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So we got there, taking the bus, which was a huge adventure in and of itself for a hick like me, and then when I saw her high school gym I must have looked like a hick times ten, standing there with my mouth hanging open. The building was big enough to hold all of Red Bend. The people
and
the houses. And maybe even the cows.

Tyrona cracked up. "You've never been here?"

"Why would I?"

"They hold some AAU tournaments here."

"What's that?" I said without thinking.

"AAU?" Tyrona frowned at me. "You don't know AAU? How do you play in the summer?"

"I, uh, I don't play in the summer."

Tyrona turned me around, studying my face like she was a teacher and I was a student she didn't quite get. "You don't play summer ball."

"We have to farm."

"You have to farm."

"I know I should—I will next summer ... Um, how bad is it? That I don't play."

"It's no big deal. Coach found you without it, so it can't be that bad."

But—obviously—it was.

And then the game started and I found out why. Because those girls were
good.
They talked back to the refs just like on TV and two girls got in a fight right on the court—not that that's good, but at least it shows how tough they are, aggressive in a way that I'll never be. It was pretty intimidating, I have to say. Although it helped that Tyrona pointed out how the coach kept yelling at one girl to pass but she kept trying these three-pointers that kept getting intercepted. Finally he benched her. That perked me up a bit, because whatever I am in basketball, it's certainly not that dumb.

Plus Tyrona kept telling me how great it would be if I played for the U of M—even though she's never seen me play! But she said Bill brags about me all the time, and so does Aaron, his roommate, which made my ears go bright pink I'm sure. And it was awesome to talk hoops with her, especially because there wasn't any of the "that's good for a girl" garbage you get sometimes when you try to talk hoops with guys.

Speaking of which, we even got on the subject of guys, and I told her about Beaner, how much fun he is and how good at one-on-one, how he can steal but I can shoot so we're pretty evenly matched. She said she was totally jealous and that I needed to bring a bunch of guys like him with me when I came. Then she asked about the other guy—I had told her about Brian when I met her last time—and I shrugged and said we weren't really talking anymore.

"Sounds like you got something a lot better now," she said. "Guys like Brian, they need a lot of time to grow up. Too much time, sometimes."

So all in all, it was a pretty fantastic afternoon. And then that night Kathy and I watched Tyrona and the rest of them play Wisconsin, which is a big rivalry and of course Wisconsin was also on my list, so this was a chance to see them too.

College players are so amazing! My jaw was on the floor at how fast they moved, and how
much.
It's like they never stop even for a second, like a bunch of gnats that always know where they're going and are all my size. And the arena was so large—the Barn, they call it, although I can't imagine keeping anything in a barn that size except maybe dinosaurs—and so loud you could barely hear yourself think. Tyrona was playing really well—they all were—and I have to admit that it was a rush to think about
me
out there in front of ten thousand screaming people, a million more watching on TV, and my picture in a nice shiny book. Not that I'm a fan of having my picture taken, but the U of M folks do a really nice job of it. Tyrona looks even prettier there than she does in real life. Being at that game was like realizing I might have a winning lottery ticket after all.

Which shows how good Win is at brainwashing. I actually spent the game thinking I could play Big Ten ball. I was a hard worker, after all. I could play almost as well as some of the girls on the court, even though I was four or five years younger and didn't practice twenty hours a week like you do in D-I. With that sort of experience, I could really be something...

Except. Except I'd forgotten to factor in one thing while I was sitting there making a big stuck-up list of all the stuff I was good at. I forgot to factor in
me.
And when I said that I watched that whole game feeling good about myself, I forgot to add "until the end."

Because in the last twenty seconds they were tied. Then Wisconsin made a three-pointer. They both called time-outs, and then it was down to the last seven seconds. Tyrona made this totally amazing interception and raced downcourt for a lay-up that she also made, and on top of that she got fouled, which meant she got to stand at the free-throw line—just like everyone does, just like I do, bouncing the ball and saying a little free-throw chant—while eight thousand Minnesota fans cheered and two thousand Wisconsin fans screamed and booed and waved their arms and did everything they could to make her miss.

