Time-Out (12 page)

After the first few minutes, I was tempted to go knock on the door and join in. But the way Russ had been acting, I wasn't sure he'd let me. And how embarrassing would it be if my own brother shut me down in front of some of the best players at camp?

I sighed and flopped on my bed, staring at a ceiling filled with little black dots.

As I lay on the bed in that empty room, I thought about my lame performances in the first two Hoopsters sessions. I thought about eating both lunch and dinner with a kid who was more of a tagalong than a friend. And the icing on the cake was hanging out by myself while
Russ
was the life of the party.

I mean,
come on
.

I closed my eyes, wishing the day had been about a thousand times better.

I had to turn things around.

But how would I do that?

I thought for a few minutes and was amazed when I realized that making camp the most awesome week of my life would only take three steps:

Dominate on the court at every session.

Hang out with the cool kids.

Blow away an NBA player (and everyone else) at the tournament.

Wait. Make that four steps.

Win the MVP award.

Four little steps didn't sound like a big deal.

I felt my whole body start to relax, and before I knew it, I was fast asleep.

When I opened my eyes in the morning, it wasn't because I'd popped awake from excitement. No, what woke me up was the loud talking and laughing out in the hallway.

What was going on?

I glanced at my watch.

Shoot!

I only had fifteen minutes before the Hoopsters would meet for our morning run!

I rolled out of bed, wishing I'd set the stupid alarm clock.

When my feet hit the ground, I realized I'd fallen asleep totally dressed, right down to my Nikes.

I did a quick sniff test on my pits and decided I could skip the shower and roll out just the way I was.

I checked the mirror on the back of the door. Sure, I had some crazy bedhead, so my hair looked more like Russ's than my own, but that was no big deal. I pulled a sweatband (like the one the pros wore) out of the drawer and put it on.

Perfect.

But things were less perfect when I opened my door and saw all the guys heading for the stairs without me.

“Justin couldn't figure out what was wrong!” one of them said, pointing to the camper next to him. “He kept kicking his feet, trying to stretch out. It was hilarious!”

“And suspicious,” the guy he'd pointed to said. “How come yours was normal?”

“Ha! You think I did it?”

“I don't know,” Justin said, with a shrug.

“I'm in a double and only one of us had it,” T. J. said, just as they turned the corner.

Had what?

“Me, too,” someone added.

“Oh, it's on, now!” someone said, and they all laughed.

What the heck happened while I was sleeping?

What was so hilarious?

I started walking toward the stairs, wishing someone had at least knocked on my door to make sure I was up.

As I passed Russ's room, the door opened, and my brother came out, smiling.

“What are you so happy about?” I snapped.

Russ blinked a couple of times, then said, “I didn't realize happiness was forbidden.”

“Very funny.”

“I didn't see you at breakfast,” he said.

“Yeah. I kind of slept in.”

“You were up late?” Russ asked.

All the way until seven thirty. “Yeah. I was, you know, hanging out with the guys. Shooting hoops and stuff,” I lied. “So, what was everybody talking about his morning? What happened?”

“Short-sheeting,” Russ said, like he was an expert on it.

“Seriously?” I asked, amazed he even knew what it was. I smiled as I imagined the surprised faces, especially Big Mike's.

“I think they got about seventy percent of the building,” Russ said, smiling a little wider.

“They got you?” I asked.

Russ nodded. “Danny, too.”

“Oh,” I said, suddenly disappointed. It was one thing for the guys in the dorm not to
hang out
with me, but how much did it stink that I wasn't even worth
pranking
?

“What's wrong?” Russ asked.

“Nothing,” I told him. “I just . . . I mean, they short-sheeted my bed, too, so . . .” I didn't know what to add to the lie.

“Really?” Russ asked, surprised.

“Yeah, it was . . .
hilarious
,” I told him, forcing a smile onto my face.

I could tell his surprise had changed to something else. He looked like he felt sorry for me.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “Hilarious.”

“Camp is awesome, huh?”

“Uh, sure,” he said, giving me a concerned look. “It's better than I expected.”

Better than he expected? How was that possible, when mine was worse?

I was the one who wanted to come in the first place!

“Cool,” I told him. “Hey, I've gotta get downstairs. It's time to run.” I hustled to get away from him before he figured out how things were really going.

“Owen?” he called after me.

“Yeah?”

“Aren't you going to, uh . . . shower?” he asked, wrinkling up his nose.

Uh-oh. Maybe my smell test hadn't been as on target as I thought.

“Nah. It's
camp
, Russ.”

“Oh,” he said, frowning. “Okay, well, I'll walk down with you.”

“You know what?” I said, panicked that the rest of the guys would notice my stink. “I left some stuff in the room.”

“I can wait.”

“No, no. Go ahead. I'll see you later.”

As soon as he started to walk toward the stairs, I hurried back into my room and checked the clock.

Only
seven
minutes until the run started.

Man, I wished I'd had breakfast!

