Athlete vs. Mathlete: Double Dribble (17 page)

When it was time to scrimmage, I sat next to Marcus
and watched his note taking until I had some idea of what he was seeing. And when I figured out his shorthand writing, it all made sense.

He was the creative one.

And that gave me something to seriously think about.

I won't say it was a disaster that one of the Twinvaders broke his arm because that would be a total lie.

It was a
miracle
.

With him out of the picture, I had a second chance at having an awesome season and there was nothing wrong with that.

Nothing.

Any time a Pioneer got hurt, I stepped up my game. I knew a good opportunity when I saw one, and I wasn't going to miss out.

I tackled drills with a little more zip than usual. I ran faster, passed harder, and shot better, all so Coach Baxter could see that we didn't need those guys, anyway.

And everything was going really awesome … except
that Russ looked like he was starting to actually have fun hanging out with the wounded one on the bench.

I honestly didn't know what the deal was with my brother. I'm pretty sure he felt sorry for the guy, which was totally wrong. You couldn't feel sorry for the
enemy
.

You just couldn't.

On our next game day, I woke up ready for action. Finally, the court would belong to the real Pioneers again. No more doubling up by Mitch and Marcus. No more opening minutes on the bench.

And as far as winning streaks went, I knew for a fact that we'd be starting a new one.

I walked to school with Chris, who still dribbled his ball everywhere he went.

“You do that inside the house, too?” I asked, knowing there was no way my mom would let that happen.

“Only in the hallway and the kitchen,” he said. “Everything else is carpet.”

“Is it helping?”

“The dribbling?” He thought for a second. “Yeah, I think so.”

“I guess we'll find out this afternoon.”

“The Gresham Gophers,” he said. “I heard they've got a good lineup this year.”

“So do we,” I told him, lifting my hand for a high five.

His palm slapped mine, but he wasn't smiling. “You think we can do it without the twins?”

I laughed. “You've
got
the twins, man. The Evans twins.”

“No, I mean the—”

“I know who you mean,” I interrupted. I didn't even want to hear their name. “But we don't need those guys.”

Chris stopped dribbling. “Are you kidding me?”

“No. We were fine without them for
years
, Chris.”

“Yeah, but they're so good.”

“So are we,” I said with a shrug. “We were in the middle of a winning streak when they got here, and look what happened. The streak ended.”

He looked at me like I wasn't making sense. “But that was because of Dante Powers.”

“Hey,” I said, getting ticked off. “The winning streak starts again today, without the Matthews twins.”

“Well, one of them will be playing.”

“I
know
.”

Like I wanted to be reminded of that.

Classes went by superfast, probably because I wasn't paying attention. I knew that would come back to bite me in the butt later, like when we took our next test or something, but I was having too much fun daydreaming to stop.

While Mrs. Barber talked about fractions, I pictured myself scoring the winning shot against Gresham, right at the buzzer. I didn't want the game to be
that
close, but I liked imagining the big moment, anyway.

While Mr. Hathaway explained the meaning of a short story I forgot to read for homework, I imagined the Pioneers making their way toward Gresham's basket, no-look passes all the way.

At lunch, I met the guys at our usual table and was kind of disappointed to see Mitch and Marcus sitting at the far end.

“What are they doing here?” I asked Russ. “Did the eighth graders ditch them?”

“No, I invited them to join us.”

“You what?” I choked.

“They're on our team, Owen.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that.”

“Because it's true,” he told me, then took a bite of his apple. It was so juicy, I got sprayed in the face.

There was no point in trying to convince Russ that he sounded completely crazy, so I didn't bother. I just dug into my own lunch bag and started eating.

I didn't like thinking about how important the brothers had become to the team. And I definitely didn't like thinking that we stood a better chance of losing without both of them playing.

Even if we did play, well, like
us
, we still wouldn't be playing like
them
.

I shook my head, knowing that kind of thinking wasn't going to help at all.

I needed to get back in the game … before the game.

I saw the Gresham Middle School bus parked in front of the school when I ran downstairs at the end of the day.

On their way to our front door were a bunch of Gophers wearing matching green and gray warm-ups. I checked them out through the window.

