Time-Out (7 page)

For the next few minutes I watched the game, amazed at how awesome some of the guys were. It was weird, though, because I'd been kind of expecting to . . . dominate.

A couple of Reds switched out and I recognized Russ's roommate when he got into position. I hadn't noticed how short he was when I met him. Of course, he'd been lying down, but still.

“Danny Sanchez,” the kid next to me whispered. “He's awesome.”

I found that hard to believe until he got control of the ball and turned into a human tornado. He spun, dodged, dribbled, and scored in seconds, and the crowd went nuts, like they weren't players themselves, but
fans
.

“Wow,” I said, shocked.

A tall kid got the ball and started working his way toward the basket. He was smoother than smooth and when he glided across the floor, I couldn't believe he was just a kid.

“Tyrelle Johnson,” the guy next to me said as he made an unbelievable jump shot.

I was impressed. Seriously impressed.

But I was also ready to get out there myself.

I walked toward the Reds' bench, since they seemed to be the better team, and asked the kid at the end, “You got room for one more?”

“There's a lineup,” he said, pointing to a group of guys behind him.

“Cool,” I said, even though it wasn't.

I tried the other bench, with no luck. I made my way over to the other court, where I decided to try a different strategy.

I couldn't see any extra vests lying around, so I walked up to the other team's bench. I stood next to the kid at the end. “Slide down a little, would ya?”

He glanced over at me and shuffled down to make room. As soon as I sat down, I felt like I was exactly where I needed to be. I didn't come to Hoopsters to be part of an audience. I came to
play
.

I looked back at the crowd of kids watching and realized it was another case of the men versus the boys in basketball.

You have to be aggressive.

I watched for a few minutes as guys traded off the bench, and when I saw my chance, I jumped up, ready for action.

“Hey,” the kid next to me called out. “You can't do that!” But it was too late. I was already in the game.

I jogged down the court, happy to be in the mix. The ball was passed to me and I started dribbling like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Which it was.

I easily whipped around the Red who was in my face and kept going.

“I'm open!” one of my new teammates shouted.

I thought about Coach Baxter's five and seven passes, but I had everything under control. I kept dribbling, keeping one eye on the basket and the other on the opposing team.

It felt pretty awesome, knowing that everyone was watching me and I had the chance to prove myself before camp even started.

I dodged another Red, no problem, and dribbled a few steps closer to the basket.

Should I go in for a layup, or wow the crowd with a three-pointer?

The answer was obvious. It was
Hoopsters
.

I got into position for a three-point shot I'd made a thousand times before (or maybe twenty). But just as I was about to release the ball, an arm reached over my head and knocked it loose. It bounced once, and I moved to grab it, but the guy pushed past me and took possession.

“What was that?” one of my teammates asked as the ball thief took off down the court.

I didn't have an answer for him, so I ran after the ball, hoping to steal it back. But the guy was super fast and I was at least ten feet behind him when he took a shot.

That was when I realized that it was the camper who'd
pushed past me and Russ on our way to the dorm. The guy I'd called a jerk.

I watched his shot fly through the air and into the basket.

Swish.

The crowd cheered and all I could think about was making them shout and clap for
me
.

Get back in the game, O.

The other guard passed me the ball, and I dribbled down the court again.

“Over here,” one of the guys shouted. I waited for a second or two more before deciding to hand it off.

Big mistake.

The Jerk popped up right in front of me. He blocked the pass, snatched the ball, and took off for the net.

Again.

Nuts!

I should have joined the Reds.

He passed the ball to an open player, who scored. Of course.

On the way back down the court, someone tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to see the kid who'd been next to me on the bench.

“I'm subbing in,” he said.

“What? You mean for me?”

“Yeah.”

“But I haven't had a chance to do anything yet.”

“Believe me,” the kid said. “You've done enough.”

“But—”

“Back to the bench, Showboat.”

“I'm not a—”

“Come on. You're holding up the game.”

I looked around and saw that he was right. No one was moving and the only sound on the court was the ball slapping the hardwood as the other guard bounced it and stared at me.

I walked off the court and sat down on the bench with a
thud
. “That's not even fair,” I muttered. “I was barely even out there.”

“Don't worry about it,” the curly-haired kid next to me said. “We've got a whole week to play.”

“I guess,” I said, with a sigh, noticing his Farina jersey.

Farina was an awesome player, but who would wear a
Lakers
jersey to a camp in
Oregon
?

“I'm Jackson,” he said.

He stuck out a hand for me to shake, which nobody our age did, but I shook it, anyway. “Owen.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah.” I nodded, turning to watch the game. And watching was all I got to do for the next fifteen minutes.

It was a total drag.

“Orientation starts pretty soon,” Jackson said. “Do you want to head over there with me?”

I glanced at him. “You don't want to get some playing time in?”

“Like I said, we've got a whole week. And I'd like a good seat.”

I thought about that for a second. It wouldn't hurt to be front and center, where the coaches would see me and know I was a go-getter.

“Okay, let's roll,” I said, pulling my T-shirt back on. I followed Jackson through the main doors and into the courtyard. “Where are you from?” I asked, just to make conversation.

“LA.”

“Like, California?” I gasped.

He laughed. “Is there another LA?”

