Time-Out (16 page)

My second day of volleyball might not have been considered a triumph by some people, but I was very happy with it.

It was amazing what a little bit of studying had done for my game, and I wished someone (like Owen) had directed me to a basketball manual or two when I'd joined the Pioneers. I had no doubt it would have made things a lot easier.

It turned out that I liked the mechanics of volleyball, from the clocklike rotation of players, to the back and forth turns at serving. It felt very logical to me, and I'd always been a big fan of logic.

As it turned out, my height
did
help when it came to blocking, but the move I liked the most in the sport was setting the ball.

There was an element of geometry involved when it
came to directing it into the perfect position for a spike. I thoroughly enjoyed calculating the angles required for the spiking player to hit a target on the opposing team's side, not to mention anticipating the ball's trajectory.

It was fascinating.

I'd fully expected that volleyball and I would part as enemies when the two days were up, but when we finished our final session, I was sad to see it end.

“Want to head to the caf?” Sam asked when Coach released us.

“Absolutely. I'm starving.”

I was even hungrier when I saw stir fry on the menu.

Once I'd filled my plate with a mixture of noodles, vegetables, and chicken, I found Sam and several of the Cougars sharing a table.

I couldn't help scanning the dining area for signs of my brother. When I didn't see him, I assumed he'd succeeded in making some Hoopster friends and was busy with them.

Mission accomplished.

“Mind if I sit here?” someone asked.

I turned to see Owen's friend Jackson standing next to our table.

“Not at all,” I assured him, moving down the bench to make room.

Jackson settled in next to me and I introduced him to Sam and the rest of my team.

“No Owen?” I asked as I took a bite of broccoli.

Jackson shook his head. “He's been pretty busy.”

And Jackson wasn't? “But you're in the same camp.”

He swallowed a mouthful. “I mean he's been busy with some of the other guys.”

“The other Hoopsters?” I asked.

“Yeah. Big Mike, Danny . . .”

“I see,” I said, picturing the situation all too easily.

Abandoning a friend like Jackson in favor of “cooler” people was the kind of behavior I should have expected from Owen. He'd made leaps and bounds in terms of being a better person this year, but it was far too easy for him to backslide into Jerkdom.

Sometimes I wondered if he'd ever truly grow up.

“So, how do you like camp so far?” Jackson asked the group.

“I love it,” Sam told him. “I'm learning a ton of stuff.”

“And there are some awesome guys here,” James added.

Jackson looked to me and I told him, “It's going better than I'd expected.”

He studied me for a moment. “What were you expecting?”

“To have a terrible time,” I admitted.

“Really?” Sam asked.

James looked curious. “Why did you sign up?”

“Well, the truth is, I was kind of forced . . . no,
convinced
to come.”

Jackson looked surprised. “Me, too.”

“By who?”

“My dad,” he said. “What about you?”

Even though Owen had treated him unkindly, I didn't want Jackson to know what a creep my brother could be, so I glossed over the events that had brought me to camp.

“My dad wanted me to come,” Jackson explained when I was finished, “because he knows some of the coaches and stuff.” He paused. “I'm not exactly the best player.”

I told him the same thing I'd said to Owen. “Camp is about getting better, not being the best.”

“Could you tell my dad that?” Jackson asked, half smiling. “The truth is, I'd rather be at computer camp.”

“Learning what?” I asked.

“Video game design.”

“Cool,” James said. “That would be awesome.”

“That's what I'd like to do when I'm older. Be a designer.”

“Your dad doesn't like that idea?” I asked.

Jackson laughed. “I haven't been able to tell him. It's kind of . . . complicated.”

“Are you having a decent time here, anyway?” Sam asked him.

“Yeah. I mean, it's better than the last couple of camps I went to. Owen's fun to hang out with. I mean, he
was
.”

The longer we sat and chatted, the more ashamed I was of my brother. Jackson was a really nice kid and all he'd wanted was a friend at camp.

It was too bad he'd chosen Owen.

We'd almost finished eating when it caught my attention
that almost every boy who walked by our table either said hi to Jackson or gave him a high five.

I glanced at Sam, who appeared to have noticed, too.

“How do you know all of these people?” Sam asked, apparently as intrigued as I was when yet another group passed by with nods, smiles, and greetings for Jackson.

He smiled faintly. “I don't,” he said. “I mean, I know a couple of them, but not everyone. Like I said before, it's complicated.”

Sam looked at me with a raised eyebrow, then asked Jackson, “So, what's the story?”

When our new friend explained, it all made perfect sense.

That night, the guys and I were brainstorming in my room and I was thinking about how glad I was that Danny had forgotten about stacking our beds. I liked the room just the way it was.

There was a knock on the door.

I knew exactly who it was, and felt tempted not to answer it.

But he was my brother.

“Owen,” I said, by way of explanation as I got to my feet.

“Great,” T. J. muttered.

When I saw the expressions on the rest of the faces, I knew they were equally unenthusiastic.

Hmm.

I thought they'd become friends.

