by W. C. Mack
“Nothing. I was just thinking,” I said, trying to buy some time while I came up with a plan. Something seriously genius was brewing and I only needed a second or two to pull it all together.
She opened the oven to check on the chicken. “Thinking about what?”
I waited until she’d closed the door again and turned to face me.
“Russ,” I said slowly, knowing I’d only have one chance to get it right. “I’m worried about him.” I paused to make sure I had her full attention. “He’s spending so much time in his room lately and . . . I’m not sure it’s good for him.”
“Really?” she said, like she didn’t believe me.
“Yeah. I think he needs a . . . change of scenery or something.”
“I agree completely, Owen. That’s why this Cannon Beach trip—”
“Won’t help,” I interrupted.
“What?”
I leaned on the counter. “Think about it, Mom. He’s depressed already and the coast will be all gray and gloomy. I guarantee he’ll bury his face in a book the whole time, and what good is that gonna do him?”
“He’ll probably . . .” She paused for a second or two. “What are you suggesting?”
“I think it would be really good for him to go to Hoopsters. With me, I mean.”
Mom groaned. “Are we honestly back to this?”
“Back to what?” Dad asked as he came in from the garage. “Hey, is that rosemary chicken?”
“Yes, and your son is claiming that Hoopsters camp would be good for Russ.” She paused. “And for himself.”
“I never said that,” I told her.
She just gave me a long look, like she could read my mind.
She probably could.
Figuring it might be an easier sell to Dad, I took another run at it.
“I just think that he’s got this big black cloud over him right now, you know?”
“Sure,” Dad agreed, frowning.
“What he needs is a chance to blow off some steam, meet some new kids, and hang out somewhere besides his bedroom for a week.”
“The beach is—” Dad started to say.
I made a desperate play by blurting, “Romantic.”
Yuck.
The word left a bad taste in my mouth, like sour cream and onion chips.
My parents both stared at me like I was from another planet.
“What?” they asked at the same time.
In a flash, I knew just what to say.
“You guys never have any, uh, time alone. I know Nicky’s parents went to San Diego for their anniversary and had an awesome trip.”
“It’s not our anniversary,” Mom said, hands on her hips.
“I know, but just think about this for a second.” I held up one finger. “You guys have a . . . um, romantic week together.” I added another finger. “And Russ gets over this funk he’s in and has a great time.” I shrugged. “It’s win-win.”
“Win,” Mom said. “You forgot your own win. You get to do exactly what you wanted.”
“Is that so bad?” I asked, with a big smile. For once, I wished I had dimples.
“Is it?” Dad asked, glancing at Mom, then putting an arm around her. “Is win-win-win so bad?”
I knew I was getting somewhere when I saw the look she gave him, like they were in a mushy movie.
“It would be nice to have some time together,” she admitted. “And the camp does sound like a lot of fun for the boys.”
Yes! It was working.
Russ walked into the kitchen, his nose deep in a book. Without speaking to any of us, he took the milk out of the fridge and poured himself a glass. He was just about to head into the living room when Mom said, “Russell?”
“Mmmhmm?” he mumbled, almost to the doorway.
“Can we talk to you for a minute?” Dad asked.
He looked up and saw all of us staring at him. “What’s going on?”
“Have a seat,” Mom said.
Russ sat down at the table with a suspicious look on his face.
“We’ve been talking about a change of plans for spring break,” Dad said. When Russ didn’t say anything, he continued, “We think Hoopsters would be a lot of fun for you two.”
Russ gave me a cold stare, then asked Dad, “Do you mean instead of the coast?”
“Well . . . yes.”
“We think it would be a nice change of pace.”
“Really,” Russ said, looking from one parent to the other.
“And, as Owen pointed out, it’s a good opportunity for Dad and me to have a little getaway together.”
Russ turned toward me again, only this time he glared. “Wow.”
“I know!” Dad said, totally missing that it wasn’t that kind of a wow.
“I think they deserve a vacation, don’t you, Russ?” I asked, to put the pressure on. I knew he loved Mom and Dad, and it was obvious how excited they were about being alone.
He wouldn’t mess that up for them.
He was too nice.
“Yes, they do,” he said stiffly.
“So, you’re in?” Dad asked.
“Sure,” Russ said, forcing a smile onto his face. “I’d love to go to Hoopsters with Owen.”
I knew sarcasm when I heard it, but I didn’t care.
Before Russ had a chance to take the words back, I directed everyone into the home office to get the details from the Hoopsters’ website.
We read all about the dorm rooms and cafeteria, the top-of-the-line coaches and equipment, and the fact that the office was open until six o’clock if Mom or Dad wanted to make the call.
Mom smiled at Dad and headed straight for the kitchen phone.
I couldn’t believe how easy it had been to convince them! I wished I’d thought up the whole diabolical plan way earlier.
I got back to setting the table, only half listening to Mom’s call. That is, until she said, “Only one spot left?”
I dropped the forks with a clatter and spun around to face her.
No way!
“Yes. Sure, I understand. I’ll need to talk it over with the kids and call you back.”
