Athlete vs. Mathlete (13 page)

Back at school the next day, I met up with Chris at his locker so we could walk to English class together.

“I'm almost finished writing my inspiration paper,” he said. “It's about my uncle Eddy. You know, the one who was in that car accident?”

“And they said would never walk again?”

Chris nodded. “Yeah. Now he's running.”

“Pretty cool.”

“What about you?” he asked.

“I haven't started,” I admitted. “But I'm going to write about Tim Camden.”

Chris laughed. “The most hated guy in the NBA.”

“But an awesome player.”

“Totally,” he agreed. “Hey, I got your message last night. I wish I'd made it to the park, but we had to go visit my cousins.”

“Too bad,” I told him.

And I meant it. I'd met his cousins.

“Did you find anyone to play with?”

I nodded and told him about the teenagers.

“You and the big kids?” he asked, squinting at me like he wasn't sure whether to believe it.

“High school guys,” I corrected, loving the sound of it. Me and the high school guys, kickin' it. “Yeah.”

“They just … asked you to play?”

“Well, they were short a guy, so …,” I said, and shrugged.

Chris stared at me. “That is
so
cool.”

“It was okay,” I told him.

Of course, it was way better than okay. It was ESPN highlight material.

When Chris told some of the other Pioneers about it, I told them how I'd driven to the net a bunch of times. (Well, three times, anyway, scoring twice). And how when the teenagers left, Matt and Jonesy both high-fived me on their way off the court.

Unreal!

The way the guys were looking at me, I could tell they'd forgotten about Russ, and that was awesome.

“Are you going to play with them again?” Chris asked.

The teenagers hadn't said anything about it, but I didn't care.

“Maybe a pickup game here and there,” I told him, shrugging again.

It wasn't impossible, right?

“Whoa,” he whispered.

The rest of the week raced by, and even though I was mad that Russ was there, the practices weren't bad.

The drills were brutal, but I “borrowed” Russ's digital watch so I could measure my improvements. And I was definitely improving. I was getting faster at running lines, and even though it was the drill I hated the most, I was proud of being one of the fastest guys on the team. The scrimmages were my favorite part of practices, and it was pretty cool to see our passing game coming together, too.

I kept an eye on Russ, who was getting a little better at dribbling.

Better than a seven-year-old, anyway.

Maybe.

Even though Russ and I left basketball on the court, Dad liked to relive our practices at the dinner table every night. And while Russell did all the talking, Dad acted like he was the most interesting person on earth.

I just concentrated on my vegetables.

Mom must have noticed something was up, because on Thursday, the night before our first game, she made me stay with her in the kitchen to help put away the dishes.

“Everything okay with you, Owen?” she asked.

“Yup.”

“How's the team?”

“Basketball?” I asked.

“Yes,” she laughed.
“Basketball.”

“It's fine.”

Mom put a hand on my forehead.

“What?” I asked.

“I'm just checking for a fever. It's usually ‘awesome.'”

“I know … it's just kind of … different this year.”

“Ahh,” she said. “A new coach.”

I didn't want to talk about the whole mess with Russell, so I just nodded.

“Don't worry, honey. You'll get used to him.” She handed me some glasses to put away. “Dad and I are excited about tomorrow's game.”

“Me, too,” I told her.

I was excited, but kind of nervous, too.

I had no idea what would happen.

Complex Division

My week was a blur of basketball practices, Masters meetings, and my usual workload from school. I'd like to say I floated through it all with the greatest of ease, but the truth was, my hectic schedule was causing some problems.

I got a ninety on my science test.

Barely an A!

I didn't have time to proofread my English essay before I handed it in, and I should have
made
the time. Mrs. Chen found two spelling mistakes, and there was a concerned note on the top of my cover page when she handed it back to me with a big red B on it.

And worst of all? I missed another Masters of the Mind meeting because Coach wanted to squeeze in an extra practice before our first game.

When the day of the Pioneers' first game arrived, I woke up feeling more than a little nervous. I'd been surviving the practices and even surprised myself with some great moments, but playing against another team was something totally new.

And playing that game in a gymnasium packed with fans, demanding a win? That was very intimidating.

But throughout the day, I was high-fived by every member of the basketball team I saw. It was a complete surprise and I couldn't help grinning whenever it happened.

I felt like I was really part of something.

Of course, I'd already felt like part of my other clubs and Masters of the Mind, but this was different. People who never paid attention to me before suddenly noticed me.

I liked it.

When I suited up with the rest of the team in the locker room after school, I could feel the tension in the air. Obviously I wasn't the only one battling nerves.

