by W. C. Mack
Contents
Tip-off
The Undiscovered Element
Personal Foul
Weights and Measures
Technical Foul
The Conversion Factor
Bounce Pass
Negative Impact
Free Throw
The Intersection of Sets
Turnover
Common Denominator
Fast Break
Complex Division
Intentional Foul
Boiling Point
Time-out
Perfect Symmetry
Squaring Up
Bonding Energy
Nothing but Net
Acknowledgements
For the boys: Tyler, Colten, Joey, and Christian
And for Mike, superfan of the 1976–77 World Champion
Portland Trail Blazers
Tip-off
Seventh-grade basketball started out all wrong, and it only got worse.
“He wants us to try out?” Chris asked.
“Unbelievable,” I muttered, staring at the sign-up sheet on our new coach’s office door.
Try out for our own team?
Chris, the rest of the guys, and I had been playing together since Cotter Elementary. We were undefeated in sixth grade (if you didn’t count our five losses, which I didn’t because the refs had been out to get us), and we’d been shooting hoops at Sunset Park all summer to stay on top of our game.
“Next Wednesday afternoon,” Chris said, then pointed at the word as he read it. “Tryouts.”
I shook my head. “This is nuts.”
“Yeah, but what can we do about it?”
“Talk to the coach,” I said, knocking on his door.
“Come in,” a deep voice boomed from inside the office.
“You coming?” I asked Chris, hoping I had backup.
“Uh …” He took a couple of steps away from me.
“I guess that’s a no.” I rolled my eyes, turned the knob, and swung the door open.
I only knew three facts about our new coach:
1. He was from North Carolina.
2. He loved to win.
3. He wanted us to try out for our own team.
And when I walked into his office …
4. He was a freakin’ giant.
Seriously, like thirteen feet tall. And it was all muscle.
Before I could say anything, I heard Chris breathing next to me. Whew. I wasn’t facing the beast alone.
“Hi,” I said to Coach Baxter. It sounded like a squeak, so I cleared my throat and tried again. “Hi, Coach.”
“What can I do for you?” he asked, without looking up from the box of books he was unpacking.
I checked out the team photos on the wall behind his desk, the framed newspaper pages with “champ” headlines, and the shiny trophies on top of his bookcase.
The guy obviously knew what he was doing. But so did we, the Lewis and Clark Middle School Pioneers.
“The clock is ticking,” Coach Baxter growled.
I cleared my throat again. “Uh … it’s about the tryouts.”
Coach lined up the books on the middle shelf, from tallest to shortest. “Next Wednesday at three.”
“Yeah. I saw the sign, but I wanted to talk to you about it because—”
“You can’t make it? Tough break.” He reached into the box for more books. “It’s Wednesday at three. No exceptions.”
Chris elbowed me and whispered, “Let’s go.”
But I wasn’t finished. “I can make it. I just don’t think I need to.”
Coach Baxter finally looked at me, and I wished he hadn’t. His eyes were like death rays. “And why is that?” he asked, standing up straight and crossing his arms over his chest.
I was way off. He was probably closer to fourteen feet tall.
“Because I was on the team last year, and—”
“It’s a new year,” he interrupted.
“I know, but Coach Miller—”
“I’m the new coach.”
“Yeah, but the Pioneers—”
“It’s a new team.”
Getting a whole sentence out of my mouth would have been awesome. “I get that, but—”
“I don’t think you do,” he said, dropping into his chair. “What’s your name?”
“Uh-oh,” Chris whispered.
“Owen Evans.”
“Listen, Owen. I’m in charge, and I’ll pick my team the way I want to. Nobody gets a jersey just because they played last year. I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but that’s the way it is.” He looked us over. “Any questions?”
Chris and I both gulped.
“Okay, then I’ll see you next Wednesday, ready to work.”
“Sure.” I nodded, and Chris pushed me out the door.
Once we were back in the hallway, I groaned, “This totally stinks.”
We grabbed our stuff from our lockers, and I saw my brother, Russell, coming our way. He was carrying more books than any other kid in the hallway and his glasses were sliding down his nose, like they always did. He stopped to fix the top book on his stack and ended up dropping the whole pile on the floor.
“I can’t believe you guys are related,” Chris said, shaking his head.
No one could. We were twins, but nobody ever believed it, even when we said we were fraternal, not identical. Russell and I are totally different. He’s almost five inches taller than I am and has arms like wet spaghetti. Even in his brown cords, his legs look like toothpicks and his crazy curly hair is nothing like mine.
“Hey, Russ,” I said, picking up a couple of books and handing them to him.
“Thanks,” Russ said, smiling.
That was another difference between us. Russ never let stuff bug him, and I got mad a couple of times a day, minimum. Mom said I was a short fuse and he was a slow boil. The thing is, my brother never actually boiled over. Like, ever.
He checked his digital watch. “I’m late for class. I’ll see you at home,” he said, heading for the stairs.
“Hey, you!” a voice boomed from behind us.
It sounded like a jet flying too low, but instead of ducking, I turned around and saw Coach Baxter waving one arm in the air. It was like watching King Kong take over the hallway, and I was surprised he didn’t have a school bus full of screaming kids in one hand and a freaked-out librarian in the other.
