Athlete vs. Mathlete: Double Dribble (19 page)

It wasn't something I'd ever really believed I'd suggest, even though Nitu had wanted me to do it. But when I took a good look at the way I was behaving, I realized I was no different from Owen. I'd been acting as if it was better to sacrifice the Masters team than to invite Marcus to be part of it.

And that was ridiculous.

“Me?” he asked, looking surprised. “For what?”

“To be on the team. We're short a member, so …”

I waited for him to jump at the opportunity, but he looked out at his twin instead. “You think
I'm
the guy for the team?”

“Yes.”

“
Hmm
,” he said, still staring at Mitch.

“What do you say?”

“I'll have to think about it.”

He'd have to think about it?

As far as I could see, he had nothing else to do!

“It's a really good way to meet friends,” I told him.

“Friends?”

“Yes. You know, people you hang out with—”

“I know what a friend is. I just don't need one.”

“You what?”

“I have Mitch. He's my best friend.”

“Oh.” I considered Owen my friend, but he wasn't my
best
friend. That was Nitu. And Owen had Chris. “But now that Mitch is playing and you aren't, maybe it's a good time to look into some other activities.”

He stared at me. “I play basketball.”

“Yes, but not right now. What else do you like?”

He thought for a second. “We like—”

“No, not the two of you. What do
you
like?”

He looked like he'd never been asked that question before. I could see that he was struggling with the answer.

“Marcus?”

“I don't know,” he said, shaking his head. “We do everything together. We always have.”

He watched his brother on the court. He didn't just look uncertain, he looked lost.

I couldn't imagine being so linked to Owen that I had no opinions of my own.

“Well,” I said. “
I
think you'd like Masters of the Mind.”

“Really?”

“Really,” I said with a firm nod. “At least think about it, okay?”

He nodded.

Okay, it's true that I got what I wanted.

The one I'd figured out was Mitch was a total mess on the court and that meant the rest of us looked like pros.

Except for Paul, anyway.

Yes, it stunk that not all the original Pioneers were out there together, and losing wasn't the greatest, but our record was good enough that we could bounce back later.

If taking the Twinvaders down meant losing a couple of games, I was totally okay with that.

And losing a couple of games was exactly what happened next.

I practically cheered every time Mitch lost possession and every
thunk
of the ball bouncing off the rim sounded like music to me.

“Try not to look too happy,” Russ muttered when we were both on the bench.

“I can't help it,” I told him. “Everything is working out perfectly.”

“Except that we're down eleven points.”

“We'll make it up,” I promised, kind of hoping we wouldn't. The more baskets Mitch missed, the more obvious it was that his lame playing was dragging us all down.

Coach called a time-out and the rest of the guys joined us on the sidelines.

“You okay out there, Mitch?” he asked.

He nodded. “Yup.”

“Doesn't look like it to me,” I whispered to Russ, who took a step away from me.

Touchy!

While Coach gave a pretty decent pep talk to my discouraged teammates, I watched the Twinvaders study another page in that stupid book. Marcus frantically scribbled with a pencil while Mitch nodded, like a drawing was going to help anything.

What a waste of time.

But that was okay with me. If he wanted to study sketches instead of scoring points, it would only make the rest of us look better.

In the second half, Mitch was an even bigger mess than
before. His dribbling was sloppy, his shots were garbage, and instead of getting his head in the game, he kept looking at his brother on the bench.

It was awesome.

I was walking home from school with Russ, Chris, and Nate one afternoon when Nate said, “This season is going down the tubes, fast.”

“Not really,” I said, smiling to myself.

“What are you talking about?” Nate asked, surprised. “We've got Marcus riding the bench, Mitch's playing is awful, and Paul's
still
out with his injury.”

“Okay, so Paul wasn't supposed to get hurt, but—”

“No one was
supposed
to get hurt,” Nate said.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I told him. “But it would have been nice if only Marcus was out.”

“Nice?” Chris asked, raising an eyebrow.

“You know what I mean,” I said, shrugging.

I glanced at Russ, who was shaking his head like I should stop talking.

