Athlete vs. Mathlete (11 page)

“Yes,” she sighed. “And he had a few ideas.”

“For the fund-raiser?”

“Yes, but he also had a lot of ideas about how the meetings should be run and … that kind of thing.”

“He's probably just trying to impress us,” I told her. “We don't need to change anything. We have a great system already.”

“I know,” she said, but she didn't sound like she believed it.

“And the fund-raising?” I asked. “What's the plan?”

“We're having a bake sale.”

“A what?” I choked.

“A bake sale.”

“No, I heard you. I just … do any of us know how to bake?”

“I make pretty good peanut-butter cookies and Nitu's going to try an Indian dessert. Jason said his mom would probably help him with brownies.”

“I'm sure my mom can help me make something, too.” I waited for more, but she didn't say anything. “What about Arthur?”

“I'm not sure. We're hoping that whatever he brings doesn't have a Harvard emblem on it.” She sighed. “You know, it wasn't easy, Russell. The meeting, I mean.”

“It will get easier.” We'd all adjust to Arthur because that was our only choice. It was as simple as that.

“The bake sale is this Friday afternoon,” she said.

“Mr. Wills said it was okay?”

“Yes.” She was quiet for a couple of seconds. “So, how did the tryouts go?”

“I made the team!” I couldn't help smiling as I said the words.

“Oh no,” Sara said, then quickly added, “I mean, that's great, Russell. Good for you.”

And it was.

Very good
.

In the beginning, anyway.

Even though the Masters team had already met that week, we decided to have another meeting on Thursday because there was so much to discuss. This time, I hosted and we met right after school so Nitu wouldn't be late for her father's birthday party.

After I received some stiff congratulations for making the basketball team, we got down to business.

But not before Arthur suggested, “We should have future meetings on Tuesdays and Fridays.”

“Why?” Nitu asked, looking annoyed.

“Because the Friday meetings could run longer than the usual two hours. It's not a school night.”

“But basketball games are on Fridays, aren't they, Russell?” Sara asked.

I nodded. “And practices are scheduled for Tuesdays and Thursdays, starting next week,” I added. I knew that's why Arthur had suggested the change.

“That's going to take up a lot of time,” Jason said.

“There's a time commitment, for sure,” I told the group, “but you all know that Masters of the Mind is my priority.”

“Except for yesterday,” Arthur said smugly.

“That wasn't a regular meeting day,” Nitu told him.

“I would have thought an emergency meeting was the most important kind,” Arthur said.

“But you managed without me,” I said, realizing too late that it was the wrong thing to say.

“Yes.” Arthur smiled. “We managed perfectly well.” He cleared his throat for dramatic effect. “Without you.”

“Okay,” I said, trying to move on. “So, it's decided. We'll keep our schedule the same.” I looked at Nitu, who nodded. “Now, we've got the bake sale tomorrow, so we'll all have our treats ready and—”

“Speaking of treats,” Mom said, appearing with a tray, “I've got milk and peanut-butter bars.”

Sara, Nitu, Jason, and I all reached for glasses of milk and slices of Mom's specialty, while Arthur stayed in his seat.

Mom carried the tray over to him, but he shook his head.

“I'm allergic to peanuts.”

“Oh,” Mom said. “I'm sorry. I'll find you something else.”

“No, thank you.” He sneered.

And that set the tone for the rest of the meeting. There was no smiling, no rhyming, and no kidding around.

By the time I told the team about the brilliant idea I had while I was making those jump shots, no one was in the mood to talk about the egg challenge. In fact, they seemed to stop listening as soon as I said the word basketball.

Later that evening I tracked Mom down in the den, where she was flipping through a magazine.

“Would you mind helping me with a baking fund-raiser?” I asked.

“Sounds fun.” She smiled. “When is it?”

“Tomorrow.”

She stared at me, then at her watch. “Are you kidding, Russell? It's past nine o'clock.”

“I know. I'm sorry. I was distracted after my meeting and I forgot about it.”

I didn't tell her that the distraction was trying on my Pioneers uniform and practicing jump shots in front of my bedroom mirror. I looked pretty good!

“Okay,” she said, and sighed, getting up from her chair. “It would have been nice to know about this before your team ate all my peanut-butter bars, though, don't you think?”

“Good point.” I winced.

“But let's see what we can whip up.”

