by W. C. Mack
“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.
Jason cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “How about we start with some word problems?”
“I was thinking we should take another run at the egg drop,” I told him. “I think the idea I came up with could work and—”
“Could? We need an idea that will work,” Arthur interrupted. “And speaking of ideas, there’s something I’d like to discuss with the group.”
“What now?” Nitu asked, rolling her eyes.
“Leadership.”
“What about it?” I asked, my whole body tense.
Tungsten, vanadium, manganese.
He stared at me. “I think this team needs some.”
“We have a leader,” Sara said, softly, glancing at me.
“I mean full-time.”
“What are you—” I began, but he interrupted me.
“In the short period of time I’ve been part of this team, you’ve missed two meetings, left your brain at home during the Beaumont practice session, and seem to be much more interested in basketball than anything else.”
“That’s not true,” I told him.
“I think this team needs to consider electing a new leader.”
“Who, you?” I snapped.
“Is that a nomination?” he asked.
“No.” I looked at Nitu, then at Jason and Sara. “Is this how all of you feel?” I asked, through the lump in my throat.
“No,” Nitu said. “You’re a great team leader.” She glared at Arthur.
“Jason?” I asked.
“Uh,” he said, looking even more uncomfortable than before. “You have seemed kind of, uh, distracted, and the district competition is coming up fast.”
I stared at him, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “What about you, Sara?” I asked the quietest member of the team.
She bit her lip for a second or two before answering. “Your basketball schedule seems pretty busy, you know?” She bit her lip again.
Arthur smirked.
“It’s going to be fine,” Nitu told the group. “Russell can handle it, can’t you?”
I nodded, but knowing that part of the team had lost confidence in me, I wasn’t so sure.
“We can talk about it later,” Arthur said. “Just like the egg challenge. In the meantime,” he said, “let’s get started on some word problems, right, Jason?”
It was like he’d already taken over.
Intentional Foul
In between our first and second games, when I was feeling madder than ever at Russ, I started thinking about Tim Camden even more than usual. The guy made plays and points, period. Sure, he might not have been everyone’s hero, but he was a go-to guy. And that was more important than being liked.
So, I’d decided that the best way to handle the Russell situation was to be just like Camden.
“Are you ready?” Russell asked, meeting up with me and Chris on the way to the gym on game day.
I didn’t say anything.
“Sure,” Chris told him. “This one’s in the bag.”
An eighth grader was standing outside the gym when we got there. “Let’s see that hustle, Russell,” she said, smiling up at him.
“Uh, sure.” Russ’s cheeks turned red.
“Man, everyone’s into it,” Chris said, chuckling. “All I’ve been hearing about is the Russell Hustle.”
When we walked into the gym, I saw what he meant.
There were signs all over place. Sure, a bunch said “Pioneers Rule” and stuff like that, but tons of them were about Russell and his hustle.
“Mom and I got off work early for the game,” Dad said, climbing up the bleachers and grinning. “The Russell Hustle. We love it!”
“Yeah, it’s awesome,” I said, gritting my teeth. “I’d better go get changed.”
I was sick of everything. The three-pointers, the jump shots, the Nikes, and now the Russell Hustle.
I had to make my mark on the game. It was time to leave my brother in the dust.
But at tip-off, I was stuck on the bench.
Meanwhile, Mr. Hustle was at center court, in front of a chanting crowd. The way things were going, he’d probably be riding a float home after the game.
When the ref blew his whistle, I watched Russ jump and tap the ball toward Paul, who got double-teamed by two of the Eagles.
“Somebody open up for him,” Coach Baxter shouted. “Help him out!”
Nate tried to lose the guy who was guarding him, but couldn’t get away.
“Keep moving, guys!” Coach shouted.
Suddenly, Russ ran down the court and made a hard left, his awesome Nikes squeaking against the hardwood.
“I’m open!” he shouted.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Paul spun around and threw him the ball.
Russ was smart enough to stay where he was, instead of messing everything up by trying to dribble.
I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn’t help watching him make that stupid jump shot.
Again.
Swish.
“Nice hustle, Russell!” some girls screamed from the middle of the bleachers.
Didn’t anyone see that he had no skills? Sure, he could shoot, but he wasn’t even moving with the ball.
One of the Eagles took a shot, and it bounced off the rim. Paul and Nicky battled the point guard for the ball, but the Eagles ended up with possession.
The scuffle gave Russ just enough time to jog down the court in slow motion. When the Eagle lined up his shot and let go of the ball, Russell blocked it.