“No, I don't,” Nate said. “Unless you mean that you like that one of the best players on the team is hurt and we'll never win another game …”

“We'll win another game,” I told him, sure of it.

“I don't get you, O,” Chris said, shaking his head. “We're supposed to be in this together.”

“Exactly,” I told him. “This season is about the
original
Pioneers.”

Chris looked at my brother, then back at me. “Russ isn't an original Pioneer.”

“That's what I told him,” Russ said.

“Look—” I started to explain, but Nate cut me off.

“No,
you
look, Owen. It doesn't matter who was here first or who joined the team partway into the season.”

“They didn't even have to try out,” I muttered.

“Who cares?” Nate said. “We're a team now, and it would be nice to be a
winning
team.”

“Yeah, but—”

“I'm not finished,” he snapped. “We need to pull this team together and forget about jealousy and all that other junk.”

“I'm not jeal—”

“
Owen
,” Russ said, giving me a look.

“He's right,” Chris said. “If we want to have a decent season and a chance at play-offs this year, we've got to figure out a way for Mitch to play the way he used to, without his brother.”

“I don't think that's—”

“Seriously, what is your problem, Owen?” Nate interrupted. “Why do you hate Mitch?”

“Hate him? I don't
hate
him.”

“Yeah, right,” Russ muttered.

“What did he ever do to you?” Nate demanded.

I wasn't going to say anything, but I blurted out, “It's both of them, you guys. The Matthews twins are ruining everything.”

“By scoring points?” Chris asked.

“By winning games?” Nate added. “Come on, man. They helped the team
and
they're really cool guys.”

That was pushing it.

“With matching haircuts,” I said with a snort.

Nate shook his head, like he was disgusted. “If you can't see past the haircuts, you've got a problem, Owen.”

“What, so you're best friends with them now?” I snapped.

He shrugged. “They heard me say I was having problems in math and offered to help me.”

“What?”

“Me, too,” Chris said. “Not math, though. English.”

“You never told me that!” I gasped.

“I figured you'd flip out,” Chris said, glancing at me. “And it looks like I was right.”

I shook my head and tried to slow down all the thoughts that were crowding my brain. “So they offered to help you with homework. Big deal.”

“It's a big deal to me,” Nate said. “If I fail math, you think Coach will let me play?”

“You're not going to fail math,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“Thanks to Mitch and Marcus, you're probably right.”

“You really need to give them a chance, Owen,” Chris said.

“A chance to what? Take over the whole universe?”

Russ sighed. “Be reasonable, O.”

“Listen to the genius of the family,” Nate said. “The reasonable thing to do is to help get Mitch up to speed so the Pioneers can start winning again.”

I hated to admit it, but deep inside, I knew he was right. We could handle a couple of losses, but there would be no winning streaks and no play-offs waiting for us if things didn't turn around.

“Fine,” I said, sighing. “So, how are we going to do that?”

“Well,” Chris asked, “how did we get Russ ready for try-outs?”

“
We
didn't,” I reminded him, thinking of all the time I'd spent practicing with my brother. “
I
did.”

“Exactly,” Chris said with a nod. “And you'll do it again.”

It wasn't nearly as easy as Chris made it sound. First, I had to convince Mitch—who thought I was a total jerk and maybe he was kind of right—to practice with me.

“Why?” he asked.

“Because you stink without Marcus.”

He rolled his eyes. “I meant, why do
you
want to help me?”

“To be honest, I don't,” I admitted.

“What?”

“I don't want to help you. I want to help the team.”

“So do I.”

“I want to win.”

He shrugged. “So do I.”

“Yeah, but probably not as much as I do,” I told him.

“This isn't a contest. We both want the exact same thing, Russell.”

“I'm Owen,” I reminded him.

“Sorry,” he said, but not like he really meant it. “Okay, if you're willing to help me, I'm willing to practice with you.”

“Awesome,” I said. “My place. Nine o'clock tomorrow morning.” Then I walked away, cool as could be.

“Owen?” he called after me.

“Yeah?” I asked, turning around.

“I don't know where you live.”

The next morning, both of the Twinvaders were on my doorstep at nine sharp.