by W. C. Mack
“Then say it,” Paul said, glaring at me.
I looked from one guy to the next, staring each of them right in the eye so they’d know I meant it. “I’m really sorry, guys. It won’t happen again.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Coach Baxter said, clapping his hands. “In basketball, you lose enough guys to injuries. I’d hate to lose one to ego.”
“You won’t,” I told him. “I’m sorry, Coach.”
“Hey, you’re passionate about the game,” he said, patting me on the back. “And that’s a good thing. You just can’t let the passion rule everything else.”
Russ didn’t go to the next practice either, and every time I tried to talk to him about basketball, he walked away.
When I invited him to watch a game on TV, he shook his head and went upstairs. When I asked him to pass the potatoes at the dinner table, he handed them over without even looking at me. I even tried asking him questions about science, just to get him talking, but even that didn’t work.
The house felt quiet and lonely.
I missed my brother, and he was right there in front of me.
“We have a game today,” I reminded him on Friday morning.
He didn’t care.
But the rest of us did. Parkrose Middle School was a good team, and we Pioneers had our work cut out for us.
Chris, Paul, and I met outside the school after the final bell and waited for the rest of the guys.
“So, are we going to take the Pacers down?” Paul asked.
I shrugged.
“Is Russ coming?”
“Nope,” I said, shaking my head.
“Nuts.” Paul sighed. “We need him.”
“I know. Look, I’ve tried talking to him, but he won’t listen.”
“What happened?” Chris asked, for, like, the tenth time.
I didn’t want anyone to know how much of a jerk I’d been. If the guys found out that it was totally my fault that Russ was bailing on basketball, they’d hate me.
“No idea,” I lied. “I think he’s busy with school.”
Luckily, the rest of the guys showed up so we could stop talking and get going.
“No Russell?” Coach asked, checking names on his clipboard as each of us climbed onto the bus.
“No,” I told him.
Coach put his hand on my shoulder to stop me. “Do you think he’ll come back?”
“I hope so,” I said. And it was true. I missed Russ more than I ever thought I could. At home, at school, and on the basketball court.
“Do what you can to convince him.”
“I will,” I told him, and went to find a seat.
“We’re going to have to work our butts off,” Chris said when I sat next to him. “These guys are good, and without Russ—”
“We’re the underdog,” I finished for him.
“Yeah,” Chris said, biting his lip. “We are.”
“But underdogs have won before,” I reminded him.
“I guess,” Chris said doubtfully.
“I have a feeling we’re going to win,” I told him. “And I mean win big.”
We lost.
And I mean lost big.
They killed us. Right from the start, it was like they were in high school and we were in kindergarten.
Their players were the same size as us, but twice as fast, so it always felt like they outnumbered us on the court.
Paul had eight turnovers … in the first half! Chris had three fouls and no points. Nate missed two free throws, right when we needed them.
And me? I passed the ball and tried to do the right thing whenever I could, but I’d only scored six points by the end of the game.
“That was brutal,” Chris moaned on the bus ride home.
“That’s what practice is for,” Coach said. “And boys, we will be practicing.”
Perfect Symmetry
I knew that skipping practices wasn’t fair to Coach or my teammates, but I did it, anyway.
I’m sure Owen thought that returning my spaghetti shoes and half apologizing was going to make everything okay between us, but he was wrong.
I had a lot to sort out in my mind, and it seemed like the best way to do that was to forget about basketball until I took care of everything else.
It was time for some changes.
The first thing that needed changing was my homework and study schedule, which had disappeared when basketball took over. I spent a couple of nights getting up to speed for all my classes, and I could feel my shoulders start to relax.
Next up was Masters of the Mind, but I had no idea how to repair my relationship with the group. Arthur Richardson the Third was ruining the team, and my gut instinct was to get rid of him.
But how?
The team was open to everyone, we weren’t over the limit for members, his donut sales paid our entry fees for the district challenge, and he’d had a lot of good ideas for competition.
But, just like my brother, he was a real jerk.
Nitu and I walked to Sunset Park together on the next game day. We ended up at the basketball court, which was empty.
“That’s where the whole mess got started,” I told her.
She glanced at me. “I heard you’ve been skipping basketball practices.”
I shrugged. “Yeah. And a game tonight.”
She frowned at me. “That’s not like you, Russell. You’re not a skipper.”
“I am now, I guess.”
“The coach won’t let you do that for long, you know. He’ll kick you off the team.”
“Maybe that would be a good thing,” I said, and sighed.
She turned to stare at me. “Come on, Russell. You don’t mean that.”
“Why not? It’s caused me nothing but trouble.”
“But you love it.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Russell,” she said, raising one eyebrow at me. “You’re almost as happy being on the Pioneers as you are in Masters of the Mind.”
“No, I—”
She raised a finger to stop me. “I said almost.”
“Even if you’re right, it doesn’t matter, Nitu. The two things just don’t work together.”