I followed her into the kitchen, where she checked the pantry for ingredients.

“What about chocolate-chip cookies?” she asked.

“Perfect.” I would have happily agreed to anything she suggested.

She carried flour, salt, vanilla, and brown and white sugars over to the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“Can you please grab the butter and eggs, Russell?”

Uh-oh.

I opened the fridge door, hoping something had changed since I'd borrowed the challenge ingredients for my Masters meeting.

It hadn't.

“It looks like we're out of eggs,” I told her.

“What? I had most of a carton in there.”

“I had to use some for a Masters of the Mind project.”

Mom rested one hand on her hip. “And what was this project?”

I explained the challenge, with plenty of detail, but Mom only focused on one fact.

“You threw half a dozen eggs out of Jason's window?”

“When you put it that way, it sounds wasteful,” I told her.

“It
is
wasteful,” Owen said as he moved past me to get the milk.

“Masters of the Mind is about science and experimentation,” I explained, feeling defensive. “If there were no experiments, we'd never find cures for diseases or—”

“Hold on,” Owen said, leaving the empty milk jug on the counter. “Are you saying that throwing eggs out of a window is going to cure cancer?”

“No,” I snapped. “All I'm saying is—”

“All
I'm
saying,” Mom interrupted, “is that no eggs means no cookies.”

“What?”

“Russell, I can't bake anything without eggs. You should have given me more warning. Never mind the fact that you should have asked for permission before using the last of them.”

“But I need the cookies for tomorrow.” I couldn't let the team down! I was the leader! I had to do something. “Hold on.”

I ran into the den and logged on to the Internet. My fingers flew over the keyboard as I searched. The first substitute I found for eggs in baking was milk. I shook my head and sighed with irritation. Owen had just guzzled the last of it.

And why was he being so cranky, anyway?

I didn't have time to worry about it.

I kept typing and within minutes, I was running back into the kitchen with great news.

“Applesauce!” I said.

“What?” Mom looked at me like I was speaking another language.

“Two-thirds of a cup of applesauce is equal to one egg.”

She sighed. I was pretty sure she wanted to get back to her magazine.

“Please, help me,” I begged.

And she did.

But that didn't mean the bake sale went according to plan.

I carried my box of cookies to school on Friday, peeking at them every now and then to see if they looked any better.

They didn't.

When they'd come out of the oven looking gooey, Mom did an Internet search of her own.

It turned out that
one
-third of a cup of applesauce was equal to an egg.

Not
two
-thirds.

I was embarrassed that I hadn't double-checked.

Since we'd used all the applesauce and Mom said “no way” to a late-night trip to the grocery store, I was stuck with what Owen called “booger blobs” instead of cookies.

Just before three o'clock, I looked over our table of “treats.” Along with my soggy cookies and Jason's scorched brownies, we had small bowls of something definitely not solid and not quite liquid, prepared by Nitu and … that was it.

I leaned in for a closer look at the bowls.

“It's creamy phirni,” our math whiz explained. “It's like chocolate pudding.”

Except for the lumps.

“We're doomed,” Jason whispered.

“What's in it?” I asked, ignoring him and hoping Nitu hadn't heard what he said.

“Rice,” she said. “Try one.”

I took one of her paper bowls and three plastic spoons, so Sara, Jason, and I could share.

It was incredible. Not too sweet, and super creamy.

“Wow!” I exclaimed.

“My grandmother's recipe,” she said, smiling. “She makes it for special occasions.”

“That's awesome!” Jason said, licking his spoon clean.

“Did you make the peanut-butter cookies?” I asked Sara, hopefully.

“Yes, but …” She had tears in her eyes.

“What's wrong?” I asked.

“I made them, but there was a complaint, so I can't sell them.” Her face was bright red.

“A complaint from who?” I asked.

“
Whom
,” Arthur Richardson the Third corrected, from behind me. “And the answer is me.”

“What?” I choked.

“As I mentioned at the last meeting, I have a severe peanut allergy.” He sniffed. “Even the dust can give me hives. Those cookies were like a plate of grenades.”

I had to admit I liked the sound of that.

“He told Mr. Wills that his health was at risk,” Nitu explained, shaking her head.

“I'm so sorry I won't be contributing to the bake sale,” Sara said as a single tear rolled down her cheek.