Time-Out (19 page)

The fall hadn't killed me.

“You were so close,” Sam said.

“You missed it by a couple of inches,” James added, demonstrating with his fingers how far I'd been from clearing the obstacle.

“Would you like to sit out for a few minutes?” Coach asked, once he'd helped me to my feet.

I looked at the faces of my teammates, who were obviously eager for me to succeed at something I'd never even imagined trying.

And that made me want to succeed, too.

“Can I give it another try?” I asked Coach.

“Attaboy,” he said, with a smile.

As is often the case with new things, the third time was a charm. I knew what it felt like to avoid the obstacle and I knew what it felt like to crash into it. Somehow, that gave me the confidence to give it all I had.

It probably wasn't the most graceful hurdle the world had ever seen. I'm sure my arms were flailing and I can only imagine the crazed expressions on my face as I took off, cleared it, and landed safely on the other side.

I wasn't a natural, but I did it.

My teammates cheered.

Coach patted me on the back and said, “Nice work, kid.”

The rest of the morning went just as well. I had some rocky moments when we added more hurdles and timing became an even bigger issue. But I did my best, just like everyone else.

When we broke for lunch, I walked over to the cafeteria with the rest of the Cougars. We talked and laughed as we filled our plates with pasta, garlic bread, and salad.

Sam found a table that had room for all of us and we sat down to enjoy the meal.

I was barely two bites in when I felt a tap on my shoulder.

“Hey, Russ,” Owen said when I turned around.

“Hey.”

“Can I talk to you?”

“Sure,” I said, making room next to me. “What's going on?”

“I patched things up with Jackson,” he said. “I came by your room to tell you last night, but—”

“I was asleep by eight th—”

“You didn't answer,” he interrupted, before I could tell him about my exhausting first day of track and field.

“I'm glad you worked it out,” I told him. “I like Jackson.”

“Me, too. But the thing is, I can't figure out how to deal with the other guys.”

“Talk to them, Owen. They're just people.”

He shook his head. “They won't listen.”

“Then try again.”

“You don't get it, Russ. Jackson told me they think I'm a ball hog—”

“Which you have been, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so. But they also think I'm too aggressive—”

“Accurate?” I asked.

“Um . . . maybe. Jackson wouldn't tell me which guy said it, but one of them thinks I'm a showboat.”

I stared at him. “Would you agree?”

He groaned. “You're not helping, Russ.”

“Well, would you?” I pushed.

“I guess, but I just wanted to show them what I could do,” he said, shoulders slumped.

I thought about it for a minute before I told him, “Then maybe that's the solution.”

“What?”

I adjusted my glasses. “Maybe I was wrong—”

He laughed. “Wow, could I have that in writing?”

“I said
maybe
, Owen.” I gave him a long look and waited for the smile to leave his face. “Can I continue?”

“Yeah.”

“
Maybe
I was wrong to suggest talking to them, when the fact is, your actions speak the loudest.”

“Is this some kind of a riddle?”

I sighed. “No. What I'm saying is that you need to
show
these guys that you aren't a ball hog by passing to them. Be less aggressive. Don't be a showboat.”

“But—”

“
Show them
you're a good player and a good teammate. I
know for a fact that you're already both of those things for the Pioneers.”

“I know, but it's Hoopsters camp and—”

“You don't have to turn into someone else, Owen. Who you are is enough.”

He thought about that for a moment or two, then smiled at me. “Thanks, Russ.”

“You're welcome,” I said, starting to turn my attention back to my pasta.

“You know something?” Owen asked. Before I had a chance to respond, he continued, “I can see why your Masters of the Mind team made you their leader.”

My fork stopped halfway to my mouth and I was going to ask him what he meant.

But he was gone.

During the afternoon session of track and field, I let Owen's words simmer in my mind. Of course, I also concentrated on what Coach was saying, but my brother's comments gave me a warm, satisfied feeling at the same time.

We moved on from hurdles to long jump, which proved to be wonderfully easy in comparison. To my surprise, I ranked third on the team for longest jump.

Pole vaulting was a slightly different story, but once I'd
taken a couple of practice runs and reminded myself it was simply a matter of physics, I managed to heave myself over the bar.

My landing was atrocious, but the thick mattress that caught me certainly helped.

As I walked back to the line, I felt taller than usual. It took me a moment to realize that I'd abandoned the slouched shoulders that had weighed me down since the mess at state.

Hmm.

