Athlete vs. Mathlete: Double Dribble (13 page)

I watched in absolute amazement as the legendary Dante Powers spun around, ready to take a shot, only to come face-to-chests with M&M.

With four arms going after the ball, he didn't stand a chance, and in just a few seconds, the brothers managed to gain possession. Half a second after that, they were running in tandem down the court, smiling.

“They tag-teamed him,” Owen said quietly. His mouth hung open.

“Smart,” I said, watching them score yet another basket.

Owen snorted. “You've got to stop complimenting the enemy, Russ.”

“They're on our team,” I reminded him.

“Whatever.”

We only had to wait about ten minutes to get into the game, but the way Owen carried on about the unfairness of it all, it felt more like an hour.

When he finally pulled us off the bench, Coach Baxter put us in for Chris and Nate instead of Mitch and Marcus.

“They're too good for the sidelines?” Owen muttered as we jogged onto the court.

“They're playing really well,” I said, looking for a bright side in what was turning out to be a dark afternoon.

“Totally not the point, Russ.”

The ref blew his whistle and Paul passed the ball to one of the Matthews twins, who passed to the other. They dribbled down the court together, only pausing to toss the ball back and forth over Dante Powers's head before scoring. Again.

“There's a whole team out here,” Owen muttered. “Let's get our passing game going, you freakin' ball hogs.”

I wondered if he'd already forgotten his own brief stint as a ball hog. Just last month, he'd practically destroyed the team by turning the Pioneers into a one-man show.

“Tell them when you're open,” I suggested.

Owen shook his head. “Whatever.”

But the next time an M had possession, Owen
did
shout that he was open, loud enough to be heard in the parking lots not only of Hogarth, but the Safeway three blocks away.

But Marcus and Mitch kept the ball to themselves.

And scored.

Again.

“This is a joke,” Owen muttered. “A total joke.”

Dante Powers dribbled up the court, and when Owen tried to steal the ball, Dante used all kinds of fancy footwork and clever dribbling to stop him. After a few flustered seconds, Owen ended up chasing him toward the basket but didn't make it in time.

My brother was fast, but not
that
fast.

Dante jumped in the air and almost touched the rim with his fingertips as he tipped the ball into the basket.

The crowd went wild.

“Nice defense,” one of the Matthews twins told Owen, sarcastically.

“Yeah,” the other one said. “It's like Swiss cheese.”

“Full of holes,” they both said.

I could tell by the expression on Owen's face that he was trying to think of the perfect comeback. And I knew from experience that it wouldn't happen until at least dinnertime, when it was way too late.

“Come on, O,” I said, slapping him on the back. “Let's focus on the game, okay?”

“What do you think I'm doing?”

“Letting them get to you. The real enemies are the Huskies. Let's show them what we're made of.”

Unfortunately, we showed them that we were made of sloppy moves and short fuses.

I don't know whether it was all the buildup to playing Dante Powers or feeling a sense of competition with the other twins, but Owen and I were even less in sync than usual.

His passes were too fast and low for me to catch, and he started taking wild shots instead of letting M&M sink baskets.

And worst of all? Dante Powers practically danced around my brother every chance he got. His footwork was phenomenal, his ball handling brilliant, and if I didn't know better, I'd think I was watching an NBA superstar instead of a twelve-year-old kid.

“Maybe you can get an autograph after the game,” Owen hissed at me, after I watched Dante score another incredible basket.

“He's pretty amazing,” I said, watching the star high-five his teammates.

“He's the enemy, Russ.”

“Sure, but—”

“The
enemy
,” he said, more firmly.

But within a matter of minutes, Owen was back to finding enemies in other places. Like our own roster.

We'd both been pulled back to the bench, which was kind of a relief. There was nothing fun about letting the team down, and Owen and I had done way too much of that in just a few minutes.

“I can't get it together,” Owen said quietly.

“Maybe you need to relax a bit.”

His entire body seemed stiff and awkward on the court, whether he was dribbling, shooting, or finding an opening.

“Relax?” He scoffed. “Are you kidding me, Russ? this is the most important game of the year.”

“So far.”

“Yeah, so far. And I'm trying hard to make my minutes count, but I'm blowing it.”

“You're not blowing it,” I lied, to save his feelings.

He sighed. “Nothing I do is working. I can't catch a break.”

I used a towel to wipe the perspiration from the back of my neck. “You'll have another chance.”

As we watched from the bench, Marcus and Mitch's perfect passes never faltered.

It struck me that there was almost a science to what they were doing on the court. It was like the ball was magnetic, drawn from one twin to the other, never stopping for anything in between. And when they tag-teamed Dante Powers a second time, then a third, they looked like the model of an atom in my science classroom. Dante was a proton, holding the basketball neutron while the twins circled like electrons.

Owen saw things differently.

“It's like a couple of guys are out on the court, hogging the clock, while two awesome players are stuck riding the bench.”

I glanced to my right, then my left.

“I'm talking about
you and me
.”

“You think I'm an awesome player?” I asked, surprised.

“Yeah. I mean, not as awesome as me, but we make a good team, Russ.”

It was true. We might not have been playing well at that particular moment, but Owen and I were a good team when we communicated with each other.

“We do, don't we?” I couldn't help smiling.

“But not while we're stuck on the sidelines.”

“Sure,” I said, nodding.