“What happened?” I practically screamed when she hung up the phone.
“There’s only one space left for Hoopsters.”
I felt my heart sink all the way down to the soles of my feet. The plan had been so perfect!
“That stinks.” I groaned.
“And there are no openings for any other individual sports. But she did say there’s a slot available for the Multisport Sampler.”
“The whatty-what-whatter?” I asked, feeling a headache coming on.
“It’s exactly what it sounds like, Owen. The same dorms, the same week, but a variety of sports instead of solid basketball or soccer or . . . you get the idea.”
“So . . .,” I said, looking at Russ hopefully.
“I assume you’d like the basketball spot,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“Definitely! Thanks, Russ.”
He frowned. “I didn’t say you could have it.”
“Oh,” I said, acting surprised. “I just figured that since I was the one who wanted to go to start with and I’ve been playing basketball longer and—”
“I get it,” Russ said, crossing his skinny arms over his chest.
“Yes, I think we all get it, Owen,” Mom said, leaning back against the counter.
“I’ve only played basketball,” Russ said quietly. “It’s the only sport I know.”
“Exactly,” I said, nodding. “This will be an awesome chance to see what else you’re good at.”
He raised one eyebrow at me. We both knew that the chances of him being good at anything else were, like, zero percent.
“Maybe Owen’s right,” Dad said. “Widening your horizons might be a good thing, Russ.”
I could tell by the scrunched-up look on my brother’s face that he was about to disagree, but when he saw Dad put his arm around Mom again, his shoulders slumped.
“Woul
d you be okay with the multisport camp, Russell?” Mom asked, looking worried.
He sighed. “Sure.”
“Wonderful!” Mom said, and rushed over to dial the number again.
“I see,” I heard her say after she’d told the person at the other end that she wanted to register us. “Would you mind holding on for just a second while I check with the boys?”
I waited for Mom to ask what size camp T-shirt I wanted, but it turned out to be something else completely.
“What’s wrong?” Russ asked.
“All that’s left in the dorm is a single room or a double with one occupant.”
“Huh?” I couldn’t even follow what she was saying.
“One of us gets his own room and the other shares with a stranger,” Russ explained, with an edge in his voice.
“Oh,” I said, biting my lip.
“Who wants the single?” Dad asked. “You’ve got to make a quick decision.”
Russ and I spoke up at the exact same time.
“Let’s flip for it,” he said.
“I want it,” I said.
We stared at each other. There was no way I’d flip a stinking coin for something that important. I wasn’t going to risk sharing a room with someone I’d never even met.
Russ crossed his arms again and I thought he was going to put up a fight or storm off or something, like I totally would have. But Russ never did stuff like that.
When he saw the way Mom was looking at us, he said, “I’ll take the double.”
Yes!
I couldn’t stop grinning while I listened to Mom finish the call.
“Hoopsters!” I shouted when she hung up. I ran over to give her a hug and Dad a high five. “This is going to be the best week of my life!”
Mom walked over to give Russ a hug and whispered something in his ear. He nodded and hugged her back, shooting me a dirty look over her shoulder.
Dad left to wash his hands for dinner and Mom was busy with the chicken, so I quietly said to Russ, “Thank you for doing this.”
He gave me a long look and said, “I didn’t do it for you.”
Of course, we both knew I didn’t do it for him either.
The night before Owen and I left for camp, I listened as my brother frantically raced from one end of the house to the other.
He was obsessed with his Hoopsters wardrobe, which meant digging his “best” socks out of the laundry hamper for a last-second wash. He tried on every pair of shorts he owned. He modeled countless outfits in the hallway mirror, as if he were seconds away from a Sports Illustrated cover shoot.
It was absurd.
He packed almost every T-shirt he owned, but Mom had to remind him to take more than two pairs of underwear.
A roommate wouldn’t have survived a week with him.
I, on the other hand, paid far less attention to my wardrobe than I did to my reading list.
I’d visited the library and stocked up on a variety of science fiction novels, some of which were new to me, and others that were like old friends.
Once I’d resigned myself to attending camp, I’d decided that my primary goal was to simply survive it. And a small library would certainly help with that. Any moments away from field, court, or track would be spent losing myself in fictional characters and imaginary worlds.
And that was perfectly fine with me.
The real world had proven to be very disappointing (at least my role in it had) and I was having a difficult time forgetting it.
The fiasco at state had made me question everything I’d believed about myself.
Did I have what it took to be a team leader?
Was I smart enough to contribute when it counted?
And, most importantly, if I had another chance, would I still crack under the pressure?
The confidence I’d felt at school and at home for as long as I could remember had totally disappeared.
And my own brother didn’t even notice! He was too busy folding JUST DO IT T-shirts to realize anything was wrong.
In fact, Owen was so selfish, I was amazed he was willing to share oxygen with the rest of the planet. (Of course, he hadn’t been given a choice.)
I listened to him drag his overstuffed luggage down the stairs, grunting all the way. I smiled to myself for the first time in days and wondered if he regretted assigning me the “nerdy” suitcase with wheels.
