Athlete vs. Mathlete (10 page)

Russell's turn was right before mine, and I heard more snickering.

Come on, Russ. Do it for us
.

Coach blew the whistle and my twin took off. He managed to keep control of the ball, but barely. He knocked over three of his cones, but made it to the end.

When he went in for the layup, he totally missed the hoop.

“Air ball,” Nicky Chu sang quietly, and a couple of guys laughed.

I didn't have time to worry about it, though, because I was up next.

When the whistle blew, I dribbled through the cones and made a perfect shot, off the backboard and through the net.

Yes!

We ran the same drill four more times, and I shot 100 percent. Seriously awesome!

Russell only made one basket, but he
did
leave all the cones standing on his last run. His tryout had started out stinking like old cheese, but it was getting better. Kind of.

“Okay,” Coach said. “We know basketball is about scoring points, but it's also about defense.”

I was relieved when he put me and Russ together for one-on-one.

“You ready?” I asked my brother.

“I missed every basket on that last drill,” he said, and sighed.

“So what?
This
is what you do best. Remember what I told you the other day, about just standing there?”

Russ nodded.

“That's all you have to do. Just stand there and block my shots.”

“But then you won't score, Owen.”

Whoa! I hadn't thought of that. “Okay, let me make a couple of them.”

For the next few minutes, I made Russell look like he had some idea what he was doing, which was good enough. With my help, he blocked about 75 percent of my shots.

Then it was my turn to defend the net against Russell. He slowly dribbled toward me, biting his lip. He checked the net, then looked back at me and came closer.

Just stay calm, Russ
.

I bent my knees, ready.

He dribbled for a couple more seconds, and just when I thought he was going to go right, he lifted the ball in front of him and jumped straight up in the air.

He let the ball fly.

Stunned, I turned to watch it drop right into the net.

What?

The guys on the sidelines went nuts.

“Beautiful,” Coach said, grinning. “Great form, kid. Give it another try.”

Russell and I lined up face-to-face again.

“I can't believe I made that,” he whispered to me, smiling.

“Me neither,” I told him. What were the chances?

“I mean, that was a jump shot!”

“Yeah,” I muttered, ticked off. How did he know that's what it was called? And weren't we supposed to be showing off
my
defense, not
his
shooting? “You made a jump shot.”

And then, right in my face, he made seven more.

By the time my defensive “showcase” was over, I hadn't touched the ball once, and the rest of the guys were staring at Russ like he was a superhero.

No one said anything until Coach let out a quiet, “Wow.”

Russ smiled, but he didn't look like he understood what had just happened.

I didn't either.

“Who taught you to shoot like that?” Mr. Webster asked.

I waited for Russ to say my name or point to me. I probably didn't wow anybody during the drill, but I could get some brownie points for teaching him everything he knew.

“No one,” Russ said, shrugging.

What?

Of course, he was right. I couldn't do a jump shot myself, so there's no way I could have taught the most uncoordinated kid on the planet how to do one.

Or eight.

But still.

“You've just been practicing by yourself?” Coach asked.

“No,” Russ said. He cleared his throat and I could tell he was embarrassed that everyone was staring at him. “That was my first try.”

Coach's whistle fell out of his mouth. “Really?”

Russ shrugged.

Coach kept staring at my brother, like he couldn't believe it, then he shook his head. “Okay, everybody line up at center court.”

We groaned, since we were way too tired for more drills.

But drills weren't what Coach had in mind.

“If you hear your name, you're on the team,” he said, then waited for us to calm down before he announced, “Nicky Chu.”

My old teammate waved his fist in the air and grinned.

Coach kept listing names and guys high-fived each other
when they were called. Most of the players had been on the team last year.

But not all of them.

I was just starting to get worried when Coach said, “Owen Evans.”

“Yes!” I bumped fists with Chris, who'd already made it. We both jumped about four feet off the ground.

“Russell Evans,” Coach said.

What?

If I could have frozen in midair, I would have. Instead, my second-class shoes hit the floor with a thud. I turned to stare at my brother, who looked as shocked as I was.

Russ
made the team?

How was that even possible?