Somebody in the stands shouted “Denied!” and that got the cheers going again.
Nate grabbed the loose ball and took off toward the Skyline Eagles’ basket. He missed his shot and the crowd groaned until Russell caught the rebound. He threw the ball and I held my breath, watching it fly through the air.
And miss the hoop.
I let out the breath.
Whew!
Coach called a time-out and the guys came in for a huddle.
“Russ, you’re a dy
namo,” Coach said, slapping him on the back. “Great teamwork out there, all of you. I really like what I’m seeing.” He saw my brother panting. “Russell, hit the bench. Owen, take center.”
Awesome.
It was my turn to rock the gym.
Half a second in, I snatched the ball from one of the Eagle guards and took off down the court. They thought Russell could hustle? They hadn’t seen anything yet.
I was the go-to guy, just like the teenagers said.
“I’m open!” I heard Paul shout.
I bounced the ball off the backboard and into the net.
Yes! Two points for the other Evans brother, thank you very much. And I was just getting started.
I ran backward toward our net, keeping an eye on the ball as one of the Eagles dribbled toward center court, then crossed the line. He looked to his left and I knew he was going to pass. At the last second, I stole the ball.
The crowd cheered when I raced back down the court.
“Over here,” Nate yelled.
I took the shot. Another two points for me!
I mean, the team.
Either way, I was on fire!
“Are you deaf?” Nate asked me, as we ran back down the court.
“What?”
“Very funny.”
“Hey, they were easy shots, so I took them.”
Geez. If he wanted to make the shots, he should have been the one stealing the ball.
I couldn’t do everything.
Or could I?
Once we had possession again, Nate threw the ball more at me than to me. I took off with it, shouldering past one of the Eagle players, but another one stood between me and the basket.
“Pass it!” Coach Baxter shouted from the sidelines.
Forget that, I was in perfect position! I crouched and eyeballed the basket.
“I’m open,” Paul shouted, over the sound of the crowd.
I ignored him and threw the ball. It flew through the air, heading straight for the net.
But didn’t get there.
“Air ball!” the Eagles fans sang.
And that was when Coach called another time-out.
“Ball hog,” Paul muttered as we walked over to the bench.
Coach’s face was bright red. “Didn’t you hear me, Owen? I told you to pass.”
“Sorry,” I told him. “I thought I could make it.”
Nate and Paul both glared at me.
Russell patted me on the back and whispered, “It was a good try, Owen.”
I didn’t need to hear it from him! Good try? I’d already put us in the freakin’ lead.
“Let’s share the ball out there, okay?” Coach was looking straight at me.
The buzzer sounded and we were back in the game.
I thought about sharing, but why miss out on easy baskets?
The next time I got the ball, I drove to the net. Two more points.
“You’re not Camden,” Paul said.
“I never said I was.”
“Well, you’re acting like him.”
“Yeah,” Nate agreed. “And remember the Blazers traded him.”
“For two guys.” I waved two fingers at them. “It took two guys to replace him.”
“Yeah, but now the Blazers are winning,” Paul said.
“So are we,” I growled, pointing at the scoreboard.
After a few more minutes, Russell was back in. He waved at me, but I just nodded back. I could feel my stomach tensing up, being on the court with him.
When he made another stupid jump shot, the crowd cheered, louder than they’d cheered for me.
One of the Eagle guards stole the ball from Nate, but when he missed a shot, I picked up the rebound and took off.
“Russell’s open!” Coach Baxter shouted from the sidelines.
“Pass it!” Chris yelled, keeping pace beside me.
That’s when I tripped and lost the ball.
Russell caught it and started trying to dribble toward the basket.
Not another shot! It was my turn!
I ran over to him. “Give it.”
“Huh?” He squinted at me through his smudged glasses.
The fans were so loud, I had to shout. “Give me the ball!”
“But—”
In mid-bounce, I grabbed it.
I swear the whole crowd gasped, but I didn’t care. I turned toward the net.
“Let Russell shoot!” somebody shouted.
But I couldn’t do that. Not again.
The ball bounced off the rim, and the crowd groaned.
Coach Baxter called a time-out and started yelling at me before I even got to the bench. “You’re out of the game!”
“What?” I choked.
The crowd started booing, and I was sure they were mad at Coach for pulling me. Then I realized they were actually booing me. The guy who was working harder than anyone to win the game!
While I sat on the bench, Coach let me have it.
“What are you trying to do out there?” He was so mad his mouth was foaming, and there were bits of spit flying everywhere. “No passing?” he asked.
