Athlete vs. Mathlete: Double Dribble (9 page)

“Big crowd,” I said quietly.

“We've had bigger,” said one of the twins.

Why couldn't one of them always stand on the right or something? I'd mixed them up again!

“Back in Minnesota,” the other one explained, “everyone comes to the games.”

“They make signs, blow horns—”

“And dress in team colors,” they both said at once.

Enough with the surround sound
, I thought.

But the rest of the guys were leaning in to hear better, like they'd bought tickets to hear those bozos talk.

I mean,
come on
.

We dumped our stuff around the visitors' bench and started to warm up.

I dribbled a ball over to the free throw line and took a few shots, hearing the sounds of my teammates getting into game mode around me.

Whenever I checked over my shoulder, the Warriors looked pretty smooth. But who didn't look smooth during
drills
?

I glanced back at the Pioneers, who had about a hundred balls in the air at once, all bumping each other out of the basket.

Well, maybe
we
didn't look so smooth.

I noticed Mitch and Marcus weren't shooting with the rest of the guys and spotted them near center court. They were standing about ten feet apart, bounce-passing two balls between each other at turbo speed.

They didn't miss a single catch, and every pass was perfect. And the weird part was, neither one of them was even looking at the balls. They were staring into each other's eyes instead.

While I watched, they passed faster and faster, never missing a beat.

Where did they play last? A freakin' circus?

“Okay, that is seriously awesome,” Nate said, from next to me.

Before I had a chance to say anything else, the ref blew his whistle and it was time to huddle up.

I was hoping Coach Baxter would start me this time, so I wouldn't have to be embarrassed by spending those first minutes on the bench.

But he put both of the Matthews brothers in instead.

After the huddle, I watched the rest of the guys run into their positions.

That's when I saw it.

I was shocked I hadn't noticed it on the bus.

Paul and Nate had both parted their hair like the new guys and molded it to their heads with goo.

Come on
.

“What's with the hair?” I asked Russ.

He patted his. “Mine?”

“No, Nate's and Paul's. They
styled
theirs just like the Twinvaders'.”

He glanced at them. “
Hmm
. Maybe it's to improve their aerodynamics.”

I rolled my eyes. “This isn't NASA, Russ. It's freakin' middle-school basketball.”

“Well,” he said with a shrug, “you asked.”

The Warriors took possession at the tip-off, and I realized that I should have seen their smooth drills as a warning.

Those guys knew what to do, and they did it well.

“Nice play,” Russ said when a Warrior practically ran over Nate to make a basket.

“Geez, don't compliment the other team, Russ.” I couldn't believe the stuff I still had to tell him about basketball.

“Well, it
was
a good play.”

“So, wait for us to make a good one.”

He didn't have to wait long.

Paul passed to a Matthews twin, who spun around and passed to his brother, who was in perfect position for a three-pointer.

“Yes!” a couple of our fellow benchwarmers shouted, jumping to their feet to cheer.

I tried to smile but I couldn't help wishing someone else had scored.

And I ended up wishing that a lot during the first quarter, when Mitch and Marcus racked up points like it was a video game instead of real life.

But the Warriors weren't giving up.

By the time Russ and I got in the game, the Pioneers were down six points and I was looking forward to closing the gap.

When I passed the Twinvaders coming off the court, I lifted a hand for a high five, and they both ignored it. I pretended to check my watch, so I wouldn't look like a total loser, but I didn't have a watch on.

Russ must have seen the guys diss me, so he lifted his hand for a high five from me instead.

Based on experience, I knew I was making a mistake, but I went for it.

Russ's hand missed mine and then we
both
looked like losers.

Great.

The ref blew his whistle and one of the Pioneers passed me the ball. I hauled down the court, dodging red jerseys all the way. I could hear the handful of our fans who'd made the trip cheering for me, and that got me pumped.

I had my chance at a basket and was just about to shoot when a Warrior reached over my back and shoved the ball to the side.

“You've gotta move faster, Owen!” Coach Baxter shouted from the bench.

I gritted my teeth and took off running so I could get the ball back. But I was too late.

Two points for the Warriors.

Ugh.

When I had my next chance at a shot, I choked and threw a total brick.

“Take your time, Owen,” Coach called to me.

What did he want me to do? Speed up or slow down?

If I hadn't spent so much time on the bench, my playing wouldn't be so rusty. I just knew it.

Russ did okay, though. He made a couple of sweet jump shots, and I was totally proud of him.

By the time Coach pulled us out, the Pioneers were eight points ahead, thanks to nine points from Russ and four from me.