It was the most intense moment I've ever seen. In basketball, and in life. Because I was there for one thing instead of watching it on TV, which would be like watching from another planet compared to this. And it was so loud. Loud like you can't even imagine. The whole game rested on these two shots! This huge school rivalry, and all these fans who'd paid money for tickets and gone out on a cold Saturday night, driving all the way to Minneapolis, or taking the bus, and they were all expecting Tyrona to perform. To make it.

Looking around the Barn, my heart stopped. It might as well have been me out there on the free-throw line, all these people waiting for me to win the game for them. My hands started sweating and my mouth went dry, and I had to close my eyes so I didn't see Tyrona take her first shot. But I heard the enormous groan, and the screaming from the Wisconsin side, and I knew she'd missed.

I forced my eyes open because I had to be there for her second shot. I watched her face as closely as I've ever watched anything. Saw her whisper her little thing, and pluck at her jersey and touch the cross at her neck, and then set her jaw, and shoot.

And miss. Again.

The Wisconsin fans started shrieking, and all the Wisconsin players pounded onto the court while eight thousand Minnesota fans just sat there. Some of the little kids were crying.

Tyrona had made kids cry. She'd blown it, and Minnesota lost. It wasn't
her
fault, I know that; it's everyone on the team who wins and everyone who loses. The other Minnesota players crowded around Tyrona who was crying, which she had every right to do, and you could tell they were all saying just the kind of things I'd say in that situation if I was there, and that their words weren't helping any more than mine would have.

All of a sudden I had to put my head between my knees. I never in my life want eight thousand people disappointed in me like that, yelling and booing and crying. I mean, look at me. Look how freaked out I got when Jerry Knudsen from freaking Ibsen College watched me play! Look how freaked I got just sitting in Taco Bell!

Kathy Ott leaned over and squeezed my knee. "You okay?"

I nodded. I felt too sick to argue.

"It can be pretty brutal out there." Which she should know as much as anyone, being married to a football coach. "Are you going to be okay with this?"

"Yeah," I said.

And you know what? I was.

I
T TOOK ME A WHILE,
I'll admit. I spent a bunch of hours that night staring into the darkness. But I made my peace, finally, with this whole situation. And this is what I realized: Division I is not for me.

The next day we stopped by St. Margaret's College, which has a really pretty campus with no ugly buildings at all, and a gym that's as new and big as Hawley's, and I paid extra-close attention to the coach, who because of Win's brainwashing had made a special trip in on Sunday just for me, and everything I saw I liked. I'd probably be the star player, but that's not a bad thing. I might even get to play against the U of M, in money games that would get the school a new floor or a building or a private plane, and if I didn't lose my head I might even make my free throws and get a taste of what it was like to be booed and cheered by ten thousand people. That's all I needed. Just a taste. And it wouldn't matter if we lost so long as I played well, which of course I'd try my best to do, and I wouldn't ever feel guilty about the score.

Sure, Bill played Big Ten, and Win PAC-Ten, but my brothers aren't me. Which is pretty obvious, but it's still worth pointing out. And pointing out that they weren't the ones who spent all summer managing the farm while Dad had surgery. They were off at fancy football camps. Maybe the same thing in my brain that made me too wimpy—if you want to call it that—to play D-I, maybe it's the same thing that saved the farm. Because everyone has bad and good in them all at once, the way Ashley Erdel is both bad at basketball and good at school, and maybe for the very same reasons.

When Win called Sunday night, I didn't even get rattled. Because that's just the way his brain works, getting so caught up in sports and competition and being the absolute best competitor you can be, and until he got a real job I was just going to have to put up with it as best I could. So I said the visits were very nice and I really liked St. Margaret's, and I didn't even get defensive when he started ragging on it, and I let him blab away about how I still needed to take video and just kept nodding and saying okay, staying cool with my new inner peace.

