seated, which I liked, but then he wanted to make out. Which, I know, I've watched millions of kids do. But still. Maybe that was the problem, that I couldn't get out of my head how I used to be one of watchers, Amber whispering jokes about them until I snarfed my popcorn. At least I didn't have to worry about Amber seeing me because she'd gone with Dale to St. Paul. But what if they hadn't? What if the two of them were here? Imagine how stressful
that
would be ... Plus I actually kind of wanted to watch the movie. Luckily it got pretty exciting after a while—onscreen, I mean—and we kind of forgot to do anything else.

Afterward we hung out with a bunch of ball players at Taco Bell, chatting about the movie and making fun of Cougar Lake lice even though we shouldn't. I didn't say too much—big surprise there—but my mind was going about a million miles an hour, checking all the time to make sure I wasn't doing anything embarrassing, and then checking the other tables to see if anyone was looking at me funny, and then whenever someone asked me a question being extra careful to make my answer acceptable, you know, before I opened my mouth. Which put a brake, an even bigger brake, on my talking.

Was this what it was like hanging out with cool kids? Was it always this much pressure? No one else seemed stressed at all. So maybe it was just my insaneness. Plus I couldn't help but remember that time this fall when I'd been in Taco Bell—with Beaner, interestingly—and Brian saw me and ran away before I ruined his life by saying hello to him in front of his friends.

Well, at least Beaner didn't mind my presence. He didn't even hassle me for sitting there like a big old lump, and he told everyone how good my house smells and how they all had to figure out a way to come over just to get a whiff of that chili.

You know, we could hold hoops practice in your driveway," he said.

"In the snow?" I asked, and a couple kids laughed.

"Oh, totally. Be all like, 'He shoots! His gloves connect! A snowball knocks it off the rim!' It could be like basketball and a huge snowball fight put together!"

Which got us all on a huge discussion of
that,
and what an intentional foul would be, and when I suggested that the refs could be snowmen everyone laughed even more. And then on the way home Beaner and I made out in the car a bit, which was okay except he was really into it, a little too much, and I had to slow him down.

Lying in bed that night, I almost started crying. Who knew a date would be so much work? It was never like that when I went out with Amber, hanging out with her at Taco Bell. That was just fun. And sure, I'd laughed tonight, and even cracked a couple jokes. But I was just so aware every second of what I was doing and how I was acting. Worrying I wasn't doing it right. Is this what being popular meant? Getting ulcers? Instead of being a background nobody with Amber?

Maybe Brian had been smart to stay away from me in public. Maybe he understood me better that I'd even thought. Maybe he'd been right after all.

You know how the Red Bend ladies had been in a flutter because they wanted to help our Schwenk Family Tragedy but didn't know how? Well, apparently they decided that the least they could do was clean. So Saturday morning three ladies showed up with brooms and vacuums and spray bottles—showed up while Curtis was still in bed, which must have been a shock—and set to work scrubbing and washing and taking care of stuff. This was especially great news for me, because Dad and Curtis had kind of counted on me doing all that work, I guess because I have ovaries, but it's not like the thrill of laundry gets me up every morning. So that was awesome. But Curtis didn't look too pleased about getting tossed out of bed so Cindy Jorgensen could wash his sheets. And Dad was fit to be tied over what they did to his frying pan because apparently he'd been treating it some special way and the ladies scrubbed it so there wasn't any grease left in it at all, which you'd think would be a good thing but Dad seemed to feel the opposite. Although I noticed he didn't complain to
them,
so I guess he didn't mind so much having clean underwear again.

Then Kathy Ott showed up with a big cup of coffee, all perky and chatty and ready to go. Win must have done some kind of brainwashing job on her. You'd have thought she'd won a trip to Disney World or something, the way she carried on about getting to escort me to Minnesota in her nice new Subaru with its clean carpeting and unscuffed dashboard that no kid had ever put their feet on.

In Minneapolis, which we found without too much trouble at all, we met that nice lady coach and my University of Minnesota student escort, who just happened to be my buddy Tyrona. Normally on these types of visits they take you to Mall of America, which is obviously a really huge draw seeing as it's the biggest mall
in
America. But I didn't have any money, and also I'd been there with Brian and didn't want to spend any more time being reminded of him. So I asked Tyrona if we could do something basketball-ish instead. I couldn't play or anything—the NCAA would totally spaz about
that
—but I wouldn't mind watching. Anyway, it turned out that this weekend her old school was holding a tournament! It was like the perfect solution.