Athlete vs. Mathlete (5 page)

It was pretty awesome.

I guess when Mom said disaster zone, she meant the clothes, games, and junk I'd dumped on the floor.

Oh, well.

After I finished beating Dad at HORSE, I changed into
my only clean pair of shorts and a gray Blazers T-shirt, then dug around to find my second-best pair of shoes. I was saving the brand-new ones for the Pioneers' season opener.

I was dressed in less than two minutes, which was probably a record, and out the door to meet the guys in three.

Man, I loved Saturday mornings.

Sunset Park was only a couple of blocks away, and I jogged there, figuring it couldn't hurt to warm up.

When I got to the park, Chris, Paul, Nate, and a couple of other guys were already waiting, so we had enough for three-on-three.

Awesome!

“No Nicky Chu?” I asked.

“It's his grandma's birthday,” Paul said. “No Russ?” he asked, smiling like it was a joke.

“No, he has a …” I stopped because I knew they'd laugh if I said anything about Masters of the Mind. “He's helping my dad.”

“Too bad,” Nate said, laughing. “I'm dying to see his moves.”

Paul snorted. “Yeah, I bet he's got some
killer
moves.”

“Yeah, well, not today,” I told them, kind of ticked off. “So, who's on my team?”

“Me,” Chris said. “You, too, Nate?”

“Sure,” he said, crossing the free-throw line to side with us.

“So, are we playing or what?” Paul asked, holding the ball.

“Oh, we're playing.” Chris moved closer. “It's on, now.”

“Oh yeah?” Paul asked. He started dribbling toward our net.

Chris was on him right away, so Paul passed to Mark, who came straight at me.

I kept my feet apart so I'd be ready to move in any direction, like Dad taught me. I bounced back and forth, hoping to steal the ball as soon as I got the chance.

The second Mark faked left, I snatched the ball and started dribbling toward their basket. I could hear him chasing me and Paul yelling for him to catch up, but I knew he wouldn't.

I dribbled in for a layup, smiling as the ball bounced off the backboard and right through the net.

“Sweet!” Nate said, giving me a high five.

Being on the court felt amazing. I loved the sound of the ball hitting the pavement; the guys shouting back and forth to pass, shoot, or block; and feeling like my lungs were on fire from running so hard.

After an hour, we all needed a break, so we flopped on the grass.

“Did you guys watch the game last night?” I asked, when I'd caught my breath. The Blazers had won by twelve points.

“It was awesome,” Chris said.

“This might be our year,” I told the guys. “The Blazers could be champs.”

“So could the Pioneers,” Paul said.

I smiled up at the sky. “Now
that
would be awesome.”

“Yeah, but we'll have to make it through tryouts first,” Chris groaned.

“No problem,” Paul told him. “When Coach sees us rock the court, he'll put all of us on the team. Everything will be just like last year.”

I couldn't wait.

I knew Dad was excited about Russell trying out, but I didn't know
how
excited until he woke us up on Sunday morning.

“Rise and shine, boys!” he shouted as he came up the stairs.

“What time is it?” I croaked when he tapped on my door.

“Time for a quick lap around the neighborhood before we get down to business.”

Already?

I closed my eyes when I heard him go back downstairs, thinking I had a bit more time to lie there. But he swung my door wide open a few minutes later.

“Let's go, Owen. We're losing daylight.”

Did we even
have
daylight yet?

By the time I'd dressed and double-knotted my Adidas, I could hear Russell moving around in his room.

I found Dad, some big glasses of milk, and a stack of toast in the kitchen.

He scooped some sugar into his coffee and sat down next to me. “Is Russ awake?”

Before I could answer, my brother was standing in the doorway. For a day of working out, he was wearing a green turtleneck and corduroy pants.

I looked at his feet.

Loafers
.

“Hey, Russ,” I said, taking a bite of my toast and waiting to see the look on Dad's face.

He looked up at my brother, then turned to stare at me.

All I could do was shrug.

Dad turned back to Russ. “You're going to need shorts.”

“I thought it might be cold out there,” Russ said.

“Not when we're
running
,” I told him.

“Oh.” He scratched his head and his hand disappeared in his curly hair. “Well, I don't have shorts, but I have some jeans or—”

“Owen,” Dad interrupted, “maybe you can loan him some gear.”

He hadn't noticed that Russ was built like a pencil and I was more of an eraser?

“I don't think my stuff will fit, Dad.”

“Just give it a shot,” he said.

I left my toast on my plate and led Russell upstairs.

Dad played basketball in college, and I knew he wanted me to follow in his footsteps, but did he really think Russ could, too?

There was no way.

In my closet, I found a T-shirt I'd almost grown out of and a pair of sweatpants I'd cut off into shorts. At least they had an elastic waistband.

While Russ got changed, I went into his room to find the cheap running shoes Mom bought when we were back-to-school shopping.

They were in his closet and still in the box, but not for the same reason that mine were. Mine were in mint condition for the season opener. But Russ's? I doubted he'd ever wear them outside of gym class.

I headed back to my room, where Russ was getting changed, and found some white socks in my top drawer.

