by W. C. Mack
Contents
OWEN Free Agent
RUSSELL Energy Transformation
OWEN Full-Court Press
RUSSELL Displacement
OWEN Sixth Man
RUSSELL Theoretical Probability
OWEN Out-of-Bounds
RUSSELL Exponential Growth
OWEN Defensive Rebound
RUSSELL Controlled Experiment
OWEN Blocked Pass
RUSSELL Complementary Angles
OWEN MVP
RUSSELL Chain Reaction
OWEN In the Paint
Acknowledgments
Note on the Author
By the Same Author
For my absolute gem of an editor, the Cheetos-loving Brett Wright, who suggested we send the boys to camp
And for Mike Smith, who is no stranger to time-outs
My palms stung when I caught the ball. My sneakers squeaked against the hardwood as I pivoted left, looking to pass to someone.
Anyone.
Nicky was covered, Paul couldn’t shake Nate, and my brother, Russ, was at another emergency meeting for Masters of the Mind. Man, I couldn’t wait for the state competition to be over. After the weekend, Russ and Marcus Matthews could get back on the court and the Pioneers could get back to normal.
A full roster.
A winning streak.
“Let’s keep it moving, Evans!” Coach Baxter shouted.
“I’m trying,” I muttered, looking past the waving arms in front of me.
Nuts. There had to be somebody open.
Aha!
Mitch Matthews.
I fired off a bounce pass and started hustling down the court again. I could feel the sweat drip down the back of my neck as I kept an eye on the ball, which moved from one player to the next every few seconds. Soon, Mitch passed it back to me and I dribbled a couple of times before throwing it to Paul. He tossed it to Nicky Chu, who took the shot.
Swish.
“Nice job!” Coach shouted as he clapped his hands. “See how easy that was?”
We all nodded.
When Coach told us at the beginning of practice that he wanted us to pass the ball at least five times between center and the basket, I’d thought he was crazy. Like, seriously crazy. But when we actually did it, it totally made sense. All the passing back and forth meant we had to pay a lot more attention to where our teammates were and where we should be.
We had to look for open spaces and work together instead of sprinting for the net. We had to take our time and “be aware,” as Coach said.
So far, so good.
“Hey, Coach, are we gonna have to pass five times in games, too?” Chris asked as he wiped his hands on his shorts. When he was done, they were striped with sweat.
“No,” Paul said.
“It’s just a drill,” Mitch told him, rolling his eyes.
“Cool.” Chris sounded relieved.
“A drill that will help you at game time,” Coach said. “Now let’s crank it up to seven passes. And don’t be afraid to make some noise. Let your teammates know when you’re wide open.” He blew his whistle and tossed Chris the ball. “Communication is key.”
“Communication,” my best friend repeated quietly, “is key.”
He passed the ball to Nate and I snagged it in midair. But the second I took my first step, Nate was right in my face, blocking me. I could have gotten around him and taken off, but I scoped out my passing options instead.
Just like Coach wanted me to.
“Right here!” Nicky shouted.
I threw him the ball and jogged toward the basket, hoping it would be my turn to score this time.
I got the whole idea behind good communication, but I knew for a fact that, as far as basketball goes, nothing speaks louder than points on the board.
After practice, I sat between Nicky and Chris on the locker room bench and started untying my shoelaces.
“Did you watch the game last night?” Chris asked.
“Seriously?” I shook my head, amazed he’d even ask a question like that. “When have I ever missed a Blazers game?”
“Good point.”
“Williams was awesome,” Nicky said.
“Yeah.” I started smiling. “That final shot at the buzzer—”
“In overtime,” Nate added, opening a locker door.
“Was amazing,” Nicky finished.
And it was. It was the kind of moment I thought about all the time. Me, Owen Evans, saving the day with the ultimate three-pointer, a split second before the buzzer. My teammates leaping off the bench to lift me up in the air, the crowd going wild, the clip shown over and over again on ESPN, and—
“Owen?” Mitch Matthews’s voice snapped me out of my daydream.
“Yeah?” I asked, dropping one shoe on the floor and starting to work on the other double knot. Why did I tie the stupid things so tight?
“Do you think you’ll go?”
I looked up at him, totally confused. “Go where?”
Mitch looked at Paul, who smirked, then Nate, who rolled his eyes.
“Hoopsters,” all three said at once.
“What? The camp?” I asked, surprised. “No. You’ve got to be like, fourteen.”
“Dude, haven’t you been listening?” Nicky asked.
“Obviously not,” Paul said, laughing.
“Listening to what?”
“Mitch just said that they lowered it to twelve.”
“Twelve years old?” I gasped.
“No, twelve IQ points.” Paul laughed. “So you could almost make it.”
“Very funny.”
“Yes, twelve years old,” Nicky explained. “And it’s scheduled during spring break.”
“Are you kidding?” I asked, my heart starting to pound.
Hoopsters had always seemed years away, just like college and the NBA draft. I’d figured I’d have to wait until high school to get my chance.
They were really taking twelve-year-olds?
