Athlete vs. Mathlete: Double Dribble by W. C. Mack

finished each other’s sentences,” she continued. “I’m telling you, there’s something to that twin telepathy.”

    The more I thought about it, the more it bothered me that Mitch and Marcus were so closely connected. They could anticipate each other’s moves on the basketball court, they shared the same way of thinking through problems, and they even finished each other’s sentences.
    I wanted that bond with Owen.
    At dinner that night, I thought back to my attempt at trying to get in tune with him through eating. Yes, I had failed, but many experiments failed the first time. If no one was willing to try again, we wouldn’t have cars, televisions, or even lightbulbs.
    Yes, I would try again.
    My hope was that if we could develop the same kind of bond as M&M shared, we could be as strong as they were on the court. An academic bond with Owen was out of the question, obviously.
    So, I laid my napkin on my lap at the same time that Owen did, then lifted my glass of milk, matching him perfectly, sip for sip.
    With relief, I noted that mirroring his movements was a bit easier the second time around.
    When he lifted his fork, I lifted mine.
    I knew it was a very simple idea, but some of the best ideas in the world were simple. I could practically feel the bond between us growing stronger.
    He pierced a piece of broccoli and I did the same, then started to lift it toward my mouth. But instead of Owen doing the same thing, he moved the fork to spear a piece of steak. I hesitated, but followed his lead.
    Then he scooped up some mashed potatoes.
    When I saw that he was going to shovel those differentfoods with those different tastes and textures into his mouth
at the same time
, I gagged.
    â€œRussell?” Mom asked. “Are you okay?”
    â€œI’m fine,” I told her, though I was far from it.
    I didn’t even like my foods to touch on my plate, let alone in my mouth!
    I removed the steak from my fork and sighed.
    Apparently, getting in sync with Owen was going to happen somewhere other than at the dinner table.
    But I wasn’t giving up yet.

    My next attempt to get closer to my brother was at the following Pioneers practice, where we ran laps to warm up. In no time at all, my lungs burned and my legs felt like they weighed at least a ton. Each.
    But I was on a mission, so I pushed myself to run faster than ever before. And I did. But I was still lapped by the perfectly synchronized Matthews twins, which was all the encouragement I needed to push even harder.
    By the time I caught up with Owen and Chris, I was sticky with sweat and gasping for breath.
    â€œWhoa, Russ!” Owen said. “What’s going on?”
    â€œNothing,” I told him, having to split the word up over two gasps to get it out of my mouth. “Just warming up.”
    â€œDon’t kill yourself,” Chris said. “We’ll have a whole practice to do that.”
    â€œI know,” I said, and choked.
    We ran in silence, aside from my panting, for about twenty seconds. It felt like an hour and a half.
    â€œAre you guys watching the game tonight?” Chris asked.
    â€œDefinitely,” Owen told him. “Right, Russ?”
    â€œYeah,” I said, and gasped.
    â€œWhat do you think about Will Sanders?” Chris asked, looking to me for an answer.
    I was supposed to keep up with their insane pace, breathe,
and
carry on a conversation?
    Really?
    I glanced at Mitch and Marcus, who were chatting away like they were on a stroll instead of a death sprint. The soles of their Adidas hit the floor at the exact same time, every time, and it didn’t even look as if they were trying.
    Which meant I had to try harder.
    â€œHe’s good,” I grunted at Chris, even though I’d forgotten what player he was asking about.
    â€œBlow out the air every couple of steps,” Owen suggested. “Don’t keep sucking more in.”
    And risk my lungs deflating