Time-Out (11 page)

For example, my Masters of the Mind team was supposed to be on our way to nationals.

I shook my head to clear the thought away. I needed to concentrate on the positive.

“Are you ready?” Coach Baylor asked.

“Sure,” I told him.

But I was dead wrong.

Coach Hernandez blew his whistle and all of the other guys formed two lines, one to my right and one to my left. Each of the boys in front had a ball and the assistant coaches were standing by, holding mesh bags filled with more.

“Okay!” Coach Hernandez shouted. “At my whistle, we start on the left and alternate.”

Alternate what?

I found out soon enough, when the sound of the whistle pierced the air and the first guy in line dribbled toward me.

I got into position, hands up and ready to catch the ball.

The player was moving awfully fast.

How was I going to—

The ball flew passed me at a tremendous speed.

Stunned, I turned around to see it tangled in the back corner of the net. I heard another whistle blast, but by the
time I turned back around, another ball was racing toward my face.

I jumped out of the way, tripping over my feet in the process.

Bweep!

Another ball came out of nowhere, this one hitting me in the chest with much more force than expected.

“Nice block!” Coach Baylor shouted.

“Block?” I choked.

Bweep!

Another ball rocketed toward me. I lifted my elbow to shield my face and it bounced off my funny bone.

“Use your hands,” Coach Hernandez called out to me.

I was tempted to raise them in surrender.

Bweep!

The redhead took his shot, and I felt a light breeze through my hair as the ball missed my ear by inches.

“Hold on,” I said, but no one was listening.

Bweep!

“Hey,” I said a bit louder as another player took aim.

When yet another ball came right at me, I turned away and felt it pound against my back.

“
Time-out!
” Coach Baylor shouted.

Of course.
That
was the word I'd been searching for.

“What's the problem?” Coach Hernandez asked, meeting Coach Baylor a few feet away from me.

“Russ, you've got to go for the ball,” Baylor said.

“But the ball's going for
me
,” I explained, “like a guided missile.”

“I thought you wanted to try goal,” Coach Hernandez said, looking disappointed.

“I did. I mean, I
do
.”

“Then let's give it another shot,” he said.

“Great,” I muttered as he walked away. “More shots.”

I sighed as I adjusted my glasses. The mud from my gloves smeared the lenses, but I didn't have time to clean them off.

Bweep!

The next ball was coming in way above my head.

“Jump for it!” Coach Baylor shouted.

I leaped into the air, arms stretched as far as they would go, but my fingertips barely grazed the ball.

“Nice effort!” Baylor called out to me.

I took a deep breath, reminding myself that nothing is easy the first time.

Except maybe algebraic equations.

Bweep!

And calculating atomic weight.

This time, I watched closely as the player dribbled, trying to figure out what he was going to do before he actually did it.

To my surprise, I noticed that he leaned
left
just before he took the shot with his
right
foot.

Aha!

I took a couple of steps, anticipating the ball. I raised my hands to chest level, and when it came toward me, I actually caught it.

I barely felt the sting in my hands as Coach Hernandez shouted, “Nice save!”

Astonished by my success, I was tempted to take a bow, but a whistle blast brought me back to my senses.

At dinner that night, I grabbed a sandwich to take back to the room. After a rather exhausting but satisfying day of soccer, I couldn't wait to relax with my book.

To my surprise, when I was on my way through the cafeteria, heading for the exit, I was invited to sit at a couple of different tables.

“Come on, Russ,” the redhead I'd learned was Sam urged. “We're trying to come up with our team name.”

That
was intriguing enough to pull me in.

“What have you come up with so far?” I asked as I stood at the end of the table.

“Nothing,” my teammate James said. “We're the C team, so we figured it should start with a C.”

“
Hmm
.” I thought about it for a moment. “What about the Catalysts?”

“Huh?” Sam asked.

“You know, because a catalyst causes action or change and—”

“I think we need an English name,” James said.

“It is an . . . never mind.” I thought for a second or two. “We could be Team Combustion,” I suggested.

More blank looks.

“I don't know,” Sam said doubtfully.

I wasn't ready to give up. “We could be—”

“The Cougars,” James announced triumphantly.

The rest of the table nodded in agreement and murmured their approval.

“Great idea,” I lied, wishing they'd settled on something a little more . . . clever. I started to walk away from the table.

“Wait,” James called after me. “Don't you want to hang out?”

It was a kind and unexpected offer, but I was keen to get back to Chapter Four in the temporary solitude of my room.

“I'll catch up with you guys later,” I said, offering the group a wave before I made my exit.

I smiled to myself as I crossed the courtyard and managed to get back to my room without seeing any sign of Owen.

Perfect!

Once I'd finished eating my delicious sandwich, I was lying on my bed, fully engrossed by life on another planet, when the door swung open.

Danny walked in, with Big Mike and T. J. right on his heels.

“Hi, Danny,” I said, tucking my finger between the pages to mark my place and trying to hide my disappointment at the interruption.