I switched out my T-shirt, shorts, and everything else as fast as I could and ran down the hallway. Halfway to the stairs, I realized I'd left the sweatband behind.

Oh well, if Russ could handle a lifetime of crazy hair, I could survive a day of it.

But the first thing I heard when I met up with the guys in front of Freeman Court was, “Nice lid,” from some kid I'd never even seen before.

I didn't exactly have a comeback ready, so I ignored it.

And for most of the day, the guys ignored
me
.

I was totally wiped out after a full day of running, drills, and a pretty tough scrimmage, and when the second session of the day was over, all I wanted was my bed.

And a sandwich.

And maybe some of those cookies.

I headed over to the cafeteria and ended up pulling a total Russ. I packed a paper bag to bring back to the room and ate there by myself.

Afterward, I had a long shower, letting the hot water run over me while I tried to figure out what I was doing wrong.

Camp was a mess so far, and I had no idea how to fix it.

One of the problems was that the Hoopsters guys weren't like my friends back at Lewis and Clark. The Pioneers had known me since I was a little kid, and we were so
used to each other, I never had to think about whether or not they liked me or what they thought was cool.

How was I supposed to
convince
people to hang out with me?

After my shower, I got dressed and headed for the stairs, determined to find someone to shoot hoops with.

“Hey, Owen,” Jackson said, meeting up with me on the landing. “What's going on?”

Where the heck did he come from?

“Nothing,” I told him, keeping my eyes peeled for someone else. Someone who could help me get more popular. Someone who was the exact opposite of Jackson.

Nice just wasn't enough.

I scanned the hallway on the first floor, but didn't see anyone.

Where was everybody?

“I heard there's ice cream in the cafeteria,” Jackson said, matching my pace as I headed outside.

“I can get ice cream at home.” On the weekends, anyway. When Mom was willing to buy it.

I checked the courtyard, but there was barely anyone around.

“Where are you going?” Jackson asked.

I sighed. “I don't know.”

“Wanna hang out?”

It didn't look like I had a ton of options and I felt my shoulders slump as I said, “I guess.”

He smiled. “What should we do?”

“We could play HORSE,” I told him.

“Cool,” he said, even though I could tell he'd rather go get ice cream.

I hadn't used the outdoor court yet, but it was lit up for anyone to practice on. And it was empty.

Totally empty.

What was going on?

I dribbled the ball to the free throw line. “I'll go first.” After the swish, I tossed him the ball. “Your turn.”

Jackson bounced it once, then threw it at the basket. It hit the backboard and fell to the concrete.

“That's
H
,” I told him. “Hey, it's okay to aim first, you know.”

Jackson smiled. “That's what my dad always says.”

“Want a restart?”

“Nah. You go ahead.”

I bent my knees a couple of times and took the shot.

Nothing but net.

This time, Jackson aimed, but his legs stayed totally stiff when he took his shot.

Air ball.

“That's
O
. Maybe try to loosen up a bit,” I suggested.

“My dad says that, too.”

“Does he practice with you much?” I was pretty sure I knew the answer. If he did, Jackson wouldn't stink.

“Sometimes. He travels most of the time, so . . .” He shrugged instead of finishing whatever he was going to say.

I walked over to the corner, slowly dribbling as I went. It was always a tricky shot for me, so I took my time and a deep breath.

Nuts!

The ball bounced off the rim and I had to chase after it. I dribbled a couple of times and bounce-passed to Jackson.

He was still working off the free throw line and he barely even touched the ball before taking a haywire shot.

Another miss.

Surprise, surprise.

I retrieved the ball and headed back to the corner. While I was getting the shot lined up, I had to ask him, “Do you
like
basketball, Jackson?”

“It's okay, I guess.”

What?

I couldn't believe the kid was taking up a precious slot at Hoopsters! A kid who didn't even care was the reason Russ was stuck playing
soccer
.

Okay, the truth was that
I
was the reason Russ was stuck playing soccer.

But still.

If there'd been another open space, my brother could have filled it.

Then again, Russ seemed to be having a decent time. What was it he'd said earlier? That camp was better than he'd expected?

“I like basketball video games,” Jackson suddenly said.

“What?”

“More than live basketball, I mean.”

What was he talking about?

“Actually, I like all kinds of video games,” he continued. “When I grow up, I'd like to design them.”

“Design video games?” I asked.

“Yeah. I really like—”

He was cut off by the sound of a horde of guys racing by our court, heading for one of the big gym buildings.

“Now what?” I muttered as I watched them go. It was like the entire dorm was passing us by.

“They're going to the aquatic center,” Jackson said, with a shrug.

“They?”

“You know. The Hoopsters guys.”

Had I missed something on my schedule?

“Are we supposed to be there?” I asked.

“Where?”

“
The pool
,” I said, getting frustrated. “Is Coach meeting everyone there?”

“What?” he asked, looking confused. “No, it's like a pool party. Just the guys.”

A pool party?