Time-Out (15 page)

In the morning, I was still smiling about the prank. I rolled out of bed, grabbing my towel and the bag Mom loaded with all my shampoo and junk.

I whistled all the way to the bathroom, happy that things were turning around.

I found a sink next to a tired-looking kid, brushing his teeth.

“Did they get you, too?” he asked, foamy toothpaste dribbling down his chin.

“The stopwatch?” I asked, then faked a yawn. “Yeah. It drove me crazy.”

“Where was it?”

“Bottom of my suitcase. Totally buried.”

“Mine was clipped to the bottom of my bed.” He spit out the toothpaste. “I wish I knew who did it.”

“Me, too,” I said, trying to hide a smile.

After my shower, I grabbed a couple of bananas for breakfast and headed down to Freeman Court to meet the Hoopsters for our morning run.

“Hey, Owen,” Big Mike said when I got there.

T. J. and Danny both nodded at me, so I said hey and nodded back.

It was cool to have a fresh start, but before I could really talk to them, Jackson suddenly showed up next to me, out of breath and checking his watch.

He was wearing
another
Lakers jersey.

“My alarm didn't go off,” he explained, through the gasps. “I mean, it went off all night, but not when I needed it to.”

“Yeah.” I wondered which room was his. “Mine, too.”

“I barely slept,” he said, yawning.

I was amazed at how well the prank had worked! “Me neither,” I told him, faking a yawn of my own.

Coach blew his whistle and we started running.

Jackson kept up with me for the first few minutes, but I had my eye on the front of the pack, where T. J. and the other pranksters were in the lead. I picked up speed and left Jackson behind so I could start making my way up to them.

It was harder than I expected.

Sure, I'd been running practically every day at home, but the rest of the Hoopsters had been doing the same thing.

My breathing got pretty ragged as I passed some of the guys I didn't know, and by the time I got to Danny, I had a cramp in my side.

But I ignored it.

I ran past Danny, like it was nothing (even though it almost killed me). He glanced at me and smiled.

Then I passed him.

Take that!

Next up was Big Mike, who was surprisingly fast, considering his size.

“Hey,” he said as I showed up next to him.

I didn't waste any energy on words, but nodded as I ran even faster.

See ya!

Wouldn't wanna be ya!

“This isn't a race,” I heard him say.

Not officially, anyway. But if I was going to hang out with the best guys at camp, I had to show everyone that I had what it took.

T. J. was just a little ahead of me. I had to keep my pace for a minute or two, just to catch my breath. But when I came up on him, I
really
pushed it into gear.

I was a machine.

A machine built for speed.

I pumped my arms as my feet pounded the trail. The bushes on either side of me were just a blur.

I was four strides behind.

Three.

Two.

I dug deep and the next thing I knew, we were neck and neck. T. J. looked at me, all surprised, but kept his pace. I gave it another push to get past him.

“Hey!” he said when I accidentally bumped into him.

“Sorry,” I called over my shoulder as I squeezed past him.

I was in the lead!

The fastest kid at Hoopsters!

That was all I needed to keep going, faster than I'd ever run before. I left the whole pack behind me on the final stretch, loving every second of it.

When I reached Coach, he clicked his stopwatch and slapped me on the back. “Nice time!”

“Thanks,” I gasped, then bent over with my hands on my knees. My heart was pounding and my lungs were on fire, but I'd done it.

I'd beaten everybody!

It was seriously awesome.

T. J. stopped next to me a few seconds later. “What was that?” he demanded.

“What?”

“You pushed me.”

“I didn't push,” I explained. “I just bumped into you.”

“You
just
knocked me off balance,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

I peeked over my shoulder to make sure Coach wasn't listening, then back at T. J.

“Dude, what's your deal?” Big Mike demanded, standing next to T. J. and panting.

“Nothing,” I told him, then turned to T. J. “Seriously, T. J., it was an accident. There was less room on the path than I thought. I'm really sorry.”

And I was sorry for that.

But I wasn't sorry I'd come in first.

He looked me in the eye for a few seconds and nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said. “Just don't do it again.”

“I won't,” I told him.

“Wow,” Jackson said, running up to me, totally out of breath. “You were really moving.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn't know we were going for speed this morning,” he said, like he was mad about it.

Didn't he get that we weren't friends?

Coach blew his whistle and we headed into Freeman Court. Me and the pranksters walked together in a tight pack, just like the Pioneers back at home.

It felt really good.

Jackson caught up with me at the ball rack.

“Hey, I heard they're serving cheeseburgers at lunch.”

Did this kid think about anything besides food? I glanced at his shirt. And the Lakers?

“Cool,” I told him, grabbing a ball and moving away.

Coach wanted us to split into pairs and before Jackson could catch up and ask me, I hit Big Mike up to be my partner.

