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

foot,” one of the Matthews brothers called out to me.
    My shoulders tensed.
    â€œAnd relax,” the other one added.
    As if I could.
    I exhaled and threw the ball, which fell about three feet short of the basket.
    â€œNow
that
was a brick,” the two voices said in unison.
    I made my way to the back of the line and missed the next four shots I attempted.
    I stood in line, waiting for my next humiliation and focused my attention straight ahead.
    As I stewed over M&M’s successful efforts to psych me out, I realized that I’d discovered a new element to add to the periodic table.
    It was incredibly toxic and it was going to take helium’s place, with an atomic number of two.
    Twinidium.

Picked Off
    Our game against Dante Powers and the rest of the Hogarth Huskies was coming up fast.
    I was feeling more nervous about it than I wanted to. It seemed like I’d been looking forward to going head-to-head against Dante forever, but that was back in the days of the old-school Pioneers. Back when I only sat on the bench because I needed to catch my breath.
    I’d had a couple of dreams about the game, and more than a few daydreams during class.
    In my head, I beat Dante every time. I outdribbled, out-passed, and outshot him. I beat his state record
and
got carried off the court on my teammates’ shoulders.
    If even
one
of those things happened on game day, I’d be stoked.
    But we had to play the Willamette Warriors first.
    On Wednesday afternoon, the Pioneers piled onto the bus for the trip to Willamette, ready to keep our winning streak alive.
    The Twinvaders didn’t sit with the rest of us at the middle or the back of the bus, but instead right behind the driver. One of them pulled a notebook out of his backpack, and they studied it together.
    Russ told me they were math superstars, but even my brainiac brother saved his homework for, well,
home
.
    â€œWhat’s the Warriors’ record?” Russ asked from the seat next to me.
    â€œFive and three,” I told him. “Not as good as ours.”
    â€œBut close.”
    â€œYeah,” I admitted. “We’re close.”
    We couldn’t say the same about Hogarth, who hadn’t lost a game yet.
    I shook my head. I needed to stop thinking about Dante Powers and concentrate on the game that was only half an hour away instead.
    â€œIs there anything I should know about them?” Russ asked.
    I shrugged. “Just that we have to win if we want to keep our streak going.”
    â€œNo special tips?”
    â€œNot really,” I said, confused. Special tips?
    He was quiet for a minute and I started trying to get my game face on.
    â€œAre you going to wear your watch when we play?”
    â€œWhat?” I asked, totally confused.
    â€œAre you going to—”
    I rolled my eyes. “I heard the question, Russ.”
    â€œSo, are you?”
    â€œI never do.”
    He nodded. “Cool.” Then Russ cleared his throat. “Did you bring your Nike socks?”
    I turned toward him. What was his deal? “Duh, Russ. I always wear them on game days.”
    â€œCool,” he said again. “You know, I’ve seen some kids wearing sweatbands. On their wrists?”
    â€œIs that a question?”
    â€œNo.” He frowned. “Well, maybe. Do you think you’d ever wear those?”
    â€œHa! Not in this lifetime.”
    â€œBut NBA players wear them,” Russ reasoned.
    â€œNo,
some
NBA players wear them,” I corrected. “Not the ones I like.”
    â€œGotcha,” he said, nodding again.
    I felt like I was taking a test and it was making me edgy. And I definitely didn’t need to feel edgy before a game.
    â€œWhat’s with the twenty questions?” I asked.
    Russ looked surprised. “I’ve only asked a couple.”
    â€œYeah, but you look like you’re just getting started.” Before he could say anything else, I told him,