Time-Out (5 page)

“Definitely! Thanks, Russ.”

He frowned. “I didn't say you could have it.”

“Oh,” I said, acting surprised. “I just figured that since
I
was the one who wanted to go to start with and I've been playing basketball
longer
and—”

“I get it,” Russ said, crossing his skinny arms over his chest.

“Yes, I think we all get it, Owen,” Mom said, leaning back against the counter.

“I've only played basketball,” Russ said quietly. “It's the only sport I know.”

“Exactly,” I said, nodding. “This will be an awesome chance to see what else you're good at.”

He raised one eyebrow at me. We both knew that the chances of him being good at anything else were, like, zero percent.

“Maybe Owen's right,” Dad said. “Widening your horizons might be a good thing, Russ.”

I could tell by the scrunched-up look on my brother's face that he was about to disagree, but when he saw Dad put his arm around Mom again, his shoulders slumped.

“Would you be okay with the multisport camp, Russell?” Mom asked, looking worried.

He sighed. “Sure.”

“Wonderful!” Mom said, and rushed over to dial the number again.

“I see,” I heard her say after she'd told the person at the other end that she wanted to register us. “Would you mind holding on for just a second while I check with the boys?”

I waited for Mom to ask what size camp T-shirt I wanted, but it turned out to be something else completely.

“What's wrong?” Russ asked.

“All that's left in the dorm is a single room or a double with one occupant.”

“Huh?” I couldn't even follow what she was saying.

“One of us gets his own room and the other shares with a
stranger
,” Russ explained, with an edge in his voice.

“Oh,” I said, biting my lip.

“Who wants the single?” Dad asked. “You've got to make a quick decision.”

Russ and I spoke up at the exact same time.

“Let's flip for it,” he said.

“I want it,” I said.

We stared at each other. There was no way I'd flip a stinking
coin
for something that important. I wasn't going to risk sharing a room with someone I'd never even met.

Russ crossed his arms again and I thought he was going to put up a fight or storm off or something, like I totally would have. But Russ never did stuff like that.

When he saw the way Mom was looking at us, he said, “I'll take the double.”

Yes!

I couldn't stop grinning while I listened to Mom finish the call.

“Hoopsters!” I shouted when she hung up. I ran over to give her a hug and Dad a high five. “This is going to be the best week of my life!”

Mom walked over to give Russ a hug and whispered
something in his ear. He nodded and hugged her back, shooting me a dirty look over her shoulder.

Dad left to wash his hands for dinner and Mom was busy with the chicken, so I quietly said to Russ, “Thank you for doing this.”

He gave me a long look and said, “I didn't do it for
you
.”

Of course, we both knew I didn't do it for
him
either.

The night before Owen and I left for camp, I listened as my brother frantically raced from one end of the house to the other.

He was obsessed with his Hoopsters wardrobe, which meant digging his “best” socks out of the laundry hamper for a last-second wash. He tried on every pair of shorts he owned. He modeled countless outfits in the hallway mirror, as if he were seconds away from a
Sports Illustrated
cover shoot.

It was absurd.

He packed almost every T-shirt he owned, but Mom had to remind him to take more than
two pairs
of underwear.

A roommate wouldn't have survived a week with him.

I, on the other hand, paid far less attention to my wardrobe than I did to my reading list.

I'd visited the library and stocked up on a variety of science fiction novels, some of which were new to me, and others that were like old friends.

Once I'd resigned myself to attending camp, I'd decided that my primary goal was to simply
survive
it. And a small library would certainly help with that. Any moments away from field, court, or track would be spent losing myself in fictional characters and imaginary worlds.

And that was perfectly fine with me.

The real world had proven to be very disappointing (at least my role in it had) and I was having a difficult time forgetting it.

The fiasco at state had made me question everything I'd believed about myself.

Did I have what it took to be a team leader?

Was I smart enough to contribute when it counted?

And, most importantly, if I had another chance, would I still crack under the pressure?

The confidence I'd felt at school and at home for as long as I could remember had totally disappeared.

And my own brother didn't even notice! He was too busy folding JUST DO IT T-shirts to realize anything was wrong.

In fact, Owen was so selfish, I was amazed he was willing to share oxygen with the rest of the planet. (Of course, he hadn't been given a choice.)

I listened to him drag his overstuffed luggage down the stairs, grunting all the way. I smiled to myself for the first
time in days and wondered if he regretted assigning me the “nerdy” suitcase with wheels.

I certainly hoped so.

Mom made French toast and eggs in the morning and I'd never seen Owen shovel food into his mouth faster.

“Breathe, O,” Dad said.