“Says who?” asked my favorite math whiz.
“Sara and Jason.” I sighed. “Arthur Richardson the Third.”
“He doesn’t count,” she said, and snorted. “And the other two? They’re just scared, so they’re following his lead.”
“Basketball.” I groaned. “It’s ruining everything. I can’t even be around my brother anymore.”
“Why not?” Nitu asked, looking surprised.
I told her what happened with the Nikes and she shook her head.
“He shouldn’t have done that.”
“You’re telling me?”
“You need to talk to him about it.”
“I can’t, Nitu. I’m so mad, I just—”
“He’s your brother, Russell. There are billions of people on this planet and out of all of them, only one is your brother.”
“I know.” I sighed, hating that she was right.
“Talk to him, Russell.”
“No.” I had to put myself first, for once.
Later that afternoon, I was reading ahead in my social studies textbook when Mom knocked on my door.
“Can I come in?”
“Sure.”
I smiled when she opened the door, but that smile shrunk when she sat down on the bed. It wasn’t looking like a quick visit, and I wanted to get through those chapters.
“How are things going?” she asked.
“Fine. I’m learning about the wonders of ancient Greece.”
“Sounds good,” she said, then cleared her throat. “So, I’ve noticed a bit of a chill in the air between you and your brother. Your dad filled me in on the shoes and the rest of what he knows. Do you want to talk about it?”
I must have wanted to, because even though I had work to do, I ended up telling her everything. I started with my fe
ar of trying out for the team and the surprise of enjoying basketball. Then I talked about Owen wanting me to fail and the horrible feeling that I’d let down the Masters team while Arthur tried to take over as team leader.
“Whew,” she said when I was finished. “And that’s all happened in the past couple of weeks?”
“Yes.” I sighed.
“Honey, it’s not good for you to keep all this stress and worry inside.”
“I know. Stress can cause high blood pressure and—” I began.
She looked like she was trying not to laugh. “That wasn’t exactly my point, Russell.”
“What was it, then?”
“Stress can take a lot of the fun out of childhood. You’re young and you should be enjoying yourself.”
“I do enjoy myself,” I assured her. “It’s just been harder than usual lately.”
“Well, I think the place to start is to patch things up with Owen.”
“Mom,” I groaned.
She sounded just like Nitu.
“I’m serious. I know he did some terrible things, but do you think he actually feels good about them?”
I didn’t have to think about that for more than a second. “I’m sure he doesn’t.”
“So?”
“So, it’s not my job to make him feel better, Mom. He betrayed me.”
“I’ll let you stew on that for a bit,” she said, standing up. “He may not show it all the time, but he loves you and he’ll always be your brother.”
When she left me alone, I didn’t know what to think.
Later that evening, while Owen was still at the game, Nitu and Sara showed up at my house.
“Did you talk to Owen?” Nitu asked, once we were in the privacy of my room.
“He’s not home yet.”
“But you will when he gets back, right?”
“No,” I told her, as I pulled out the books I’d need for English class the next day.
“Then when will you?”
“Maybe in a year or two.”
She put her hands on her hips. “Well, they aren’t going to reschedule the district challenge if you stress yourself into some kind of a breakdown.”
“Breakdown?” Sara asked, sounding worried as she looked from Nitu to me.
“I’m not having a breakdown,” I told her. But when I thought about it, I realized Nitu wasn’t that far off. “It’s more like an identity crisis.”
Nitu raised an eyebrow at me. “Are you really trying to decide whether you’re a basketball player or a Master of the Mind?”
“Yes.” And whether I’d accidentally taken over Owen’s role as the family athlete. Maybe he was having an identity crisis, too.
If I was the athlete and the mathlete, what did that leave for him?
Nitu looked worried. “Are you thinking about quitting?”
“Yes,” I said, trying to imagine how it would feel to turn in my jersey and what I would say to Coach Baxter.
“What?” Sara gasped.
“No, no.” I shook my head. “Not Masters. I’m thinking about quitting basketball.”
“Whew.” Sara smiled. “You were making me nervous.”
“Do you know what’s making me nervous?” I asked, ready to talk about something other than sports or my brother. “I don’t know what to do about Arthur.”
“Neither do we,” Sara said, and sighed.
“Why does he even want to be on the team if he doesn’t like any of us?” I asked, shaking my head.
Nitu laughed. “You didn’t hear why he joined?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Because he thought it would look good on his Harvard application.”
“What? We’re only in seventh grade!” I choked.
Should I have been thinking about college applications?
I had been, of course, but I hadn’t joined clubs or teams based on whether universities would like me for it.
I joined because I wanted to have fun.
“He doesn’t really care about any of it,” Nitu continued.
“How do you know that?” I asked.
“He told us at the last meeting,” Sara explained.
“But he wants to take over as team leader?” I asked.