“Hey,” he said, crossing the room with a clenched fist.

Oh!

Was he going to punch me?

Why?

He stopped abruptly at the side of my bed and held the fist toward me.

I'm sure I looked terrified as I stared at him.

He frowned. “I'm just looking for a bump.”

“A bump?”

“A fist bump,” he said, looking confused. He lifted his other fist and gently tapped the two together to demonstrate.

“Is
that
what that's called?” I asked, recognizing the gesture from the NBA games I'd watched with Owen and Dad.

Danny studied me for a few seconds, before saying, “You're kind of different, aren't you, Russ?”

I'd certainly been called worse. “I suppose.” I lifted my own fist for the tap and let it fall onto my chest when the greeting was complete.

“Hey, Russ,” T. J. said, with a nose twitch.

Big Mike nodded at me.

“So,” Danny said, “pranks.”

I cleared my throat, preparing to say something that had
been on my mind since he'd mentioned it earlier. I knew it could potentially create some awkwardness, but I was compelled to express my opinion.

“Uh, I think the pranks sound . . .
fun
,” I began. “But I'm just hoping no camp property will be damaged.”

“No way,” Danny said, shaking his head.

Whew.
That was a good start.

“And no one will get hurt?” I asked.

“Geez, we're not into hurting people,” Big Mike said.

“Or humiliating them?” I asked hopefully.

“Nope,” Danny said. “We're talking about goofy little pranks, Russ. Just for fun.”

“Great,” I said, relieved.

“You should do it with us,” Danny said.

“No, thanks,” I said, holding up my book. “I have plans for tonight.”

Danny chuckled. “Like I said before, that must be an awesome book.”

“It is.”

“So,” T. J. said. “Are we short-sheeting beds?”

Content that no unnecessary cruelty was on their schedule, I turned my attention back to my book.

“I don't know,” Big Mike said. “That's kind of a lame prank.”

“That's the idea,” Danny told him. “We start with something nice and simple. Then we take it up a notch every day.”

“Short-sheeting today, duct taping tomorrow?” T. J. asked.

That
got my attention.

“Duct taping what?” I asked, curious.

“Anything,” T. J. said, with a shrug and a quick sniff. “We could tape up someone's suitcase, totally wrap their bed, or just do the doorway.”

I thought about that for a second. “You'd be better off using plastic wrap in a doorway.”

“What?” Danny asked. “Why?”

“The element of surprise,” I explained. “If they see the duct tape, they'll stand back and admire it. But if you wrap the inside of the doorway in clear plastic—”

“They'll walk right into it,” Big Mike finished for me.

Danny looked at T. J., who smiled and said, “Nice.”

“I like it,” Danny said. “Okay, so we'll work on that for later in the week. In the meantime, let's get started on the sheets.”

“Should we just do this floor?” T. J. asked.

“Nah, let's get the whole building,” Big Mike said.

“Don't forget your own beds,” I said.

They all turned to stare at me.

“What?” Danny asked.

It seemed pretty obvious.

“If you play a prank on everyone but yourself, they'll know it was you.”

“Oh, I didn't think of that,” Big Mike said, nodding.

I propped myself up on one elbow. “And I think attempting to prank the whole building is unrealistic.”

“Why?” T. J. asked, sniffing once.

“For starters, the likelihood of every room being empty is virtually nil,” I explained, surprised by how much my brain was enjoying this little exercise. “Sure, some of the campers are still in the cafeteria and some are playing basketball in various places, but there's no way they're all gone.”

“Good point,” Danny said, nodding.

I felt a bit like Owen when I continued. “I agree that pranking both floors would be best, to help maintain your anonymity. But the question is
which
rooms and
which
beds?”

“Who is this kid?” T. J. asked, sounding rather impressed.

The three boys sat on the edge of Danny's mattress, giving me their full attention.

I made some logistical suggestions and when I was finished sharing my thoughts, Danny let out a low whistle and asked, “Are you sure you don't want to do it with us?”

“No. I just like the brainstorming part.”

Big Mike gave me a look of awe. “Dude, you're a mastermind.”

“Actually, I was a Master of the Mind,” I told him.

“Meaning?” T. J. asked.

I took a deep breath.

Was I ready to share the tale of my complete failure as a team leader with a group of strangers?

To my surprise, I was.

And to my utter astonishment, they listened.

Like the whole first day of camp, the first night didn't go the way I expected it to.

At all.

Instead of hanging out with the guys I'd hoped to meet and goofing off, I was alone in my room. And even worse? While I stared at the blank walls, Russ and his roommate had a party next door.

Well, maybe it wasn't a
party
, but there was a group of guys in there making a big racket. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but every now and then they all started cracking up.

And I knew for a fact that Russ wasn't funny.

He was a lot of other things (mostly brainiac-type things), but he wasn't the kind of guy who cracked people up.

Ever.

I pressed my ear against the wall, trying to figure out what was so funny, but all I heard was mumbling.