I swung open the door and was surprised to see not Owen, but Jackson standing there.

“Oh,” he said, seeing the crowd behind me. “I didn't know you were busy.”

“We aren't,” Danny called to him. “Come on in.”

“I can come back,” he said quietly to me.

“It's fine,” I told him, moving to the side so he could enter the room.

T. J. made space for him on the bed, Big Mike handed him a bottle of water and a couple of cafeteria cookies, and then all of the guys silently smiled at him.

Jackson looked as uncomfortable as I felt. And, thanks to our lunchtime conversation, I knew exactly why.

He cleared his throat. “So, I was just wondering if anyone wanted to maybe shoot some hoops or something.”

“Definitely,” Danny said, jumping off the bed.

“For sure,” T. J. exclaimed, pulling on his hoodie.

“Uh, guys?” I said. “What about our . . . plans?”

Danny looked at the others, then said, “I think we should skip a night.”

“Really?” I asked, surprised.

“Good idea,” Big Mike agreed. “That will throw everybody off.”

I had to admit, he had a point. Leaving everyone to anticipate a prank that wouldn't happen was kind of a prank in itself.

Clever!

All of the guys were standing and Danny had pulled a basketball from the bottom of our closet. The group started toward the door.

“Aren't you coming, Russ?” Jackson asked.

“To play basketball? Uh, no. I thought I would—”

“Read?” T. J. and Danny said at the same time.

“Well, yes,” I said, glancing at the track-and-field manual I'd borrowed in advance. I was going to go into the next round of sports somewhat prepared.

The guys filed into the hallway, but Jackson lingered behind.

“You're really not coming?” he asked quietly.

“They're good guys,” I told him. “I know they're kind of acting like everyone else right now, but that will wear off once you get out there.”

“I don't know,” he said reluctantly.

“Just give them a chance, Jackson. I'm glad that I did.”

He thought about it for a moment, then slowly nodded. “Okay. I'll see you later.”

Once I was alone in the room, I flipped my borrowed book open to the chapter on pole vaulting.

The diagrams looked more than a little intimidating, and my whole body stiffened at the thought of being hurled into the air. But as I read, my shoulders started to relax as I recognized a very comforting fact. Just like volleyball and,
now that I thought about it, probably every sport on earth, there was an element of science behind it.

In this case, it was physics.

And I loved physics.

Pretty soon, I had a notepad out and was making calculations based on the speed I could (hopefully) run down the track, the angle my body needed to achieve, and the amount of bending the pole would require to push me into the air while snapping back into a straight position.

It all boiled down to velocity, energy (both potential and kinetic), and angles.

I smiled to myself. On paper, it was simple.

There was a knock on the door.

“Who is it?” I called, unwilling to leave the desk.

“Who do you think?” Owen asked.

Great.

“Come in.”

“Hey,” he said, crossing the carpet and flopping on my bed. “Where is everybody? I thought we'd be getting ready for the next prank.”

I glanced at him. “There is no next prank.”

“What?”

“The guys figured that keeping everyone on their toes in preparation for
nothing
would be a good prank,” I explained. “Kind of brilliant, really.”

His shoulders slumped. “That stinks.”

“So, I'm taking the time to—”

“Read,” he finished for me.

I was going to say “prepare for the challenge of track and field,” but he didn't care.

“So, where'd they go?” he asked.

“Who?”

“Duh, Russ. Danny and those guys.”

“They left a while ago to play basketball with Jackson.”

“Shooting hoops?” he said, then his eyes bulged. “Wait, with Jackson?”

“That's what I said.”

“But . . . why?”

“This is Hoopsters camp, Owen. They wanted some—”

“I mean, why did they go with
Jackson
?”

Wait.

Was it possible that Owen didn't know?

No.

Everyone
knew.

But if he knew, wouldn't Owen be acting the same way as everybody else?

“Why do you think?” I asked, genuinely curious.

He shrugged. “They were probably short a guy. But don't they know
my
room is right next door?” He paused to think about it. “Maybe they knocked while I was in the shower or something.”

“Maybe.”

“Are they playing on the outdoor court?” he asked.

“I have no idea.”

“
Hmm.
I should probably head down there and sub in. Jackson isn't exactly a star player.”

I decided to test the water. “But people seem to like him.” Even if they didn't really know him. “I thought you did, too.”

“He's okay, I guess. But he's been kind of glued to me since we got here. I finally cut him loose today, since it was cramping my style.”

Unbelievable.

“I wasn't aware that being an egomaniac was a style.”

“Huh?” he asked distractedly as he pushed aside the curtain to search for the glow of “star” players.

“Never mind.”

“Okay,” he said, letting the curtain drop back into place. “I'm heading out there to save them from lameness.”

I sighed, amazed at his arrogance. I wasn't going to be the one to tell him about Jackson.

“See you later,” I said as he left the room.

In the morning, I met up with Sam and James outside the cafeteria. We each had scrambled eggs, toast, and a couple of pieces of bacon.