“Team leader probably looks better on the application.” Nitu shrugged.
Knowing that the team meant nothing to Arthur Richardson the Third was enough to convince me that something really had to be done.
And I needed the help of someone villainous.
Luckily, my evil twin lived right down the hall.
Squaring Up
When I got home, my parents asked how the game had gone, and I had to tell them we lost by thirty-two points.
“A blowout.” Dad groaned.
“Yup.”
“It happens to everyone,” he said, patting me on the back.
“Once?”
“More than once,” he said with a laugh. “It’s sad, but true.”
It was sad, all right. “We really needed Russ.”
“Then you should tell him,” Mom said, like that was the easiest thing in the world.
Had she been in the same house as us for the past few days? Had she seen Russ pretend I didn’t even exist?
“Uh, he’s not talking to me.”
“That’s the best part of telling him how you feel,” Mom said. “All he has to do is listen.”
But was Russ going to listen to me after I’d been such a jerk? I mean, what would I have done if he’d thrown my brand-new shoes in the Dumpster?
I would have given him something a lot worse than the silent treatment.
“Just try, honey,” Mom said while she messed up my hair. “It’s all you can do.”
I figured she was right, so I climbed the stairs and knocked on Russ’s bedroom door.
“Come in,” I heard from inside.
I turned the knob and opened it.
My brother was sitting at his desk, doing homework. He looked disappointed when he saw my face. “Oh, it’s you.”
“Yeah,” I said, going in, anyway.
His Nikes were sitting on the floor of his closet. I hadn’t seen him wear them since Dumpster Day. The new box (with the even better and more expensive shoes Dad bought for him) was still in the Go Time bag. “So, we uh—”
“I’m trying to study, Owen.”
If he wasn’t studying, he was reading. If he wasn’t reading, he was brainstorming. He could have used any excuse not to talk to me and he had. For days.
“I know, but—”
“It’s what I do.” He frowned. “I study, I get good grades, I read nerdy books for fun, and I hang out with geeks, because I am one.”
“No you’re not,” I told him. “Well, you are … but not in a bad way.”
“Of course I am, and it was stupid of me to think I could be anything else.”
“No it wasn’t, Russ.”
He sighed, and turned back to his books. “I’m too busy for this.”
“We lost tonight,” I told him.
“Too bad,” he said, without looking at me.
“It was, actually. We got smoked.”
Russ flipped a page, then glanced at me again. “Are you still here?”
I wasn’t going anywhere. “We lost by thirty-two points.”
“And?” He shrugged and looked at his book again.
I knew he was only pretending to read, though. His eyes weren’t even moving. And that meant I had his attention! But what should I say to keep it?
The truth.
“And we needed you.”
That snapped him out of it. He lifted his head from the book but still didn’t make eye contact. He stared at his map of stars and stuff instead.
And then I went for it.
“We really did, Russ. We needed you to block, because no one else can do it like you—”
“I just stand there,” he said, quietly.
“No, you don’t, and you know it. You block shots like crazy. We needed y
ou for that, we needed you for points—”
“I can’t make free throws.”
“But you can make jump shots.”
“My layups are really bad.”
“So? You make up for it in three-pointers.”
“I’m slow.”
He had me there. “Uh … you’re getting faster.” At least I hoped he was.
“Look, I—”
“No, you look,” I said. “Seriously, Russ. Look at me.”
He turned toward me and fixed his crooked glasses. “What?”
“We need you on the team.”
He shook his head. “But you don’t—”
“I need you on the team.”
He didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Really?”
“Really. I’m sorry I was such a jerk, but I was …” It was hard to say, but I had to do it. “I was jealous.”
Russ’s eyes got huge. “Of me?”
“Yes,” I said, and gulped.
“Of my basketball playing?”
“Yup.”
He leaned back in his chair. “That’s so weird.”
“Why?”
He shook his head, like the question was nuts. “No one has ever been jealous of me before, Owen. About anything. Not my math awards, my honor roll standing, and especially not sports.”
“Well, I was.” I cleared my throat. “I want to show you something, Russ.”
“I—”
Before he could say anything, I pulled my “inspiration” paper from my back pocket. I’d given up on writing about Tim Camden when I saw what playing like him had done to me and my team. It made them almost hate me, even when I scored. And how “inspiring” was a ball hog, anyway?
It had taken me a while to come up with a better subject for my paper, but that was okay. I’d had lots of time to think when Russ wasn’t talking to me, and I’d figured out that my inspiration was … him.
I’d been feeling a bit weird about showing the paper to my brother, but I needed him to know how I felt. How important he was to me. How even though I was thirteen minutes older, I looked up to him.
I took a deep breath.
“Look,” I said, handing him the paper.
Russ squinted at it, then smiled. “An A-plus? That’s great, Owen!”
“No, I mean … read it.”
“Your paper?”
“Yeah.”
My hands sweat and I tried not to watch him.
