Athlete vs. Mathlete Read online

  In fact, it was gone when the third quarter started. And so was Russ.

  “Don’t worry,” Dad said with a chuckle. “We’ll make a basketball fan of him yet.”

  That’s what I was afraid of.

  Weights and Measures

  I woke up on Saturday morning and stared at my map of the solar system, which was always comforting. Earth was only one of all those planets and stars. And I was only one of billions of people on Earth. And of those billions, millions of people had bigger problems than basketball tryouts.

  I couldn’t help smiling.

  I had a great book to read (a Blazer game had prevented me from enjoying it the night before), my Masters meeting was in a couple of hours, and tryouts would be nothing but a memory in less than a week.

  I rolled out of bed and carried Aidmere Lost downstairs.

  Of course, I wanted to pull things together for Masters of the Mind before I got lost in my book. As hard as it was to do it, I left the novel on the kitchen counter and found some of the items we needed for the challenge. Once I had the margarine container, aluminum foil, newspaper, and chopsticks from Jade Palace in a bag, I checked the fridge for eggs and heard Owen behind me.

  “Milk, please,” he said.

  I handed him the jug and opened the egg carton to see what we had left. “Cool beans. Half a dozen.”

  “Just cool, Russ,” he corrected. “Half a dozen what?”

  “Eggs,” I said, then told him about the challenge.

  He rolled his eyes when I finished. “Why don’t you guys ever build something people can use?”

  “Like what?” I asked, wiping a smudge from my glasses.

  “I don’t know. Something that flies or whatever.”

  “Aircraft?” I asked, surprised. When he nodded, I went over our list of materials again. We couldn’t exactly build a jet fighter out of chopsticks and newspapers. “This isn’t Boeing,” I told him. “It’s Masters of the Mind.”

  He shrugged. “So, how about wrapping the eggs in rubber bands?”

  “We’ll only have six of them.”

  “But they’re rubber. They’ll help it bounce.”

  I shook my head. “It won’t work.”

  He thought about it while a milk mustache dried on his upper lip. I was glad that he was interested enough to want to help, considering he’d never asked me a single question about Masters of the Mind before. Ever.

  His interest got me thinking.

  What if Owen joined the team as our fifth member? That would give the two of us something in common and add a very different point of view to the team.

  I was just about to suggest it when he said, “Why don’t you boil the egg? Water’s on the list.”

  “Yes, but not boiling water,” I reminded him.

  “So heat it up.” He shrugged.

  “We don’t have a heat source, Owen. Should we rub the chopsticks together to make fire?” I couldn’t help laughing.

  Owen glared at me like I’d hurt his feelings and left the room before I had a chance to say I was sorry.

  Within seconds, I could hear a familiar noise: a basketball slamming against the pavement. Over and over.

  Dad and Owen, at it again.

  I didn’t follow him outside because I was afraid they’d invite me to play. One wasted night in front of the TV was more than enough basketball for me, especially when I knew we’d be out practicing for tryouts in less than twenty-four hours.

  I was already dreading it.

  Once I’d read a few chapters and eaten a couple of blueberry muffins, Mom drove me and my shopping bag of challenge ingredients over to Nitu’s house.

  I hoped there would be some good news on the Chao replacement. I honestly couldn’t understand why Masters of the Mind wasn’t more popular with the rest of the kids at Lewis and Clark. The competitions were fun, and so were all of the meetings and practices leading up to them. The team members were great, and they all loved problem solving, just like me.

  Why did we have to beg people to join our team, when the Pioneers had to narrow players down through tryouts?

  “So, basketball is a pretty interesting development,” Mom said as she turned onto Nitu’s street.

  “Interesting is one word for it,” I told her.

  She glanced at me, looking worried. “You don’t have to play, Russell.”

  “I won’t,” I said, laughing. “I’m not going to make the team.”

  She glanced at me, then back at the road. “You don’t know that.”

  “Sure I do. And I’m fine with that. I don’t have time to play basketball. And I don’t even want to.”

