Athlete vs. Mathlete: Double Dribble (14 page)

I lifted his favorite hoodie from his bed and put it on, amazed at how short the arms were. I always forgot that I had the height advantage. Then again, Owen had the muscle—the body of the sweatshirt was huge on me.

I settled into his chair and closed my eyes.

“What are you doing?” Owen's voice asked from behind me.

I spun around to face him, surprised. “Nothing, I was just—”

“Boys! Dinner!” Dad shouted from downstairs.

“Never mind,” Owen said, reaching for another Blazer hoodie. He slipped it over his head and led the way out of his room.

“I'm calling the center cushion for the game tonight,” he said over his shoulder on the way downstairs.

“Fine,” I said, glad to see him in a better mood.

Unfortunately, it didn't last very long.

My stomach was full of what had to be the best Hodge Podge ever, the headache I'd had from the game was washed away in the shower, and when I sat down on the center cushion with a bowl of chips in my lap, ready to share it with Dad and Russell, I was almost back to feeling good. Or normal, anyway.

And I know that sounds totally nuts because we
lost the game
.

After weeks of looking forward to taking on Dante Powers, I'd played one of the worst games of my life, so I'd been super ticked off on the way home.

It didn't hit me until I got into the shower that even though we had lost, something awesome had happened.

I hadn't stopped Dante in his tracks, but neither had
Mitch and Marcus. They hadn't been carried out of the gym on Pioneer shoulders.

We'd
all
blown it.

And that brought a smile to my face.

I glanced at Russ, who looked totally confused by my good mood.

“We're probably down to the last few minutes of the news,” Dad said, flipping the channel to twelve. “Ahh, the sports report.”

I looked up at the TV and my whole body went stiff.

No way
.

Dante Powers was on our screen, dribbling like he was born doing it while some guy chased him around, waving his arms like a freakin' windmill.

And that guy was
me
.

“No way,” I whispered, out loud this time.

“We'll be right back with the story of a local basketball phenom right after this,” a woman's voice said.

Dad turned to me. “That looked like—”

“It was,” I told him.

I knew I'd been a train wreck at the game, but I had no idea I looked
that
bad.

I'd waited my whole stinkin' life to get on TV and when I finally made it, they showed the worst moments of the worst game of my life?

I mean,
come on
.

And while I was being totally outplayed by Dante
Powers, my twin “teammates” were standing in the background and doing nothing to help me.

They were total jerks.

“Hey, you looked great out there,” Dad said, during a commercial for Ford trucks. I wished one would plow through the wall right that second and run me over.

“Dad, don't,” I begged.

“I'm serious.”

I waited for the Dante Powers story to come on, and as much as I hoped they wouldn't do it, the news people showed the same clip again.

In slow motion
.

It didn't look like I had any control over my arms or legs.

“And I'm supposed to show my face at school tomorrow?” I asked.

“It wasn't that bad,” Russ said.

This, coming from a kid wearing a periodic table T-shirt with a huge chunk of mushroom jammed in his braces.

“You've got to be kidding me.”

“No. I mean, it didn't look that bad at the time.” Russ squinted at the TV. “But the slow motion isn't doing you any favors.”

“I can't believe this is happening.”

“I doubt anybody even saw it,” Dad said. “Seriously, O, how many of your friends watch the nightly news?”

I didn't think
anybody
I knew watched the stupid news,
but the next day, practically every kid in the hallway either laughed, impersonated my arms spinning around while I looked totally lost, or worse, both.

All I wanted to do was hide.

It was the most embarrassing moment of my life.

And I couldn't really blame Dante Powers. Because he hadn't even tried to humiliate me with his playing or make me look like a loser. No, he was just doing his own thing. He was an awesome player, so he played awesome. It was as simple as that.

But Mitch and Marcus were another story, and I was pretty ticked off at both of them.

They'd had each other's backs every second of the game, and when they weren't feeding each other the ball and making baskets, they were doubling up on Dante and the rest of the Huskies, making each other look like superstars.

In the cafeteria, I met up with Nate, Paul, and Nicky Chu at our usual table.

“Incoming!” Nate warned, and we all ducked our heads.

About half a second later, three slices of unidentified lunch meat slapped the wall next to us, then slid down it and disappeared under the table.

All that was left was a trail of shiny slime.

“Seriously gross,” Paul groaned.

We all looked over at the far corner, where we knew the eighth graders were sitting.

Sure enough, they were laughing at us.

“Hey, is that Mitch and Marcus?” Nate asked.

It was! They were sitting with the eighth graders and shrugging at us, like they hadn't been able to stop the food from flying our way.

“So
that's
where they spend their lunch hour,” I muttered.

