I could hear the Wildcat behind me breathing hard, and I’m pretty sure he sprayed the back of my neck with ketchup spit. The ref blew his whistle and Chris passed the ball to me. “Let’s see some hustle, Russell!” some eighth-grade girls shrieked from the stands, proving the point. Sure, his dribbling still needed work and he wasn’t exactly the fastest guy on the team, but he had the third-best shooting percentage and his fan base was out of control. After years of science fairs and nerd herds, he’d taken a chance on basketball and it had totally paid off. It wasn’t anything we’d been taught, which meant Russ probably read about it in a yoga book or something.Īs I watched him, I was still kind of weirded out by how comfortable my brainiac brother looked on the court. The next thing I knew, he was doing some stretch I’d never seen before, his elbows sticking out all over the place. Then he bent to retie the laces of the most awesome Nikes on the planet. I nodded at Russ and he smiled back with a flash of his braces. My twin yanked up his blue-and-white shorts so the tucked-in jersey I kept telling him wasn’t cool was even more obvious. Lots of it.Ĭoach pulled Paul out and it was Russ’s turn to hit the hardwood. We had only two minutes left and we were still down by three points, but there was hope. I high-fived Paul and Nicky Chu, who were as amped as I was. “Sweet!” I cried over the cheers of our fans. I willed it to go straight into the basket.Īnd it did, dropping through the net with a big, fat swish. In about two seconds, the ball was in the air again. The Woodlawn cheerleaders started jumping up and down, screaming about “spirit” to distract him.īut Paul had two little sisters who were even more annoying than the cheerleaders, so he just smiled and got into position. “Shoot!” The crowd yelled so loud I thought the backboard would shatter. I rested my hands on my knees, catching my breath while Paul dribbled a couple of times and checked out his options. “I’m open!” Paul shouted, and I watched Nate throw the ball right to him. I seriously couldn’t get away from him, no matter what.īut luckily, I wasn’t the only Lewis and Clark Pioneer out there. If I went right, his freckled face and hot ketchup breath were waiting for me. The kid seemed to know every move I was going to make before I did. I tried to get open by ditching the big Wildcat who’d been stuck to me like a brand-new Band-Aid for the whole game. “That guy’s a freakin’ octopus,” I said to Chris. I watched my teammate try to work some magic, but he kept getting blocked by the guard’s long, skinny arms. Nate took off, chased by a bunch of green and yellow uniforms, and dodged one of their guards with a couple of awesome moves that could have been ESPN highlights (if ESPN covered middle-school basketball).īut then Nate was stuck dealing with Woodlawn’s other guard, who wouldn’t budge. My best friend, Chris, dribbled down the court and passed to Nate, the fastest guy on our team. It was late in the fourth quarter and my socks were so soaked with sweat, I felt like I was standing in the shallow end of a swimming pool instead of Woodlawn’s gym. Who always smoked me at driveway basketballĪnd for Mike Smith, who wishes he were still
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