  Mom pulled into Nitu’s driveway. “Well, we’re all proud of you, no matter what happens.”

  “I know, Mom.” In my entire life, I’d never doubted that.

  When I joined the rest of the team in Nitu’s TV room, none of them were smiling.

  Jason was the first to speak. “We have a problem.”

  I thought about our warm-up the other day. “Not enough time to find a squirrel rhyme?” I asked, chuckling as I dropped my backpack on the floor.

  “No,” Nitu said, grimly. “This is a curse that is much, much worse.”

  “At least double the trouble,” Sara added.

  “Is it something we can fix with some brainstorming tricks?” I asked.

  “Can you guys stop rhyming, for, like, two seconds?” Jason asked.

  “Sorry. What’s wrong?”

  “Only one person we’ve talked to wants to join the team,” he said, quietly.

  “Only one?” It was worse than I thought. But, as team leader, I didn’t want them to know that. “Well, that’s not the end of the world. I mean, one person is better than none, right?”

  “You haven’t heard who it is yet,” Sara said with a sigh.

  “Who is it?” I couldn’t think of a single person we wouldn’t want on the team.

  That is, until Nitu moaned, “Arthur Richardson the Third.”

  I almost moaned myself.

  Jason shrugged. “Yes, you heard, that turd the Third.”

  “Jason!” Sara gasped.

  “What? I’m just rhyming.”

  “Maybe he’ll bring new steam to the team,” I said, hopefully.

  “Will you make me scream in this bad dream?” Nitu asked.

  Jason smiled. “Arthur takes ‘creep’ to a new extreme.”

  “I’m serious,” I said. “Maybe he’ll bring something new.”

  My teammates’ jaws all dropped at the same time.

  “Like a major headache?” Jason asked.

  “No, like fresh ideas,” I told him.

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” Nitu said, crossing her arms.

  “He’s smart,” I reminded her.

  “So he says,” she replied.

  Arthur’s bragging was annoying. “Okay, well … he’s willing to join us. And right now, that’s half the battle.”

  “But, Russell,” Nitu complained, “he’s a total snob.”

  She was right about that, too. Arthur had transferred to Lewis and Clark from a private school in Connecticut at the beginning of the year. Most of the seventh grade had had their fill of him by the end of the first week.

  The only topic he was interested in discussing was his plan to go to Harvard University. He carried a handkerchief in his pocket to wipe off cafeteria benches and classroom seats before he sat down. He wore cuff links to school.

  Actually, I kind of liked the cuff links.

  I’d tried talking to him in the beginning, and I’d even invited him to join my math study group. But he’d brushed me off.

  I couldn’t let my hurt feelings affect the Masters of the Mind team, though. “We need a teammate, Arthur wants to be one—”

  “Might want to be one,” Nitu corrected. “He’d like to come to a meeting to help him decide.”

  “Great,” I said, hoping it would be a quick and painless decision for all of us. “And in the meantime, I think w
e need to get to work.”

  Our math whiz sighed with frustration, then shook her head, as though she was clearing it. “Okay, the team at Beaumont Middle School invited us to meet them for a friendly practice competition next Tuesday after school.”

  “That works for me,” I said, and the rest of the group agreed.

  “How did they do last year?” Jason asked. “I know they beat us at home, but how far did they go? Regionals?”

  Nitu shook her head. “State.”

  “Seriously?” Jason gulped.

  “And they came in second.”

  “Whoa,” Jason said, quietly.

  “So, we know they’re good.” I shrugged. “But I’d rather practice with a good team than a bad one, wouldn’t you?”

  “I guess so,” he said, doubtfully.

  “Hey, they’re just like us, Jason.”

  “But better,” he said, and sighed.

  “Look,” I said. “Let’s get started, here. We should think about the egg challenge, since it needs the most preparation.”

  I started pulling items out of my backpack as Sara marked each one off her checklist. Between the four of us, we had everything we needed, including duplicates of some items and even triplicates of duct tape and aluminum foil.