Everyone was looking around, trying to see who he was yelling at.
“Tall kid!” Coach shouted.
The only one who hadn’t bothered to look was my brother.
“Do you mean Russell?” I asked, totally confused.
“Who’s Russell?” he barked at me.
“That skinny kid over there,” I said, pointing. “He’s my twin.”
Coach turned to stare at me.
“Fraternal,” I explained, then shouted, “Hey, Russ!”
That stopped him. My brother turned around, and I waved him over.
He had to fight the crowd, and when he finally got to us, his face was red and he was out of breath, like the spawning salmon we learned about in science class. “Yes?”
“Coach wants to talk to you,” I told him.
“He does?” When Russ turned to Coach, his eyes bugged out, like he hadn’t noticed there was a giant standing there. Like you couldn’t see the guy from outer space.
“You play?” Coach asked.
Russell looked as confused as I was. “Play what?”
“Basketball,” Coach said.
Chris and I both cracked up.
“What’s so funny?” Coach snapped.
That shut us up, and he looked at my brother again. “I want you to come to tryouts next week.”
Russ just stared at
him. “Are you talking about basketball tryouts?”
“No, ballet,” Coach growled.
Russ blinked hard. “I’m sorry. I don’t—”
“Of course I mean basketball.”
“Uh …” Russell looked at me as if I knew what was happening, but I had no idea.
Russell? Basketball? It had to be a joke.
“I think I’m going to need someone your height,” Coach said.
“My height?” Russ asked.
Coach stared into his eyes, like he was trying to figure out if there was something wrong with him. “Yes. You’re the tallest kid at this school, and you’d be perfect at center.”
Center? Paul played center!
“But I’m on the honor roll,” Russell said.
“And athletes can’t be good students?” Coach asked.
“No.”
“Thanks a lot,” I muttered.
“I disagree,” Coach said. “And I want to see you there next Wednesday.”
“But I—” Russell started.
Coach lifted a hand in the air to stop him. “This isn’t a request, uh … what’s your name again?”
“Russell Evans.” My brother sighed just like he did when Mom got him the wrong periodic-table T-shirt.
Like there was a right one.
“Mr. Evans,” Coach said, “I’ll see you at tryouts next Wednesday.”
I watched Coach disappear into his office and wondered if he was totally nuts. My brother was seriously the worst athlete on the planet. He couldn’t even dribble! He tripped over a soccer ball in second grade and broke his arm. He hit himself in the face with his own badminton racket. He was a perfect fit for the library, not the locker room.
Russ frowned. “So, I guess I’ll be making a complete fool of myself next Wednesday. Everyone knows I’m smart, not sporty.”
“Athletic,” I groaned. “No one says ‘sporty.’”
Russell nodded. “But you understand what I’m saying, don’t you? Everyone knows you’re the jock and I’m the brains. I’ll feel like a joke if I go.”
The fact was, he would be a joke. And the bigger mess he made of tryouts, the more I’d hear about it. Would the guys make fun of me, too, knowing Russ and I shared DNA? Probably. And that was the last thing I wanted to deal with.
I shook my head and an idea popped into it. An awesome idea. “Don’t worry about it, Russ. We’ll practice this weekend so you’ll be ready.”
Chris was looking at me like I was crazy. “That’s a long shot,” he whispered.
“Cool beans,” my brother said, nodding.
“No, it’s just cool, Russ.”
“Okay, cool.” He smiled.
As usual, there was something brown and gooey stuck in his braces.
“Look,” I said. “There’s no way you’ll make the team.”
“No way,” Chris echoed.
“Not a chance.” Russell laughed.
“But I promise to make tryouts as painless as possible.” For him and for me.
“Thanks, Owen,” he said, lifting his hand to give me a high five.
He missed.
“Did you get your practice schedule yet?” Dad asked me at the dinner table that night.
“Nope,” I said, shaking my head. “We have to make the team before we can practice.”
“Make the team?” Mom asked. “You’re already—”
“The new coach is making us try out.”
“Wow,” Dad said, passing me the chicken. “That’s different.”
“Yeah, different and stupid.”
“Hmm.” Dad raised his eyebrows. “That might be the only time I’ve ever heard you use the word ‘stupid’ to describe basketball.”
“Because it’s totally stupid. I was already on the team!”
“Maybe your new coach wants to shake things up a little,” Dad said.
Coach Baxter wasn’t just “shaking things up a little.” He was causing a freakin’ earthquake. “Yeah, right. He wants Russell to try out.”
Dad was reaching for the rice but he froze. He looked at my twin. “Is that true?”
“I guess,” Russ said, through a mouthful of green beans that would probably be stuck in his braces for the next four days.
“Well, that’s great news,” Dad said, slapping him on the back.
Russ almost choked. “I won’t make it,” he said.
“Who told you that?” Dad asked.
Russell looked at me and I shrugged.
“Owen?” Mom said, all disappointed. “That’s not very nice.”
“I wasn’t trying to be mean,” I told her. “He won’t, and he’s cool with that. Right, Russ?”