They looked taller than most of the teams we played, and kind of … older.

I jumped down the last few stairs and ran to the locker room. I was the first one there, and I was already suited up and tying my laces by the time Nicky Chu and Russ showed up.

“This is gonna be rough,” Nicky said.

“You saw them, too, huh?”

“Who?” he asked.

“The Gophers.”

He looked confused. “No.”

“Then why is it gonna be rough?”

“Uh, news flash, Owen. We're down a man.”

“We'll be fine,” I told him, wishing I didn't have to convince everybody of that.

I headed for the court to warm up so I'd be ready to outplay … well, everyone.

I dribbled the ball for a while, even through the legs as I walked toward center. I looked at the scoreboard I'd lit up a hundred times before and then glanced into the stands, where I knew our fans would be rooting for us.

I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with gymnasium air.

I loved knowing that we had a better record than the Gophers. I could already taste the win, and it tasted awesome, like a double cheeseburger and fries.

I dribbled over to the free throw line, my favorite warm-up spot. I bounced the ball twice, then bent my knees. I bounced it again and moved my head from side to side, to loosen up my neck.

Another two bounces and a knee bend.

“Are you going to shoot, or what?” a voice asked from behind me.

I spun around and saw the twin in the orange cast.

“I'm warming up,” I muttered.

“It looks more like you're warming up for a warm-up to warm up.”

“Very funny,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I've only got a few minutes before the game, so if you don't mind …,” I said, then waited as he walked back to the bench.

He had that stupid notebook with him, and when he sat down, he whipped it open and started scribbling in it.

Whatever
.

I turned back to the basket, finally ready to take my shot.

With a loud
bang
, the gym door swung open and the Gophers poured in so fast I wished our team was called the Exterminators.

I quickly took my shot.

After all that buildup, I missed.

“Ouch,” Nate said, dribbling past me for a nice layup.

I grabbed the ball and walked back to my position to take another shot.

Swish
.

“Nothing but net,” I told him.

“Cool,” he said, going in for another one.

I'd barely had time to bounce the ball when the rest of the Pioneers came out of the locker room. Everyone looked nervous, but I knew for a fact that once we heard the ref's whistle, everything would fall into place.

Just like the old days.

I glanced at the bench, where the healthy twin was sitting next to his brother and looking over the notebook.

For once, they were talking to each other with their voices instead of their minds.

The whole time the guys and I were warming up, they sat on that bench and studied the notebook, like it was the most interesting thing on the planet.

By the time Coach blew his whistle for a huddle, the healthy one was still wearing his hoodie and hadn't even touched a ball.

Fine with me. The less prepared he was, the better all of us would look.

I knew things were going my way when Coach put me in as a forward and Russ at center. And rounding out the front line was Paul.

Not a Matthews twin on the hardwood!

I loved it.

Gresham took possession at the tip-off, but Nate stole the ball in about two seconds flat.

We weren't on fire yet, but we had a spark.

That spark caught flame when Nate dribbled all the way down the court and threw a bounce pass to Russ, who happened to be in perfect position for one of his trademark three-pointers!

We were officially back in business!

For the next three minutes, we were up and down the court more times than I could count, and the Pioneers racked up a quick eleven points.

“Yes!” I said, shaking a fist in the air.

But the excitement didn't last long.

Paul was dribbling down the court, a blur of blue and white, trailed by two Gophers who were desperate to catch him.

He was almost to the basket when he tripped over his own feet and fell to the ground.

The ball rolled toward the sidelines and I waited for him to jump up and grab it, but he just lay there.

“Uh-oh,” I whispered.

“Did he twist his ankle?” Russ asked. “It looked like he twisted it.”

“No, he just tripped. He's fine,” I told him, hoping I was right.

Paul sat up, his face whiter than the soles of his Nikes, and clutched his ankle.

“He doesn't look fine,” Russ said.

Coach Baxter jogged out onto the court where Paul sat, holding his foot like it was going to fall off his leg.

The rest of us held our breath as Coach talked to him while pressing on different parts of his foot and ankle.