It seemed that despite the fact that none of the sports and activities I'd been involved with all week had anything to do with Masters of the Mind, they'd helped me find my way back.

The pranks had brought me back to brainstorming.

I'd found physics and geometry in the most unlikely places.

I'd made friends and shown them that I wasn't the sort of person who gave up.

And that's when it hit me.

There was no reason to give up on Masters of the Mind.

We'd suffered a setback at state. A bump in the road. A blip on the radar.

An aluminum hurdle in the middle of a sprint.

Next time, we would jump over it.

It was as simple as that.

I found myself smiling as I stepped into my place at the back of the line.

“Why are you so happy?” James asked when I joined him.

I grinned at him, but didn't answer.

There were too many reasons to list.

I knew my brother was smart, but it always surprised me when he wasn't just textbook, classroom, nerd herd smart, but
people
smart.

When I left him in the cafeteria, I headed down to the chip trail to walk and think for the rest of my lunch hour.

Russ was right about being myself.

There was a reason I hadn't made a bunch of friends at camp like I had at home. I thought back to the night in the pool, when I was the only guy playing Marco Polo. My Pioneer teammates would have done the exact same thing if someone had acted the way I did.

No one wants to hang around with a jerk.

As I walked, I wished I hadn't wasted so much of the week trying to wow everybody and be a superstar. I wished
I'd had fun every day, instead of being so obsessed with who would give me a medal at the end of it.

I wished I'd figured it all out sooner.

But I still had one more night and the tournament to make it right.

I checked my watch and saw that there were only a couple of minutes left before my final basketball session started. I jogged the rest of the way back, ready to make some changes.

“Where were you?” Jackson asked when I met up with him on the court.

“Just doing some thinking.”

“Coach wants us to split into teams for a scrimmage.”

“Then let's pull some guys together,” I said, scanning the group.

None of them would look at me.

I took a deep breath, knowing that was my own fault.

“Jackson?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you convince anyone to play with me?”

It was a pretty embarrassing thing to have to ask, but I'd put myself in that position.

“Definitely,” he said, sounding way more sure of it than I was.

It took a few minutes (which felt like hours while I stood by myself and felt like a loser), but Jackson managed to talk Big Mike, Danny, and T. J. into joining us.

“Hey,” I said, to the group, but all I got back was one nod from Danny.

At least it was a start.

We got into position and even though I wanted to be a forward, I let the other guys have the prime positions and moved to guard.

Be less aggressive.

When Coach blew his whistle, the other guys won the tip-off and started dribbling down the court toward me.

I got into a crouch and kept my eyes on the ball.

When it got close enough, I made my move and with one lightning-fast strike, I had it.

I knew that if I'd had possession just a day earlier, I would have gone for the basket.

Don't be a ball hog.

I looked left, then right, getting a feel for where my teammates were. I thought back to Pioneer practice with Coach Baxter and how he'd wanted us to make five passes before a shot.

That felt like ten million years ago.

I couldn't see past the waving arms, so I called out, “Who's open?”

There was stunned silence for a few seconds, then I heard Big Mike shout, “Over here!”

I passed him the ball and jogged down the court, concentrating not only on it, but on where my teammates were.

Big Mike took a shot that bounced off the rim, but T. J. caught the rebound.

“I'm open!” I shouted.

He hesitated, then threw me the ball. I bounced it a couple of times. All I wanted to do was find a clear
shot
, but I ignored the basket and found a clear
pass
instead.

I tossed the ball to Danny, who looked totally shocked for a second, then nodded once and went for the hoop.

The ball bounced off the backboard and dropped right through the net.

“Nice one!” I called out to him, clapping a couple of times as I ran back down the court.

The next time we had the ball, I let Jackson take the shot, then Danny. I passed every time I had the chance and didn't go for the points once.

“What's going on?” Big Mike asked when we took a five-minute break.

“We're winning,” I told him, with a shrug.

“No, what's going on with
you
?”

I cleared my throat. “I'm trying to be a better teammate.”

“Cool,” he said. “You know, you're a pretty awesome player when you're not showboating.”

I guess I knew who'd made
that
comment.

The word still stung a bit, but I knew it was true.

“Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Danny said. “You keep this up and we're golden tomorrow.”

“Don't worry,” I told them. “I'll keep it up.”

“Awesome,” Danny said, giving me a high five.

And it was.

On Friday morning, I woke up feeling kind of bummed that it was the last day of camp. Then I lay in bed for a few minutes, thinking about the awesome prank we'd pulled the night before.