“No, but you came all the way up here for Hoopsters?”

Jackson nodded. “My dad knows one of the owners and he invited me to come.”

“That's so cool,” I said, totally jealous.

Jackson shrugged and was quiet until we got to Gym One. He pulled open the heavy door and I followed him inside.

Just like Freeman Court, the place was awesome. A microphone and a bunch of chairs were set up on a volleyball court in the center of the building. I saw a sign in the shape of an arrow, pointing toward a swimming pool. Other signs pointed to a weight room, locker rooms, and an indoor track.

“Whoa,” I said, taking it all in. “Nice.”

“Yeah,” Jackson said, walking right past a table filled with all kinds of energy bars, fruit, and bottles of water and juice.

My stomach growled.

“How about these seats?” Jackson asked, pointing to the back corner.

“I was thinking up front,” I told him, starting down the aisle. “So they know we're serious.”

“Oh,” he said, sounding kind of disappointed. “Okay.”

I chose a prime spot at dead center in the first row and we sat down to wait for the rest of the Hoopsters to show up.

“Bright and early,” a man said, appearing out of nowhere and walking toward the microphone. He was wearing a Hoopsters cap and carrying a clipboard, so I knew he was important.

“We don't want to miss anything,” I told him, sitting up straight.

He smiled. “I like it. You boys are ready.”

I grinned back, knowing I didn't need Orientation.

I'd already found my place at the head of the class.

When I looked up from my reading to check the clock, I saw that I had only a few minutes to spare before the Multisport Orientation.

How had the time slipped away so quickly?

Oh, yeah. I'd been enjoying myself.

I reluctantly tucked a bookmark into position and changed into shorts and a T-shirt. I double knotted my shoes without the usual reminder from Owen.

The dorm was absolutely still as I made my way downstairs, which meant there was no one to ask for directions. Not even Owen, who was already busy with an Orientation session of his own.

I remembered the campus map included in my welcome packet and breathed a sigh of relief.

When I made it safely to the gym, I discovered it was buzzing with activity. I found a table loaded with name tags and other paraphernalia, so I carefully filled out a tag and made a check mark next to my name on the registration list.

“This is going to be so cool!” the guy behind me blurted when I passed him the pen.

“What is?” I asked.

“Uh, Multisport camp?” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“You
wanted
to come to this one?” I asked, stunned.

He looked at me like I'd lost my mind. “Well, I didn't want to spend a whole week playing just baseball or basketball or whatever.”

“You didn't?”

“Nah. I already do that in gym class.”

He had a point. “Sure, but—”

“I mean, we get to do
pole vaulting here
. How cool is that?”

How
cool
?

It was lukewarm, at best.

Never mind
terrifying
.

When I didn't say anything, he shrugged. “See you around.”

“Sure,” I said as he walked away.

“Man, I'm so glad we get to play soccer this year,” I heard someone behind me say.

“Pretty awesome,” another voice agreed. “Remember how much fun football was last time?”

“
You
liked football,” the first guy said. “I liked swimming.”

“Did I tell you that when my brother came a couple of years ago they had karate?”

“Sweet! Maybe it'll be back next year.”

Excitement continued to fill the air around me and I wished I could gather some enthusiasm of my own.

Most of the rows were filled with kids, but I found a seat near the back and took it.

If I'd been attending a class, I would have been disappointed by the poor location, but Multisport Sampler camp was something else entirely. Disappearing at the rear of the crowd suited me perfectly.

The redheaded boy sitting on my left offered me a piece of gum when I sat down. I took one, hoping it wasn't some kind of a hint about my breath.

“I can't believe I'm actually here,” he said, grinning.

I sighed. “Neither can I.”

Apparently, my tone was lost on him and the dark clouds of doom above my head were not visible to the naked eye. He actually raised his hand for a high five.

Sighing again, I gave him one.

While I waited for Orientation to begin, I took the time to study my surroundings. The building was architecturally beautiful and filled with a natural glow from countless skylights in the ceiling.

It would have been the perfect place to sit and read.

“Welcome, campers!” a voice boomed from the front of the room.

An assortment of adults stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the crowd, all wearing camp hats. Their smiles were as big and bright as the ones I saw on the faces of every camper.

Every camper but one, anyway.

I took a deep breath, then muttered, “And so it begins.”

“What?” the boy next to me whispered.

“Nothing,” I told him.

For the next twenty minutes, I listened to earnest talk about stretching our limits, trying new things, and having “a blast” doing it. Again, I wished the energy was contagious, but all I could think about was how many minutes were left before soccer began.

How many minutes of anonymity could I enjoy before everyone at camp found out that I didn't belong there?

As the adults addressed the group, I wished for at least the tenth time that I'd stood up to Owen and demanded the Hoopsters spot, if only for the sake of it being a familiar sport. Of course, I knew that basketball wouldn't have solved anything for me. Putting a big orange ball through a hoop wouldn't erase my total and utter failure at state.

Nothing would.

The truth was, I'd come to the horrible conclusion that my Masters of the Mind career was over. The team needed someone who would come through for them when it counted.

They deserved better.

“So,” the final speaker continued, “I know you'll all be excited to hear that on Friday we have a very special event planned.”