I felt like I’d won the lottery, and I hadn’t even bought a ticket! How cool was that? And the timing was perfect; school would be out for spring break and I’d be able to spend a whole week perfecting my game.
“I’m all over it!” I gasped. “Who else is signing up?”
Mitch sighed. “My whole family is going back to Minnesota for my grandmother’s birthday.”
“What about you?” I asked Nate.
“My cousin just had a baby, so we’re driving to Montana to see it.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! “You’re gonna miss Hoopsters for a stinkin’ baby?”
He shrugged. “I guess so.”
“But he’ll just sleep and cry the whole time.”
“It’s a girl.”
“Whatever. She won’t even know you’re there.”
Nate shrugged, so I turned to Paul. “Are you in?”
“My parents said it’s not in the budget. They just bought a new car.”
“Nicky?” I asked.
“We’re going to Disneyland,” he answered, smiling at the thought of it.
And that’s what separated the men from the boys in basketball. I’d take Hoopsters over Disneyland any day of the week.
I was dedicated.
I was committed.
“Aren’t you guys going to the coast?” Nicky asked, interrupting my thoughts.
Shoot! I’d totally forgotten about Cannon Beach.
“Yeah, you go every year, don’t you?” Nate asked.
I nodded. “Sure, but once my parents know I can do this instead . . .”
They’ll still want to go to the beach.
It was a family tradition, after all. Mom and Dad both took the time off work and we spent the week in a condo. It always rained and we ended up hanging out in
side, playing board games and stuff.
It was fun and I usually loved going, but compared to Hoopsters, Cannon Beach suddenly seemed like a big wet, windy waste of time.
“Well, I’m going for sure,” I told the guys.
All I had to do was convince my family to go to the coast without me.
Easy, right?
The whole way home, I barely even listened to Chris and Paul talking about some crazy reality TV show I’d never heard of. No matter how interesting they thought it was, all I could think about was Hoopsters.
I imagined what the camp T-shirt would look like. How it would feel to step onto a legendary court and blow everybody away with my moves.
From there, it was easy to picture my NBA career and the shoes Nike would let me design, with my name on them. They’d be limited edition, for sure. Dark blue and white, like the Pioneers uniform, with something cool like “Evans 1.0” under the swoosh. Everybody would want a pair. No, two pairs: one to wear and one to keep in the box, in mint condition.
A collector’s item.
“See ya tomorrow,” Paul said, turning off at his street.
“Are you okay, O?” Chris asked when we were alone.
“Yeah.” Evans 1.0. How sweet was that?
“Because you’ve been acting kind of weird.”
I laughed. “I’m just excited about the camp.”
“You’re really going?” he asked doubtfully.
“Definitely.” I turned to look at him and realized I’d never asked him. “What about you?”
“Hoopsters?” he asked, then cleared his throat. “I don’t think I’m good enough.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s a pretty big deal, Owen. Serious, you know? I mean, Oswald went there and so did Wallace.”
“Yeah, and they ended up drafted by the NBA,” I reminded him. “Just like Hendricks, Bajard, and that rookie Masters who’s playing for the Knicks.”
“Exactly, they’re pros.”
“Yeah, but they weren’t back then,” I told him. “They were just like us.”
“Just like you, maybe. You’re a way better player than me, O.”
It was true, so I didn’t bother denying it. “So, you’re just going to hang out at home?” I asked, feeling disappointed. I wanted to have a friend there with me.
Chris shrugged. “Kind of. There’s a basketball day camp at the recreation center I might sign up for.”
“Are you kidding me? Dude, this is Hoopsters we’re talking about!”
He nodded and bounced the ball he carried everywhere, including the bathroom. “I know. Maybe next year.”
I thought about how much fun me and my best friend could have in basketball heaven.
“Chris, that’s crazy! Come on. Just sign up and we’ll have the best time together.”
Of course, we’d probably be split up by skill level on day one, but that was okay. We could still hang out during our free time.
“I’m just not ready, O.”
When he turned onto his street, I sighed. It was another case of the men versus the boys in basketball. Turning down Hoopsters to hang out at the rec center seemed like the dumbest move Chris could make.
Sure, he might learn a few things, but there would be so much more to see and do at Hoopsters. And thinking he wasn’t good enough wasn’t going to make him any better.
But Hoopsters was going to make me better than ever.
And that’s when it hit me. Maybe going by myself was a good thing. Maybe it would give me an edge over the rest of the Pioneers. Maybe being an awesome player meant staying one step ahead of everyone else.
Sure, I knew that working together was important and all that, but the truth was that every team on the planet had a number-one player. A guy who everyone agreed was top dog.
And why couldn’t that guy be me?
The van and the car were both parked in the driveway when I got home, which was perfect.
“Hey, O, how was school?” Mom asked when I closed the back door behind me and dropped my backpack on a chair.
“Awesome,” I told her, grinning.
“Hold on,” Dad said as he walked into the kitchen. “Did you just say school was awesome?”
“Well, not school, exactly.”
“Ahh,” he said, then chuckled. “Practice.”