“I want to get going,” he mumbled, spraying bits of egg onto my plate. “The faster I eat, the faster we leave.”

Dad got up and rinsed his plate before putting it in the dishwasher. “I'll load up your bags.”

He reached for the handle of Owen's suitcase and grimaced. “I'm pretty sure the camp has weights, Owen. You don't have to pack your own.”

“Very funny,” my brother said, scooping another forkful past his greedy lips.

“Seriously, what have you got in here?” Dad asked, struggling to lift it.

“Clothes,” Owen said, with a shrug.

A dribble of syrup ran down his chin and I had to look away. Ever since that fateful day at the Schnitz, I hadn't been able to stomach the stuff.

Camp took place at a facility called the Complex, which was about forty minutes from our house. When we arrived, it was immediately apparent that it was a very popular place.

Thirty or more cars were parked while parents unloaded kids and luggage in front of a gigantic silver building. It looked like something from the future.

“Whoa,” I gasped, before I could stop myself.

The structure wasn't rectangular, but multiangled, with peaks and points extending in every direction. Even the windows had a silvery sheen and the sun seemed to bounce off of every surface at once.

It was extraordinary.

“Whoa is right,” Owen said. “Look at that kid's backpack! I didn't even know Nike made one like that.” He pointed somewhere else. “And check out the new Kobe jacket. Oh man, that is
awesome
!”

Dad started to look for a parking space, but Owen stopped him. “Dad, we can go in by ourselves. Everyone else is doing it.”

Surprised, I saw that he was right. Kids were hugging their parents or simply waving before carrying their own bags up to a check-in area.

“Oh,” Mom said, sounding disappointed. “Okay, well, we'll just say our good-byes right here.”

I reached forward to hug her, but the seats made it awkward. Dad mussed up my hair and wished me luck. I didn't
wait around for Owen's farewells, but got out of the van and lifted the back door to get my bags.

Once I had my suitcase propped up on its wheels, I waited for my brother, who could barely lift his bag out of the back.

As Mom and Dad pulled away, we waved to them and I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the week ahead.

“Come on,” Owen said, leading the way to check in.

Every couple of seconds, he pointed out an article of clothing or piece of gear that I was supposed to admire, but I didn't pay any attention. I was too entranced by the beauty of the Complex.

And it only got better.

When we reached the front desk, we could see the emerald-green field below. It was perfectly manicured, like a golf course, and I wondered how many times a week it was mowed.

“What are you waiting for?” Owen asked, nudging me forward.

A woman with a long blond ponytail smiled at me and asked for my name. When I told her, she scanned a list and said, “Room two-ten, in the C Wing. It looks like you're sharing with Danny Sanchez.”

“Thank you,” I said, taking the information packet she offered me, along with a schedule for the week. When I saw the countless blocks of activities that filled each day, I tried to swallow the lump that had suddenly filled my throat.

Running at seven o'clock in the morning?

Soccer, volleyball, hurdles, and
pole vaulting
?

What on earth had I signed up for?

I glanced at my backpack and thought of all the fascinating books that filled it.

When would I have time to read?

I waited for Owen to get his room number and we headed over to the C Wing together, stopping every few minutes so he could put the suitcase down and rest his arm.

“Maybe we should swap luggage on the way home,” he gasped.

“Maybe we shouldn't,” I told him.

He stared at me. “Are you going to be like this the whole time?”

“Like what?” I asked.

“All pouty and stuff.”

Did he understand what kinds of activities would be filling my week while he showed off on the basketball court?

Did he realize that I was facing seven days of zero privacy in shared accommodations?

“Well, if I am, it won't be your problem, Owen. It will be my
roommate's
.”

He rolled his eyes. “You could have taken the single.”

I didn't dignify that with a response. We both knew perfectly well that he wouldn't have let that happen.

“You guys are blocking the way,” someone grunted from behind me.

I turned to see a giant, his arms loaded with gear.

“Sorry,” I squeaked, moving to the side.

“Jerk,” Owen whispered, once he'd passed us.

The guy spun around to give us a dirty look, but didn't say anything.

“Isn't this a youth camp?” I asked, watching him walk away.

Owen was too busy admiring everyone else's outfits to answer me.

Once we reached our building, we had to climb a couple of flights of stairs to reach our floor.

“I can't believe this place doesn't have elevators,” Owen grunted as he lugged his suitcase up, just two steps at a time.

“It's a sports camp, Owen.” I paused, then said, “Not a hospital.”

“Whatever,” he muttered.

I glanced back at him and saw that a lineup was forming behind him. A
long
and seemingly impatient lineup. The combined width of his body and his suitcase left no room to pass.