All I'd wanted to do was stop him from embarrassing me … I mean,
himself
.

When I thought about how much Russ stunk before he made those amazing shots, I felt like he'd tricked us.

Like he'd tricked me.

Russ turned toward me, and his smile was so big, I thought it might eat his whole face.

I kind of wished it would.

I took a deep breath and gave him a thumbs-up, trying to look like I really meant it.

But I didn't.

My brother and I walked home later that afternoon, side by side. My number five jersey was crammed into my bag. I'd wanted number eleven (Tim Camden's number), but like everything else lately,
Russ
got it.

“I can't believe it,” he said, for the eight-millionth time. “I never thought I stood a chance.”

“Me neither,” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets.

“I owe it all to you,” he said, quietly.

Yeah, he did. Why hadn't he just stood there, like I told him to? He wasn't supposed to
make
the stupid team!

“I think you're magical.”

Huh?
Magical?

I turned around to make sure no one had heard him. Then I looked at my twin, who was staring at his feet.

He wasn't even talking to me! He was thanking his stupid
shoes
!

“Are you kidding me?” I practically choked.

“What?”

I glared at him. “Never mind.”

“Don't tell Dad I made it, okay?” he asked. “I want to do it.”

I nodded. Yeah, Russ. You
just do it
.

You and your freakin' magical Nikes.

For the first time ever, I didn't want to talk about basketball when I got home.

“How did it go?” Dad asked, the second we walked through the door.

My brother made a big show of shaking his head and looking sad.

All I saw was more sneakiness.

“Russ?” Dad asked.

He shrugged. “I was the slowest guy at running lines.”

“Oh no.” Dad reached over to pat his shoulder. “I'm sorry.”

My twin tried to hold back a laugh. “Sorry that I was slow, or sorry that I made the team, anyway?”

Suddenly he was a comedian, too? Jump shots? Punch lines? Mr. Hidden Talents rides again.

Dad stared at him. “What?”

“He made the team,” Mom said, jumping up and down. Her eyes were shiny, like she might cry.

“
You
made the team,” Dad said, slowly, still in shock. Then he grinned.
“You made the team!”

He lifted his hand to give Russ a high five.

As usual, Russ missed.

“This is incredible,” Dad said, pulling Russ into a hug. “We've got to celebrate. Let's go out for dinner.”

“I was going to make spaghetti,” Mom said, then smiled as she watched them. “Never mind. What about the Jade Palace?”

Great. Chinese food at my favorite restaurant, and I wasn't even hungry.

“Seriously?” Russ asked.

“Of course,” Dad said, finally letting go of him. “You made the team, Russ. This is a night for celebration.”

“I made the team, too,” I said, but no one heard me. Was I invisible? In my own stinking house? “I made the team, too,” I said, this time a lot louder. I sounded kind of mad actually, which made sense.

I
was
mad.

Everyone stopped to look at me, surprised.

“Of course you did,” Dad said, slapping me on the back. “We knew you would. But this guy …” He turned back to Russ and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. “This guy just made my day.”

Common Denominator

After so many years of being divided into brains and brawn, Owen and I had both been fine with our roles. But when Coach Baxter called my name, I realized that I'd only been fine with being the brains because I never imagined I could be
both
things—a mathlete and an … athlete.

Oh, I liked the sound of that!

I lifted the white tablecloth at Jade Palace, smiling at the sight of my Nikes.

They really were magical. And even more magical?

Dad was proud of me
.

I didn't think I'd ever stop smiling, especially when I thought about those jump shots.

The truth was, I'd barely heard the guys cheering as
I made each one. When I'd thrown the ball, I hadn't been thinking about Owen, or making the Pioneers, or anything to do with basketball.

I'd been thinking about an egg.

Or, more specifically, a Masters of the Mind egg, thrown at just the right angle, with a built-in net for brakes.

I'd run through the list of challenge ingredients as I shot the ball again and again, trying to think of what we could use for our net.

Later that night, when we were back at the house, I got the call from Sara.

“How was the meeting?” I asked.

There was a short pause at the other end, before she said, “He's in.”

“Arthur?” I asked, feeling an ounce or two of happiness leave my body. “He wants to join?”