  Sara and I got to work, sketching ideas onto our notepads. Jason and Nitu looked over each of the items on the table, trying to figure out which ones could be used together best and bouncing ideas back and forth.

  I focused on trying to calculate how quickly the egg would be falling and how much of an impact would have to be absorbed by whatever we built.

  It seemed like more than anything, we needed shocks.

  Little did I know, there was a big one on the way.

  Technical Foul

  Mom called my bedroom a disaster zone, but it wasn’t really that bad. The walls were covered with Blazers stuff, like last season’s team poster, and a Camden jersey, hanging over my bed (the guy was still a Blazer to me, even if he was wearing a Jazz uniform that season). There was a Rip City Uprise flag on my desk. On my bulletin board I had ticket stubs from the games Dad took me to stuck next to a couple of programs.

  It was pretty awesome.

  I guess when Mom said disaster zone, she meant the clothes, games, and junk I’d dumped on the floor.

  Oh, well.

  After I finished beating Dad at HORSE, I changed into my only clean pair of shorts and a gray Blazers T-shirt, then dug around to find my second-best pair of shoes. I was saving the brand-new ones for the Pioneers’ season opener.

  I was dressed in less than two minutes, which was probably a record, and out the door to meet the guys in three.

  Man, I loved Saturday mornings.

  Sunset Park was only a couple of blocks away, and I jogged there, figuring it couldn’t hurt to warm up.

  When I got to the park, Chris, Paul, Nate, and a couple of other guys were already waiting, so we had enough for three-on-three.

  Awesome!

  “No Nicky Chu?” I asked.

  “It’s his grandma’s birthday,” Paul said. “No Russ?” he asked, smiling like it was a joke.

  “No, he has a …” I stopped because I knew they’d laugh if I said anything about Masters of the Mind. “He’s helping my dad.”

  “Too bad,” Nate said, laughing. “I’m dying to see his moves.”

  Paul snorted. “Yeah, I bet he’s got some killer moves.”

  “Yeah, well, not today,” I told them, kind of ticked off. “So, who’s on my team?”

  “Me,” Chris said. “You, too, Nate?”

  “Sure,” he said, crossing the free-throw line to side with us.

  “So, are we playing or what?” Paul asked, holding the ball.

  “Oh, we’re playing.” Chris moved closer. “It’s on, now.”

  “Oh yeah?” Paul asked. He started dribbling toward our net.

  Chris was on him right away, so Paul passed to Mark, who came straight at me.

  I kept my feet apart so I’d be ready to move in any direction, like Dad taught me. I bounced back and forth, hoping to steal the ball as soon as I got the chance.

  The second Mark faked left, I snatched the ball and started dribbling toward their basket. I could hear him chasing me and Paul yelling for him to catch up, but I knew he wouldn’t.

  I dribbled in for a layup, smiling as the ball bounced off the backboard and right through the net.

  “Sweet!” Nate said, giving me a high five.

  Being on the court felt amazing. I loved the sound of the ball hitting the pavement; the guys shouting back and forth to pass, shoot, or block; and feeling like my lungs were on fire from running so hard.

  After an hour, we all needed a break, so we flopped on the grass.

  “Did you guys watch the game last night?” I asked, when I’d caught my breath. The Blazers had won by twelve points.

  “It was awesome,” Chris said.

  “This might be our year,” I told the guys. “The Blazers could be champs.”

  “So could the Pioneers,” Paul said.

  I smiled up at the sky. “Now that would be awesome.”

  “Yeah, but we’ll have to make it through tryouts first,” Chris groaned.

  “No problem,” Paul told him. “When Coach sees us rock the court, he’ll put all of us on the team. Everything will be just like last year.”

  I couldn’t wait.

  I knew Dad was excited about Russell trying out, but I didn’t know how excited until he woke us up on Sunday morning.

  “Rise and shine, boys!” he shouted as he came up the stairs.

  “What time is it?” I croaked when he tapped on my door.