“So you know what that means, right?” Owen asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” I said, thinking about all the efforts I'd made to try to get in sync with my brother. Perhaps the reason it hadn't worked was because I didn't fully explain what I was doing. We weren't working on it
together
.

“We need to align our minds,” I told him.

“No,” Owen said, and sighed. “First of all, I don't even know what that means, and second? It doesn't matter because you're wrong.”

“How can you say—”

“We need to take down the Twinvaders.”

At first, I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Then I remembered how Owen had thrown my Nikes into a Dumpster to end the competition between us on the court. And I recalled the brainstorming session we'd had when I wanted
to remove Arthur Richardson the third from my Masters of the Mind team. Owen was the one who'd come up with the successful—and sinister—scheme.

There was no doubt that he was formulating another diabolical plan.

“You want to sabotage them?” I asked, still kind of hoping I was wrong, despite the glint in his eye.

“Yeah.”

“You want to sabotage our own
teammates
,” I said, just to be sure we were on the same page.

“Yes. We take them down and everything goes back to the way it was. Back when we were the team that had been together forever.”

“Owen, I've only been on the Pioneers for a month.”

“Well, you're a special case.”

A few minutes earlier, I might have considered that a compliment.

“But M&M are part of the team now.”

Owen rolled his eyes. “Barely. And look how they're taking over.”

He had a point, there. They were dominating the court
and
the classroom. When I really thought about it, I had to admit I didn't like it either.

But was that a good enough reason to “take them down”?

I watched Mitch and Marcus perform yet another alley-oop, over the legendary Dante Powers's head.

Perhaps it was.

“What kind of a takedown are you planning?” I asked quietly.

Owen smiled and I half expected him to rub his hands together like a movie villain.

“I'm working on it. I'll fill you in when I've figured out the details.”

“Okay,” I told him, fighting off my doubts. “Keep me posted.”

Coach blew his whistle and put me and Owen in the game to replace the Matthews twins. When they passed us, they didn't raise their hands for high fives, but Marcus nodded in my direction.

I had a sinking feeling about Owen's sabotage.

That night, I set the table while Dad finished making a meal he called Hodge Podge. The mixture of chicken, mushrooms, and gravy over rice was one of the dishes our family ate when Mom wanted a break from cooking and told Dad that hot dogs were out of the question.

The other dishes were grilled-cheese sandwiches and spaghetti. Dad's menu was pretty limited.

“So, the streak is over,” he said, as he stirred the chicken mixture in a pot.

Owen told Dad we lost to Hogarth right before he stormed upstairs to take what had to have been the longest
shower in Evans family history. In fact, the water was still running and I was pretty sure the top floor of the house was a cloud of steam.

“The guys seem to think we can get another one started,” I told Dad.

“That's the right attitude. There's always the next game. So, that Dante Powers character turned out to be everything you'd heard?”

“And more,” I said with a sigh.

“The new guys couldn't stop him?”

I counted out the silverware and set each place. “They slowed him down, but stopping him was impossible.”

“Pretty impressive,” Dad said, then scooped a bit of his stew out to taste. He added some pepper. “Judging by his mood, I'm guessing your brother didn't have the game of his life.”

“Not quite,” I said.

Owen's playing was the worst I'd ever seen from him. The more frustrated he got, the less focus he had. Coach had benched him for the whole last quarter.

“What about you?” Dad asked.

“What about me?”

“How did you play?”

“Not as well as usual,” I told him.

Dad stirred the pot a couple more times, then turned the temperature down to a simmer. “And why do you think that is?”

“I don't know.” I shrugged. “There was a lot of buildup to this game. Everyone was nervous and—”

“Everyone but the twins?”

I nodded.

“Why not?”

“I'm not sure.” I thought about it for a moment, as I laid out the napkins. “They don't really seem to be affected by anything.” Every time I'd seen them, whether it was on the court, in the hallways, or in class, they'd been completely calm, like they didn't have a care in the world.

I wished I could feel the same way.

As I finished setting the table, I thought about the confidence of the Matthews twins and where they got it. I'd never been a new kid in school, but I'd always thought it would be kind of frightening. Yet from the second they arrived at Lewis and Clark, those two hadn't seemed nervous at all.
Hmm
.

Dad asked me to knock on the bathroom door and tell Owen to finish up in the shower while we still had water in the tank.

As I climbed the stairs, I thought about how I'd never seen M&M apart.

Ever.

Maybe their confidence came from each other.

And the more I thought about it, the more that made sense.

I reached the landing at the top of the stairs and as soon
as I knocked on the door, Owen turned off the water. He must have known he was pushing the limits.

“Dinner's just about ready,” I told him through the door.

“Cool,” he said, and I knew he must be feeling a little better.

I waited for him in his room, sitting at his desk and wondering for the hundredth time where all his study materials were. It seemed as though every place that should have been filled with pencils, paper, erasers, and everything else he'd need to do his homework was loaded with Blazer gear instead.

His chair was tilted back in a position that was better for daydreaming than hitting the books, and there was enough leftover Halloween candy scattered around that my teeth ached just looking at it.

I'd tried getting in sync with Owen in a lot of different ways, but being alone in his room gave me an idea.

I put on his favorite Blazer cap, then leaned back in the chair, gazing at the Blazers poster on the wall. But I still didn't feel like I was in his head yet, so I looked around for more gear.