I certainly hoped so.
Mom made French toast and eggs in the morning and I’d never seen Owen shovel food into his mouth faster.
“Breathe, O,” Dad said.
“I want to get going,” he mumbled, spraying bits of egg onto my plate. “The faster I eat, the faster we leave.”
Dad got up and rinsed his plate before putting it in the dishwasher. “I’ll load up your bags.”
He reached for the handle of Owen’s suitcase and grimaced. “I’m pretty sure the camp has weights, Owen. You don’t have to pack your own.”
“Very funny,” my brother said, scooping another forkful past his greedy lips.
“Seriously, what have you got in here?” Dad asked, struggling to lift it.
“Clothes,” Owen said, with a shrug.
A dribble of syrup ran down his chin and I had to look away. Ever since that fateful day at the Schnitz, I hadn’t been able to stomach the stuff.
Camp took place at a facility called the Complex, which was about forty minutes from our house. When we arrived, it was immediately apparent that it was a very popular place.
Thirty or more cars were parked while parents unloaded kids and luggage in front of a gigantic silver building. It looked like something from the future.
“Whoa,” I gasped, before I could stop myself.
The structure wasn’t rectangular, but multiangled, with peaks and points extending in every direction. Even the windows had a silvery sheen and the sun seemed to bounce off of every surface at once.
It was extraordinary.
“Whoa is right,” Owen said. “Look at that kid’s backpack! I didn’t even know Nike made one like that.” He pointed somewhere else. “And check out the new Kobe jacket. Oh man, that is awesome!”
Dad started to look for a parking space, but Owen stopped him. “Dad, we can go in by ourselves. Everyone else is doing it.”
Surprised, I saw that he was right. Kids were hugging their parents or simply waving before carrying their own bags up to a check-in area.
“Oh,” Mom said, sounding disappointed. “Okay, well, we’ll just say our good-byes right here.”
I reached forward to hug her, but the seats made it awkward. Dad mussed up my hair and wished me luck. I didn’t wait around for Owen’s farewells, but got out of the van and lifted the back door to get my bags.
Once I had my suitcase propped up on its wheels, I waited for my brother, who could barely lift his bag out of the back.
As Mom and Dad pulled away, we waved to them and I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the week ahead.
“Come on,” Owen said, leading the way to check in.
Every couple of seconds, he pointed out an article of clothing or piece of gear that I was supposed to admire, but I didn’t pay any attention. I was too entranced by the beauty of the Complex.
And it only got better.
When we reached the front desk, we could see the emerald-green field below. It was perfectly manicured, like a golf course, and I wondered how many times a week it was mowed.
“What are you waiting for?” Owen asked, nudging me forward.
A woman with a long blond ponytail smiled at me and asked for my name. When I told her, she scanned a list and said, “Room two-ten, in the C Wing. It looks like you’re sharing with Danny Sanchez.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking the information packet she offered me, along with a schedule for the week. When I saw the countless blocks of activities that filled each day, I tried to swallow the lump that had suddenly filled my throat.
Running at seven o’clock in the morning?
<
br /> Soccer, volleyball, hurdles, and pole vaulting?
What on earth had I signed up for?
I glanced at my backpack and thought of all the fascinating books that filled it.
When would I have time to read?
I waited for Owen to get his room number and we headed over to the C Wing together, stopping every few minutes so he could put the suitcase down and rest his arm.
“Maybe we should swap luggage on the way home,” he gasped.
“Maybe we shouldn’t,” I told him.
He stared at me. “Are you going to be like this the whole time?”
“Like what?” I asked.
“All pouty and stuff.”
Did he understand what kinds of activities would be filling my week while he showed off on the basketball court?
Did he realize that I was facing seven days of zero privacy in shared accommodations?
“Well, if I am, it won’t be your problem, Owen. It will be my roommate’s.”
He rolled his eyes. “You could have taken the single.”
I didn’t dignify that with a response. We both knew perfectly well that he wouldn’t have let that happen.
“You guys are blocking the way,” someone grunted from behind me.
I turned to see a giant, his arms loaded with gear.
“Sorry,” I squeaked, moving to the side.
“Jerk,” Owen whispered, once he’d passed us.
The guy spun around to give us a dirty look, but didn’t say anything.
“Isn’t this a youth camp?” I asked, watching him walk away.
Owen was too busy admiring everyone else’s outfits to answer me.
Once we reached our building, we had to climb a couple of flights of stairs to reach our floor.
“I can’t believe this place doesn’t have elevators,” Owen grunted as he lugged his suitcase up, just two steps at a time.
“It’s a sports camp, Owen.” I paused, then said, “Not a hospital.”
“Whatever,” he muttered.
I glanced back at him and saw that a lineup was forming behind him. A long and seemingly impatient lineup. The combined width of his body and his suitcase left no room to pass.
“Come on,” somebody urged.
“I’d like to get to my room before Wednesday,” someone else added and a few laughs followed.
Owen’s face was flushed and I couldn’t tell whether it was from the exertion or the embarrassment.