“They've been eating over there every day,” Chris said. “Haven't you guys noticed?”

“The eighth graders invited them to sit over there?” Nate asked.

“They must have,” Chris said with a shrug.

“Traitors,” I muttered, taking a bite of my turkey sandwich.

“
They
didn't throw it,” Paul said.

“So? They shouldn't be sitting with those guys, anyway.”

Nicky Chu rolled his eyes. “Are you saying that if the eighth graders invited
you
to sit at their table, you'd turn them down?”

“Definitely,” I said, sounding way more sure than I felt.

“Yeah, right,” Nate said, laughing.

“All I know,” Nicky Chu said, “is we owe the Matthews twins, big-time.”

“What?” I gasped, losing half of a mouthful of turkey.

“Say it, don't spray it,” Paul said, wiping chunks off his shirt.

“Owe them for what?” I asked, looking at each of them and their stupid gelled hair. “Coming up with a new hair-style?”

“No, saving our tails at yesterday's game,” Nicky said, shrugging.

“
Dude
, we lost,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, by seventeen points. It could have been a total blowout.”

“Seventeen points isn't a blowout?” I gasped. “On what planet?”

Nicky sighed. “All I'm saying is Dante Powers could have made that game seriously embarrassing.”

I felt a quick blast of hope. Maybe none of the Pioneers had seen me on TV!

“Exactly,” Nate said. “Thanks to Mitch and Marcus, we left Hogarth with some dignity.”

“Well, most of us did,” Paul snickered. “Did anybody catch Owen on channel twelve?”

“Don't even, Paul,” I snapped, before anyone else could say a word.

“It was classic,” he continued, chuckling. “The way your arms kept swinging when there was nothing there? It cracked me up.”

“I didn't think it was funny,” Chris said.

I was glad somebody had my back until I realized he wasn't finished.

“It was
hilarious
.”

“Thanks a lot,” I muttered.

At that moment, I felt someone smack the back of my head. I spun around, ready to tear them apart, but there was nobody there.

“Oh, man,” Nate said, shaking his head. “That's over the top.”

I didn't know what he was talking about until I felt the wet meat slide past my ear and into my lap.

“You've got to be kidding me,” I muttered, feeling my face get hot.

I'd had it.

I didn't even bother looking at the eighth graders. I dropped my sandwich on the table and looked for something, anything I could use.

“What are you doing?” Nicky Chu asked, as I started digging around in my lunch bag.

“Bad idea,” Paul said when I pulled out a container of chocolate pudding. “
Really
bad idea.”

I opened the Baggie Mom used for my sandwich and dumped my pudding into it. I scraped every bit out of the cup with my spoon and smiled.

“Owen,” Chris warned.

I sealed it
most
of the way.

Before my teammates could stop me, I stood up and chucked the bag as hard as I could, watching it whip through the air toward its target.

Finally, the Twinvaders were going down!

“Yes!” I whispered when it flew over the second-to-last table and into the aisle where …

Splat!

It hit my brother in the head.

I froze, totally shocked. And when the whole student body turned to see who'd thrown it, there I was, with guilt all over my face.

Which was probably better than pudding.

“Sorry, Russ,” I said so quietly I barely even heard myself.

I couldn't see whether he was glaring at me because the chocolate goop covered both lenses of his glasses.

He didn't say a word as he turned and walked toward the bathroom. A couple of his Masters of the Mind friends followed him, and I definitely saw
their
glares.

“Geez, Owen. What did you do that for?” Paul asked, as soon as the cafeteria was buzzing with conversation again.

“It was an accident,” I snapped.

“An accident?” Chris asked.

“I mean hitting Russ was an accident, and—”

Before I had a chance to say anything else, one of the cafeteria ladies was standing next to me. She didn't look happy.

That made two of us.

Three, if I counted Russ.

I honestly couldn't believe my luck, but after a whole afternoon of worrying about how mad Russ was, he forgave me on the way home. As soon as I explained what had happened and what I'd been trying to do, he nodded and said, “I understand.”

I knew I didn't deserve his forgiveness, but I was very happy to have it.

“I'll bet Mom and Dad get a call from the principal,” I told him. “I'm gonna be toast.”

“Nope,” he said, shaking his head. “I went to the office after I cleaned up and told them it was an accident. Luckily Mrs. Meadows hadn't actually seen it happen.”

I let out a huge sigh of relief. “Thank you, Russ.”

“You're my brother,” he said with a shrug.

“Yeah, but—”

“I'm not saying it was a good idea, because it was terrible.”

“I know,” I said, and sighed. Russ couldn't hurt a fly. Not even a pair of superannoying identical flies that were just
begging
to be swatted.