Both of my parents looked at my brother, waiting for an answer.
“I don’t care,” he told them. “Making the basketball team isn’t exactly a goal of mine.”
“I’m lost,” Mom said.
“Coach Baxter is forcing him to try out,” I explained. “He says he needs Russ’s height at center.”
“I can see that,” Dad said, nodding slowly.
“Wait a second,” Mom said. “The coach is forcing him to try out?”
“I think it’s a great idea,” Dad said, taking a bite of his chicken. “Are you ready for it, Russ?”
“Owen’s going to practice with me.”
Dad smiled at me. “I can help you guys out. We can run some drills on Saturday, then get a pickup game going in the park on Sunday.”
“What?” I gulped.
“Uh, I have a Masters of the Mind meeting on Saturday,” Russ said.
“Masters of the Mind,” Dad mumbled, probably trying to remember what that was. “Can’t you cancel?”
Russ’s eyes bulged open, like he had a chicken bone jammed in his throat.
“What?” Dad asked, shrugging. “Basketball tryouts are once a year.”
“So is the Masters of the Mind district competition,” Russ told him. “It’s only three weeks away.”
“And his team is depending on him,” Mom said, shooting Dad the kind of look none of us wanted to get.
“Exactly,” Russ said. “This could be our year, if we find the right replacement for Chao. Of course, we’ve got an excellent team already. Nitu is a math wizard and—”
“More wizards?” I laughed. “What was that wizard book you wouldn’t put down a couple of weeks ago?”
“Gruden’s Path.” Russ grinned. “It’s about a third-circle wizard who wants to become a Golden—”
“Okay, okay,” Dad said, holding up a hand to stop him before all our heads exploded. “Go to your meeting on Saturday, and we’ll practice on Sunday.” He nodded, like it was settled, then winked at Russ. “This is going to be a lot of fun.”
I wasn’t so sure.
The Undiscovered Element
I didn’t even mention basketball tryouts to my Masters of the Mind team because we had bigger issues to deal with. Our most artistic member, Chao Liu, had recently moved to Cincinnati, and I could practically smell the panic at our afternoon meeting.
“We’re doomed,” Jason Schmidt said, chewing on his thumbnail.
Of course, Jason thought he was doomed when the lunch ladies sprinkled cheese on his chili.
“At least we’re still close to him alphabetically,” Sara said hopefully. “You know, Ohio and Oregon.”
I wasn’t sure how that would help, but I appreciated her effort.
Jason groaned. “We’re doomed.”
“We’re not doomed,” I told him. “We’ll figure this out. After all, we’re brainstorming experts.”
“Please don’t tell me to put my thinking cap on, Russell,” Jason said, and sighed. “I can’t take it. I mean, this is serious.”
“I know it’s serious.” I looked each of my three teammates in the eye. “But all we really need to do is find someone else.”
“Yeah, and convince ‘someone else’ that Masters of the Mind is cool,” Nitu said.
“It is cool,” I reminded her.
&n
bsp; “We know that,” Sara said, “but everybody else thinks it’s a geek convention.”
“No, they don’t,” I told her.
“Actually, they do, Russell,” Nitu said, shrugging as she played with the tip of her long black braid. “But I don’t care. I love this team.”
“So do I.” I nodded. “And so will our new member.”
“I feel weird about this,” Sara said, quietly. “Chao was our friend.”
“And we’ll make another friend,” I promised. “You have to trust me.” And they did, too. I was team leader. “I’m sure there are tons of Lewis and Clark students who’ll jump at the chance to compete.”
“You really think so?” Jason asked doubtfully.
“We did,” I reminded him.
“That’s true.” Nitu nodded. “I was dying to join Masters of the Mind as soon as I saw the booth on Club Day.”
“My brother was on the team for three years,” Sara said. “I used to watch his competitions and daydream about my turn.”
I thought of the basketball team, whose members only cared about throwing a ball through a hoop, and shook my head. “So, should we get started with a warm-up?”
We agreed on a rhyming animal drill and Nitu began with, “Would a gray dog disappear in the fog?”
“Not bad,” Sara said, smiling. “Does an arctic fox need winter socks?”
“Do healthy parrots eat peas and carrots?” I asked.
We waited for Jason, but he was silent.
“Your turn,” Nitu said.
He frowned. “I’m trying to think of something that rhymes with squirrel.”
“Seriously?” Nitu groaned. “There’s a whole animal kingdom out there, Jason.”
“Fine.” He closed his eyes for a second, then asked, “Would a bath stop a monkey from smelling funky?”
We got on a roll from there.
“Do teenage rabbits have nasty habits?”
“Is a funny giraffe good for a laugh?”
“Do tired sheep have to stand while they sleep?”
“Would a hungry ape peel a grape?”
“Can a lonely dove fall in love?”
We kept our rhythm for several minutes until I asked, “Would a bear care to share his lair?”
Nitu gave me a sly smile. “Four at once, huh?”
“I can top that,” Jason said. “Would a big pig in a wig eat a fig?”
“Okay, that’s still four.” Sara laughed. “Would mice find two lice twice as nice?”