When I turned around, my twin was standing in the middle of my room with his hands on his hips. It took only a second for me to guess that he was trying to hold up the shorts.

“Too big?” I asked, handing him the shoe box.

“No, these will work,” he told me, but when he reached for the shoes, the shorts started falling down.

“I don't think so, Russ,” I said, shaking my head. “Don't you have gym clothes?”

He shrugged. “They're at school.”

“Of course.” I sighed and went back to the closet to find my leather belt.

Man, if getting him dressed was this hard, how bad would the rest of it be?

When we got back to the kitchen, Dad gave me the look I remembered from when I tried to jump over our hedge on my bike but … didn't make it. And the hedge
really
didn't make it.

The look meant Dad wanted an explanation.

“We did our best,” I told him, shrugging.

He squinted at Russ's shoes. “Where did you get those?”

“Sears,” Russ told him. “Mom took us shopping before school started.”

Dad looked at mine, which cost twice as much and looked about a thousand times better. “And where did yours come from?”

“Sears,” I said, kind of embarrassed. “Last year. These are my old ones.”

“Your
old
ones?” Dad asked, surprised.

“Yeah, I'm saving the new ones.”

He looked at Russell's shoes again and shook his head. “I don't understand what your mom was thinking. Those don't look like they have any kind of ankle support.”

“They were on sale,” Russ explained. “I needed a scientific calculator.”

“What?” Dad ran his fingers through his hair and stared at my brother.

I recognized that look, too. He was getting frustrated.

“A scientific calculator,” Russ explained. “They're pretty expensive, so I got the cheaper shoes.”

Dad turned to me. “I take it you didn't need a scientific calculator?”

Russ and I both cracked up at the same time.

Dad sighed and pointed us toward the table. “Okay, let's at least get you guys fed while I think.”

I picked up my toast while Russell went straight for the milk.

“How about this?” Dad said, after a minute or so. “Owen, you can lend Russ your new shoes for today and—”

“What?” I gasped. My brand-new-mint-condition-still-in-the-box-and-saved-for-the-past-month shoes?

“They won't fit,” Russ said, stopping my panic attack. “We haven't had the same size feet since we were babies, Dad.”

Dad sighed. “Okay, then we use a backup plan.”

“What backup plan?” I asked, hoping it didn't have anything to do with wrecking
my
stuff.

“We'll head down to the mall this morning and get Russ some gear. He's going to need shoes, shorts … and anything else, Russ?”

What?

Mom always split the back-to-school shopping right
down the middle, and now Russ was going to get a bunch of new stuff?

Russ shook his head, looking worried. “Dad, I don't think I need—”

“Of course you do,” Dad said. “You can't play basketball in that … outfit.”

He had to be kidding!

New gear would be worn once or twice,
max
, then dumped in the back of his closet, forever.

What a total waste!

Seriously, buying a third pair of shoes for me would be a better investment. And I even knew which ones I wanted.

“He's only trying out,” I reminded Dad.

“Exactly.” Russell nodded. “It would be a waste of money to—”

“It's not a waste of anything,” Dad said, reaching over to pat his shoulder. “These are basic necessities if you're going to play ball this year.”

“But I'm not,” Russ told him. “I'm not going to make the team, Dad.”

“You don't know that,” he said. “Coach wants you to try out for a reason.”

“I know. One reason: I'm tall.”

“It's
basketball
, son. Being tall is half the battle.”

Russell slumped in his chair and didn't say anything else.

It was kind of weird to see someone look that sad about
getting new shoes and shorts. Then again, I probably would have had a total meltdown if anyone tried to give me a scientific calculator.

“Let's finish up with breakfast, get your gear, and we can start training,” Dad said, taking the last gulp of his coffee.

Yeah, right.
Training
.

The Conversion Factor

It turned out that my Sunday morning wasn't eaten up by the dreaded basketball training. It was much worse than that. The hours were devoured by … shopping.

“So, how was yesterday's meeting?” Dad asked during the drive to the mall.

Just like Owen, he'd never asked me about Masters of the Mind before. Ever.

“It was fine.”

“You boys are ready for the big game?” he asked.

“District competition,” I corrected. “And it's a mixed team. Boys and girls.”

“Oh, sure,” Dad said. “A mixed team. So, what are you working on?”

I described the oral quiz and the egg-drop challenge.

“Two stories, huh?” Dad asked. “Can you boil the water?”

“Ha!” Owen turned and grinned at me. “That's what
I
asked.”

“We have no heat source,” I told him.

“Gotcha.” Dad nodded. “So you'll drop the egg out of the window, and if it breaks …?”

“Even if it cracks, we'll be eliminated.”

“And if you win?” he asked.

“We go to Regionals, then State, then the National Championship.”

“Like basketball,” Owen said.

Not like basketball at all, actually. We were creative problem solving, not throwing a ball around.

“Huh,” Dad said, but didn't ask anything else.

Why couldn't my family give Masters of the Mind a chance?

The van was quiet for a couple of minutes, and I realized it was up to me to keep the conversation going.

“Arthur Richardson the Third wants to join the team,” I said, knowing he was in at least one of Owen's classes.