Beaner called too, to say he'd seen me in the audience on TV only for a second but he knew it was me, and he was so psyched that he knew someone
on television,
even for something as little as that. He was totally impressed when he found out I knew Tyrona, and he agreed those last two shots had completely sucked.

"It'll be so awesome, you know, to watch you in college," he said, and I laughed and said it would be. Because he didn't specify what it was exactly he'd be watching me doing, and as far as I was concerned, it would be just as awesome to have Beaner watch me sitting in the bleachers, or playing a money game that we lose by eighty.

And Monday during lunch, I called the U of M just like Win had told me to, thanking them for the weekend. I couldn't say, I'm sorry but there's no way I can play Big Ten ball," because sure as shooting that would get back to Win. But I did a great job of making it clear indirectly, asking how many other girls they were looking at, saying how bad I felt for Tyrona and how I'd never in my life want to be in that position. The coach kind of chuckled and agreed that no one wants that, but she got my point. Recruiting is like a board game where one side creeps forward and then the other side does, no one willing to give too much away. By saying all that, I'd moved myself three spaces back. Which made me even more relaxed and peaceful.

All this, weird as it sounds, made me a better player. I guess because I didn't feel so much pressure anymore, so much belly-knot fear that I wouldn't measure up. Now that I didn't even want to measure up, the coast was clear for me just to be me. So when we played Prophets town on Tuesday, I actually kept my head a bit. It wasn't like I was hollering up and down the court, but I didn't freak when Coach K started riding me. And a couple times when I saw something that was totally obvious, I had smarts enough to whisper it to Kari. We did an especially good job on this play where I draw two defenders while Kayla drives in. That worked five or six times, and Prophets town never seemed to figure it out.

We won, which was important because winning is important, duh, no matter what any grownup tells you, but also because we had Hawley coming up on Friday. And Hawley's no Prophets town. They're more like the Los Angeles Lakers. Which Coach K reminded us afterward, how hard our next game was going to be. Looking straight at Ashley, he mentioned how much a couple players were improving, and she just about smiled her face off, hearing this. Then he said that anyone who wanted to could join Ashley and D.J.'s little practices if it was okay with the two of us. Which I'll confess was a kick to hear, because if nothing else it meant he thought I wasn't doing so bad.

I couldn't help wondering a couple times whether Brian would come to Friday's game. Which was stupid of me, particularly given that huge kitchen talk we'd had. But I didn't have time to sit around mooning over Brian; I had too much else going on. First of all, Mom was calling every night to ask how we were coming on decorating for Christmas, even though this year it felt like the holiday spirit had slipped past our house without even stopping in for a visit. Dad kept telling her we'd be ready for her and Win's arrival, which at least meant I wasn't the only one procrastinating. Which was good, given that my life was also extremely full of this little thing called school, a history quiz and a big English paper on
another
extremely depressing book—would it kill the teachers to assign us just one book, once, that didn't make you want to jump off a cliff? And a big midterm in math, which automatically causes the jumping.

I got through it all, more or less, and then the last afternoon before break, we had a pep rally. It was a typical thing, the gym full of kids and balloons and our not-so-great pep band, Mr. Slutsky announcing the girls' basketball team one by one. Only just after he'd said the last girl, a bunch of kids started laughing and pointing like crazy, and I turned around to see Beaner coming out of the boys' locker room dressed ... well, it was something. He was wearing a big T-shirt with
HAWLEY
00 written with Sharpie on the front, and long b-ball shorts like girls wear, and b-ball shoes. But he was also wearing a big girly wig, and lots of makeup that he'd clearly put on himself, and fake boobs.

He strutted around pushing up his hair, acting like he didn't even notice everyone laughing at him, looking the girl players up and down like they weren't worth his attention. Then he came to me and glared at me with his hands on his hips. The kids in the bleachers were screaming things like "Get him, D.J.!" and "Get her, D.J.!" because it wasn't clear which one of those Beaner was, a him or a her. Then he started these karate moves on me, all these different poses that would make a real karate expert barf.