I reminded myself that four was better than none as I walked back to the bench.

But “better than none” didn't do much for me at the end of the game. We won, forty-eight to thirty-nine, but only six of the points were mine.

The Matthews twins walked out of there with thirty points between them.

When I got home that night, I grabbed my ball out of the garage so I could take some practice shots. I tried a few from the free throw line I'd marked on the concrete, and made most of them. I took a few more from the corner by the mailbox but didn't have as much luck.

I thought about some of the moves Mitch and Marcus had been showing off at practices and at the game.

I bounced the ball through my legs, like they had, slowly walking toward the street and passing it through on each step.

Not bad.

Figuring it wouldn't hurt to push myself, I tried to do the same thing while walking backward up the driveway.

It was way harder, and I lost control of the ball almost as many times as I banged it against the backs of my knees.

“You look just like M&M,” Russ said, from behind me.

The ball bounced against my ankle and rolled onto the grass. “I wasn't trying to,” I lied.

“It was a compliment,” Russ said with a shrug. “They're really good.”

“Yeah, well they aren't the first people on the planet to dribble like that.”

“I didn't say they were.”

“Lots of people do it.”

“Fine,” he said, shrugging again.

“Fine,” I repeated, then picked up the ball and carried it into the garage.

I really didn't feel like practicing anymore.

“You know, I think one of them was going to high-five you at the game,” Russ called after me.

“One of who? The Twinvaders?” I shook my head. “Nah, they both ignored me.”

“I don't think so. I'm pretty sure it was Marcus who moved toward you, then Mitch kind of blocked him.”

I couldn't help snorting. “You're seeing things, Russ. Mitch might be the bigger jerk, but they're
both
jerks.”

“I'm not so sure,” he said.

“Yeah, well I am,” I told him, starting toward the door.

“I'm just saying that Marcus might be okay.”

That was the last thing I needed to hear. “It's official,” I
muttered, as I walked back inside. “The whole team's been brainwashed.”

Just before dinner that night, I was washing my hands in the bathroom sink when I glanced at myself in the mirror. I turned off the faucet and let the water drip off my fingers as I studied my reflection.

Curious, I lifted one hand up to the top of my head and started to push the hair to one side.

It wouldn't stay, so I ran the faucet again and dipped one of Dad's little black combs under the water, then pushed the hair to the side.

I used the comb to make a perfect part and was just about to take a good, long look at myself when the door swung open.

“Oops!” Mom gasped. “Sorry, O, I didn't know you were in here.” She started to close the door again, but stopped partway. “Hey, I like what you've done with your hair. Very cute.”

Cute?

I leaned closer to the mirror. She was right, it wasn't a bad look.

I jerked backward.

What was I thinking?

I didn't want Twinvader hair.

I didn't want Twinvader
anything
.

And I definitely didn't want to look
cute
.

I dropped the comb back into the drawer and messed up my hair with my hands.

If I wasn't careful, I'd be sucked into the Matthews brothers' trap, just like the rest of the Pioneers.

And I didn't want that most of all.

At dinner, Dad congratulated us on our game.

“The streak continues, huh?” he said, passing me the carrots.

“Yeah,” I muttered, scooping a bunch onto my plate.

“Wow,” Dad said. “Now
that's
enthusiasm.”

“I thought you'd be thrilled with another win,” Mom said.

“I would, if
we'd
won.”

They both looked totally confused, and I guess I couldn't blame them.

“The Matthews twins,” Russ explained, once he'd swallowed a mouthful of salmon. “They're dominating the team.”

“Dominating, huh?” Dad asked.

“Yeah,
dominating
,” I said, trying not to sound ticked off but failing.

“But everyone's getting court time, right?” Dad asked.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “But Russ and I have been starting on the bench lately.”

“Somebody has to start on the bench,” Mom said.

Like that helped.

“Yeah, but it used to be somebody
else
,” I said, passing the carrots to Russ.

“You know,” Dad said. “You guys are looking at these twins as threats instead of allies. And that's a big mistake.”

“What do you mean?” Russ asked.

Dad swallowed a mouthful. “You already had a team who was great together, right?”

“Yeah, back in the good old days,” I muttered.

“And now you've added two more solid players to the roster, which will make your great team even greater.”

I nodded, even though I didn't totally agree. “Uh-huh.”

“So, why are you worrying about how you start? You should be thinking about how you finish.”

“We
are
winning,” Russ said quietly.

“No,” I told both of them. “The Matthews twins are winning. The rest of us are just decoration.”