“Sure,” he said, following me to the far basket.

I didn't look back to see who Jackson ended up with.

I wasn't his babysitter.

“We're going to play a basketball version of Kick the Can,” Coach said, once we'd all paired off. “First, decide
which of you will be playing defense and who will be offense.”

“Offense,” Big Mike whispered.

“Okay,” I said, even though that's what I would have picked.

“Now, leave the ball on the ground,” Coach continued. “When I blow my whistle, one of you will be trying to reach the ball to tap it with their foot, the other will be defending it.”

“Hold up,” I said to Big Mike. “We're not dribbling?”

“He said to leave the ball on the floor.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Just follow the instructions, Owen.”

And I did. At least, I tried to.

As soon as Coach blew the whistle, Big Mike pulled a spinning move to get past me and before I could stop him, he tapped the ball with the toe of his Jordans.

What the heck?

“Good work, everybody,” Coach said. “Let's do it again.”

I got into a crouch, hands raised and ready. This time, when he spun, I took a couple of steps backward and tapped the ball myself.

“You're not supposed to kick it,” he said. “You're supposed to stop me.”

“I
did
stop you.” I wasn't going to let him get past me again.

Ever.

“By cheating,” he snapped.

“Cheating? Coach didn't say the defensive player couldn't kick the ball.”

Big Mike looked kind of disgusted with me, but I didn't care. I was showing him (and everyone else) that I was a real player, a real Hoopster.

No more shadows and background for Owen Evans, thank you very much.

I kept him away from the ball three more times, once with a shove.

“What's your problem?” Big Mike asked, looking pretty mad.

“No problem,” I told him.

“Good job, everyone,” Coach said. “Now switch places.”

I bent my knees and moved back and forth from one foot to the other, ready for the blast of the whistle.

“You need to relax,” Big Mike said, rolling his eyes.

But he was totally wrong about that. I was in the zone.

Bweep!

I faked left, then right, then took off to the left. But Big Mike stuck to me better than I'd expected him to. By the time I got near the ball, he was standing in front of it.

I tried to get around him, but his reach was huge.

Giving up on the usual moves, I gave him an elbow to the ribs and zipped past him to tap the ball.

“Are you kidding me?” he asked.

“What?”

“This is just a drill, dude.”

Sure, and on Friday it would just be a tournament . . . in front of an NBA pro.

There was no time for mercy.

By the time we split up into teams to scrimmage at the end of the session, I was on fire. I'd finally “hit my stride,” as Dad would say, and I was rocking the court.

Jackson was on the opposing team and when I got the ball, I blew past him and right to the net.

Swish.

Two points for Owen Evans.

“Nice play,” he called after me, kind of sarcastically.

I didn't have time for chitchat.

I went up against the best and all eyes were on me as I scored one basket after another. Somehow, I was in the right place at the right time . . . a lot.

“You know this is practice, right?” Danny asked me when I made a sweet three-pointer. “It doesn't
count
.”

“Sure,” I told him.

But even if it didn't “count,” it still
counted
.

Coach blew his whistle to end the session and all of us sweaty guys headed for the cafeteria.

I got in line behind T. J. and listened to him and Danny make plans to play on the outside court after they ate.

I was in, for sure!

I followed them into the eating area and we all sat at the same table, right in the center of the cafeteria, where everyone would see us. I felt like I was back at Lewis and Clark Middle School with all of my friends.

I checked around for Russ, but figured he was probably eating in his room again. I wolfed down my burger, partly because I was starving, but mostly because I couldn't wait to get out on the court with the guys.

“Owen?”

I turned to see Jackson standing at the end of the table with a tray in his hands.

“Oh, hey,” I said.

“Can you scooch down a bit?”

Scooch?

“Uh, sure,” I said, starting to move down the bench. Then I saw that the rest of the guys were finished with their lunches and starting to get up. “Oh, you can have my spot. I'm heading out.”

I shoved the last bite of burger into my mouth and washed it down with a gulp of milk.

“Heading out?” he asked, looking confused.

“The guys invited me to shoot hoops.” Not
officially
or anything, but they knew I was listening when they were talking about it and that was pretty much the same thing.

I waited for Jackson to nod like he understood, but he just stared at me.

“So, I'm going to go,” I told him, pointing at the exit with my thumb.

“Now?”

“Yeah. Now.”

He put his tray on the empty table. “What's the deal, Owen?”

I glanced over my shoulder and saw T. J. walking out the door.

“The deal is, the guys are waiting for me,” I said.

“So, you don't have two seconds to talk to me?”

“Maybe later, okay?” Before he could answer, I grabbed my tray and dropped it off in the dish area.

Jackson had slowed me down so much I had to sprint to catch up with my new friends.