“Practice was good, but the awesome part came after,” I said, then told them about Hoopsters allowing twelve-year-olds.
“Wow!” Dad said, giving me a high five. “That is awesome.”
“What’s Hoopsters?” Mom asked, putting a super-stacked lasagna in the oven and setting the temperature.
“Just the best basketball camp on the planet,” I told her when she closed the oven door.
“Sounds like fun,” she said, opening the fridge.
“Totally.” Catching her while she was distracted was probably a good move. I took a deep breath before telling her, “The best part is that it’s happening when we’re on break from school.”
Mom swung the door closed and stared at me. “You don’t mean spring break.”
“Yeah,” I said, giving her my biggest smile.
“Honey, that’s our family time.” She looked at Dad, then back at me. “I’m sorry, Owen.”
Uh-oh.
“What? You mean I can’t go?”
She shook her head. “The beach is a vacation for all of us. Together.”
“I know, but this is so much better than the beach.”
“What’s better than the beach?” Russell asked.
I hadn’t even heard him come in.
“Hoopsters,” I told him, then turned back to Mom. “This camp will be so much fun, and good exercise and—”
“We’re not going to Cannon Beach?” Russ gasped.
“Of course we are,” Mom told him, rubbing his already messy hair.
“Yeah, you guys are going,” I said, nodding. “But I’ll be at Hoopsters.”
“Owen,” Mom said with a warning tone.
“Dad?” I begged, knowing that he was the one with basketball in his blood. He was the one who played in college and got as excited watching the Blazers on TV as I did.
He was my only hope.
“I’m sorry, bud,” he said, shaking his head. “Mom’s right. Spring break is family time.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing!
“So you guys are going to kill my dreams so we can sit around and play Monopoly?”
“I like Monopoly,” Russ said, fixing his glasses.
“And read?” I practically choked.
“What’s wrong with reading?” Dad asked. “I’ve got a stack of mysteries set aside.”
“Mysteries?” I asked. The only mystery was how I could possibly be related to these people!
“Murder mysteries,” Dad explained. “I’m dying to get into them.” He paused. “Get it?”
“Good one, Dad.” Russ smiled, but all I saw were the seeds stuck in his braces. Why did Mom keep buying eight-grain bread? Why couldn’t we have the squishy white stuff like everybody else?
And why couldn’t I go to Hoopsters?
I hadn’t convinced her yet, but I wasn’t about to roll over. This was way too important to let go. All I had to do was make her understand how awesome Hoopsters was.
“I don’t think you get what’s happening here, Mom.”
As soon as I saw her face get all pinched, I knew I’d started out wrong. “Oh, I get what’s happening, Owen,” she said.
“This is the opportunity of a lifetime,” I explained.
Instead of saying anything, she gave Dad her famous you-handle-this look.
It was one of her worst.
“Lifetime?” Dad asked, but didn’t wait for an answer. “I’m pretty sure it’s held every year, O.”
He patted me on the shoulder, like that would help.
“But I want to go this year.” The words came out super whiny, but I didn’t care.
“And I want all o
f us to enjoy our family tradition of spending the week at Cannon Beach,” Mom said.
“Scrabble,” Dad said, rubbing his hands together. “Card games. Hot-dog night. We all love that trip.”
Not anymore.
“Never mind,” I muttered. “No one cares what I think. No one’s listening to me.” I walked toward the stairs, wanting to get away from all of them.
“Of course we’re listening,” Mom called. “We’re just not agreeing.”
“Forget it,” I snapped, trying not to think about the pair of Evans 1.0s that would never exist.
I didn’t give much thought to Owen’s dashed dreams, mainly because my own were still alive and thriving.
After weeks of anticipation, my Masters of the Mind team was mere days away from the biggest challenge of our lives.
State.
Months earlier, we’d blown through the regional competition, barely breaking a sweat, and it was time for the next phase of our Masters’ season.
And the pièce de résistance? Or, as my brother would say, the cherry on top?
We were absolutely ready.
We’d scheduled extra meetings and run through every kind of drill, challenge, and game we could think of, repeatedly. We’d practiced, prepared, and trained as though we were Olympians, and I felt to my very core that our efforts would be rewarded.
In the middle of science class on Wednesday, I caught myself imagining the closing ceremony at state, complete with medals and a podium. The national anthem played as my teammates and I placed hands over our hearts and sang those stirring and emotional words.
In English on Thursday, I could practically see an amazed crowd of friends, family, and complete strangers on their feet. I could hear the thunder of their applause as our team of five achieved the highest score ever recorded in the history of Masters of the Mind.
It made me giddy.
But during social studies on Friday afternoon, I stopped myself in the middle of picturing the team winning the national championship, then conquering the world with mental gymnastics.
I suddenly felt uneasy about the thoughts I was having, uncomfortable with the wildly confident voice in my head.
And, with a bit of a shock, I realized why.
I sounded like Owen.
I shook my head in an effort to clear it and spent the rest of class reminding myself what truly mattered. Masters of the Mind was about brainstorming, teamwork, communication, creativity, and a thousand other wonderful things.