“We needed points, and I got, like, twelve.”
“And lost us just as many,” Coach barked.
None of the guys said anything. They just stood there.
“Have you ever heard that there’s no ‘I’ in teamwork?” Coach asked.
I’d had enough. Didn’t anyone see how much I was doing for the team? “Yeah, but there’s an ‘I’ in points,” I told him.
“What did you say?” he asked, leaning toward me.
“Uh-oh,” Chris whispered.
Russell shook his head, like I should stop.
But I wasn’t finished. “There’s one in points, one in win …” I thought for a second. “And there’s one in victory.”
“Don’t forget there’s one in idiot,” Paul muttered.
“Two, actually,” Russell told him.
I shot him a dirty look. “Thanks.”
“Well, there are,” Russ said.
Coach took a deep breath. “What you boys just witnessed was the worst show of sportsmanship I have ever seen.”
Great.
“Did Jordan ever hog the ball like that?” Nate asked.
“Jordan?” Coach asked, looking confused.
“Michael Jordan,” Nate said. “Did he hog the ball when you coached him?”
“Hold on,” Coach said. “Who said I coached Michael Jordan?”
“Owen,” three guys said at once.
“What?” Coach stared at me.
I cleared my throat. “Okay, I didn’t actually say you coached him. I just … didn’t say you didn’t.”
Everyone was quiet.
“Well, I didn’t coach Michael Jordan,” Coach Baxter said. “And here’s an interesting fact you might want to consider. In his sophomore year of high school, nobody did.”
“What?” Chris asked.
“He got cut from the team,” Coach Baxter said, then looked at me. “Which is exactly where you’re headed if you don’t shape up.”
The buzzer went off and the guys headed back out to the court. Chris took my position, while I sat on the bench.
We ended up winning the game, thanks to Russell’s seventeen points and eight rebounds.
I took off right at the final buzzer, wanting to get out of there as fast as I could. I’d almost finished stuffing my gear into my bag when the rest of the team caught up with me.
“Nice game, Owen,” Paul said. “I never knew basketball was a solo sport.”
I didn’t say anything.
“Why didn’t you just share the ball?” Chris asked.
I shrugged. “I wanted to win.”
“Oh yeah?” Paul asked. “Well, so did we.”
Russell was the last guy into the locker room, and he didn’t look at me or say anything. He just sat on the bench and took off his shoes.
“You were the hero, man,” Nate said, grinning and slapping him on t
he back. “Seventeen points. That’s awesome!”
The guys crowded around Russell, and his face got all red.
When they all started high-fiving him, I knew I had to get out of there before I puked. I walked along the back of the bench, and that’s when I saw them.
The Nikes.
I checked over my shoulder to make sure no one was looking and picked them up off the floor. I shoved them into my bag, and instead of climbing the stairs to meet Mom and Dad, I opened the custodian’s door and went outside.
There was no one around, so I ran around the corner to the Dumpster behind the cafeteria and pulled the shoes out of my bag.
I didn’t even have to think about what I did next.
I threw them into the Dumpster and heard a splat.
Gross.
I ran back to the locker room, like nothing had happened, and raced through to the gym before anybody noticed me.
“Not your best game,” Dad said when I met him in the stands. “You’ve got to start passing.”
“I was just trying to win,” I told him. Why did I have to keep explaining that?
“You’ll do better next time,” Mom said, giving me a hug.
“Where’s Russell?” Dad asked.
“Right here,” he said from behind me.
I couldn’t help checking his feet, hoping he’d brought another pair of shoes.
Whew.
Loafers.
When I looked up again, Russ was staring at me.
“You were phenomenal!” Dad said, pulling him into a hug.
“Seventeen points,” Mom said. “Just fantastic!”
“We should go out for dinner, to celebrate,” Dad said, rubbing his belly.
My stomach was growling and I thought a big juicy hamburger might help me forget my time on the bench, so—
“Would it be okay if we just went home?” Russell asked. “I’m not feeling very well.”
“Is it your tummy?” Mom asked.
I checked to make sure no one heard her. We didn’t say “tummy” in middle school.
We said gut, and mine was ready for some greasy french fries.
“Kind of,” Russ said, staring at me.
That’s when my juicy hamburger went out the window.
Russ and I sat in the backseat for the drive home, and while Mom and Dad talked about the great game, Russ stared straight ahead and I stared at my hands.
“You two made quite the team out there,” Mom said.
“Well, they would have, if Owen had passed Russ the ball a few times,” Dad said.