  “Time for a quick lap around the neighborhood before we get down to business.”

  Already?

  I closed my eyes when I heard him go back downstairs, thinking I had a bit more time to lie there. But he swung my door wide open a few minutes later.

  “Let’s go, Owen. We’re losing daylight.”

  Did we even have daylight yet?

  By the time I’d dressed and double-knotted my Adidas, I could hear Russell moving around in his room.

  I found Dad, some big glasses of milk, and a stack of toast in the kitchen.

  He scooped some sugar into his coffee and sat down next to me. “Is Russ awake?”

  Before I could answer, my brother was standing in the doorway. For a day of working out, he was wearing a green turtleneck and corduroy pants.

  I looked at his feet.

  Loafers.

  “Hey, Russ,” I said, taking a bite of my toast and waiting to see the look on Dad’s face.

  He looked up at my brother, then turned to stare at me.

  All I could do was shrug.

  Dad turned back to Russ. “You’re going to need shorts.”

  “I thought it might be cold out there,” Russ said.

  “Not when we’re running,” I told him.

  “Oh.” He scratched his head and his hand disappeared in his curly hair. “Well, I don’t have shorts, but I have some jeans or—”

  “Owen,” Dad interrupted, “maybe you can loan him some gear.”

  He hadn’t noticed that Russ was built like a pencil and I was more of an eraser?

  “I don’t think my stuff will fit, Dad.”

  “Just give it a shot,” he said.

  I left my toast on my plate and led Russell upstairs.

  Dad played basketball in college, and I knew he wanted me to follow in his footsteps, but did he really think Russ could, too?

  There was no way.

  In my closet, I found a T-shirt I’d almost grown out of and a pair of sweatpants I’d cut off into shorts. At least they had an elastic waistband.

  While Russ got changed, I went into his room to find the cheap running shoes Mom bought when we were back-to-school shopping.

  They were in his closet and still in the box, but not for the same reason that mine were. Mine were in mint condition for the season
opener. But Russ’s? I doubted he’d ever wear them outside of gym class.

  I headed back to my room, where Russ was getting changed, and found some white socks in my top drawer.

  When I turned around, my twin was standing in the middle of my room with his hands on his hips. It took only a second for me to guess that he was trying to hold up the shorts.

  “Too big?” I asked, handing him the shoe box.

  “No, these will work,” he told me, but when he reached for the shoes, the shorts started falling down.

  “I don’t think so, Russ,” I said, shaking my head. “Don’t you have gym clothes?”

  He shrugged. “They’re at school.”

  “Of course.” I sighed and went back to the closet to find my leather belt.

  Man, if getting him dressed was this hard, how bad would the rest of it be?

  When we got back to the kitchen, Dad gave me the look I remembered from when I tried to jump over our hedge on my bike but … didn’t make it. And the hedge really didn’t make it.

  The look meant Dad wanted an explanation.

  “We did our best,” I told him, shrugging.

  He squinted at Russ’s shoes. “Where did you get those?”

  “Sears,” Russ told him. “Mom took us shopping before school started.”

  Dad looked at mine, which cost twice as much and looked about a thousand times better. “And where did yours come from?”

  “Sears,” I said, kind of embarrassed. “Last year. These are my old ones.”

  “Your old ones?” Dad asked, surprised.

  “Yeah, I’m saving the new ones.”

  He looked at Russell’s shoes again and shook his head. “I don’t understand what your mom was thinking. Those don’t look like they have any kind of ankle support.”

  “They were on sale,” Russ explained. “I needed a scientific calculator.”

  “What?” Dad ran his fingers through his hair and stared at my brother.

  I recognized that look, too. He was getting frustrated.

  “A scientific calculator,” Russ explained. “They’re pretty expensive, so I got the cheaper shoes.”

  Dad turned to me. “I take it you didn’t need a scientific calculator?”

  Russ and I both cracked up at the same time.

  Dad sighed and pointed us toward the table. “Okay, let’s at least get you guys fed while I think.”