“Are you ready, Russ?” Nicky Chu asked me.

“I hope so,” I told him.

“You'll be fine,” he said, slapping me on the back.

It was more than Owen had said to me all week. I didn't know why my brother was so quiet, but I assumed he'd been busy, like me.

Coach gave us a pep talk before the game started, then I spent the first quarter watching my teammates play from the bench.

The view was amazing.

But the playing wasn't.

The Westhill team had a better record than the Pioneers, and they were living up to their reputation as a tough team to beat. We were losing, but I could see how hard my teammates were trying and I was proud of them.

Every now and then, I'd wave at my parents in the stands, knowing how happy they were to see me out there.

The rest of the time, I couldn't help admiring my magical Nikes.

By the end of the quarter, I guessed Coach would keep me on the bench while his more experienced players tried to catch up to Westhill. And that was fine with me. I didn't need that kind of pressure during my very first game.

But I was wrong.

“I'm gonna mix things up,” Coach said.

And that meant putting me in.

For the first few minutes I was out on the court, I was lost. Everything seemed louder, brighter, and faster than it had at practice. I tried to “just stand there,” but the Westhill team was pretty good at dribbling around me.

At one point, Paul was heading for the basket and I chased after him, hoping I could somehow stop one of the Westhill players from blocking his shot.

When I stopped, there was no one anywhere near me. There was nothing but open space between me and the hoop.

“Paul,” I shouted, before I could change my mind. “Over here!”

He turned and threw me the ball.

I knew I only had a couple of seconds before the Westhill players would surround me, so I did the only thing I could think of.

I took a jump shot.

And scored three whole points!

The only words I heard over the roar of the crowd was Coach shouting, “Nice hustle, Russell!”

I couldn't believe how different everything was after that first game.

Dad couldn't stop smiling.

Mom gave me a huge hug and told me how proud she was.

Owen didn't say anything.

Not “way to go” or “nice job” or even “you didn't blow it.”

He was
silent
.

When his friend Chris came over on Saturday morning, I answered the door as I was getting ready for my Masters of the Mind meeting.

“Russ!” Chris said, punching my shoulder like I'd seen the jocks do to each other. It kind of hurt. “How's it going?”

“Good,” I said, surprised that he hadn't just grunted hello and headed for Owen's room the way he usually did.

“Cool,” he said. “I still can't believe how awesome you played yesterday. Westhill didn't know what hit them.”

“Thanks,” I said, grinning. I knew I needed to get going but thought that talking about basketball for a minute or two might be fun.

“I mean, for your first real game, that was pretty sweet.”

“Are you coming up?” Owen asked from the top of the stairs.

“Just a sec,” Chris called back, then turned to me again. “Can you teach me some of your moves?”

“My moves?”

“Yeah, that jump shot is awesome.”

“You want
me
to teach
you
?” I asked, stunned.

“Sure. You help me with the jump shot and I'll help you with your dribbling.”

“Chris!” Owen called again.

“I'm coming,” Chris answered. “Maybe we should stay late after practice sometime and—”

“Chris!” Owen shouted.

“Geez, I'm coming!” He punched my shoulder again. “We'll figure something out later, Russ.”

I smiled as I finished gathering my Masters materials together and said good-bye to Mom.

Sara's house was close enough that I could walk, and all
the way there, I thought about the unexpected things basketball was doing for me. It was building my confidence. I was making new friends. And most amazing of all? I was having fun.

“Hey, Russell,” Sara said when she opened her front door.

“Sorry I'm late,” I told her. “I was talking to one of the basketball guys. You know, about the game last night.”

“I heard about it,” she said.

“Thanks,” I told her, then realized she hadn't complimented my playing. Embarrassed, I quickly said, “I mean, it was a good game.”

“I'm glad,” she said, but she didn't sound very enthusiastic. “Everyone is downstairs.”

I would have liked to tell her about my big play, but I quietly followed her instead.

“There he is,” Nitu said when we walked into the TV room. The rest of the team was already there, waiting. “The basketball star.”

“In person,” I said, grinning.

“And late,” Arthur Richardson the Third said, pointing to his watch. “I thought we agreed to meet at ten, Russell.”

“We did.”

“Then why are you arriving at seven minutes past?”

“Sorry, I was just—”

“We don't need an excuse,” Arthur said, rolling his eyes. “We need everyone to be on time.”

“Sure, but …” I glanced at Nitu, who shook her head like it was pointless to argue with him. It probably was.