by W. C. Mack
“No. Well, yes, but mostly because . . .” I thought about how it felt to be left behind by Danny and the guys, I thought about that rotten night in the pool where I played Marco Polo by myself, all that time alone in my room while everyone else was having fun. I thought about how it felt not to know why I was left out, or to know how to change it.
“Owen?” Russ said, snapping me out of it.
“Because they made me feel crummy.” I blinked. “I mean, because I made him feel crummy.” I cringed when I said it, knowing it was true. I’d made Jackson feel as bad as the other guys had made me feel.
And that stunk.
Russ waited a minute before saying anything. “So, talk to him.”
“And say what?”
“That you’re sorry,” Russ said, like it was the easiest and most obvious thing in the world.
On the way to apologize, I realized I didn’t even know the kid’s room number. I’d been hanging out with him all week, and I had no idea where he lived.
I asked around, and when I tracked down his room, I knocked on the door, nervously trying to think of what to say.
“Oh,” Jackson said, frowning. “I thought you had stuff to do tonight.”
On top of everything else, I was a liar.
Sure, I’d hoped to have plans, but the pranksters had left me in the dust.
Just like I’d left Jackson.
“No. I mean, yeah . . . but I wanted to talk to you.”
“To me?” He made a mock bow. “What an honor.”
“Jackson. I’m serious.”
He glared at me. “About what?”
“Wanting to talk. Just give me a minute, okay?”
“Fine,” he said, opening the door wider so I could walk inside. “This should be good.”
The first thing I saw was a picture of Jackson and his dad, sitting right on his desk. If I’d paid him one stinkin’ visit, I would have known.
“So,” I said, but didn’t know where to go from there.
“So,” he echoed, sitting on the edge of his desk.
“I wanted to tell you I’m sorry,” I blurted, nice and fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid.
“For what?” he asked, crossing his arms.
For a lot of things. “For the way I’ve been acting. You know, taking off on you and stuff.”
“You’re busy,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Right?”
“Yeah, but . . . well, not that busy.”
He didn’t say anything, so I figured I should try a different angle.
“Why have you been hanging out with me, Jackson?” I asked. “I haven’t been very . . . nice.”
He shrugged. “At first, that’s what I liked about you.”
“What?” I choked.
He sighed. “Do you know what it’s like to be related to an NBA player?”
I wished!
“Uh, no.”
“It stinks. People try to buddy up with you, just so they can meet him. You never know who your real friends are.”
“I guess that would kind of stink.”
“Kind of? I’m not just talking about Hoopsters, Owen. It’s at school and everywhere else, too.” He glanced at me. “You were different. You didn’t act super nice just because of who my dad is.”
I took a deep breath. “I didn’t know.”
He looked surprised. “Didn’t know what?”
“That he’s your dad.”
Jackson frowned. “You didn’t? But our last name is on almost everything I wear.”
I shrugged. “I thought he was your favorite player.”
He shook his head, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “It’s seriously my whole wardrobe, Owen. I mean, I have Farina socks.”
“And I have Blazers T-shirts, sweatshirts, shorts, and hats,” I said. “If they sold Blazers underwear, I’d buy some.”
I was relieved when he cracked a smile.
He nodded slowly. “Okay, so you thought I was just a Farina fan. No, make that his biggest fan.” He was quiet for a moment. “Which means you weren’t hanging out with me because I’m his kid.”
“Not at all.”
But I would have, if I’d known.
“So, why did you blow me off?”
“I don’t know,” I said, shaking my head. “I had this idea about Hoopsters-type guys and how cool it would be to hang out with the elite players and stuff.”
“Why aren’t you with them now?”
I sighed. “They don’t want to be around me, Jackson. Like you, they figured out that I’m a . . . jerk.”
“Yeah, well, they wouldn’t have to be detectives for that.”
He was right. I’d left a ton of clues.
I took a deep breath. “Look, you were the only kid here who wanted anything to do with me. I could have had fun with you and made a good friend, but I ditched you for the cooler guys.”
That didn’t come out right.
“The cooler guys.” He half smiled and looked away. “Wow. You really are a jerk.” He paused. “A total jerk.”
“I know.”
The room was totally silent until he said, “But you’re here now, admitting you were wrong.” He glanced back at me. “You are admitting you were wrong, right?”
“Yes. Totally.”
“Hmm. So, maybe you’re slightly less of a jerk than you were a couple of minutes ago.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Hey, it’s an improvement.” He paused. “Do you really feel bad about blowing me off? Honestly?”
“Yeah.” It was the truth.
He was quiet for a moment. “Do you want to be friends with me, Owen?”
What I’d said before was totally true. He was the only kid at camp who’d wanted anything to do with me, and I’d treated him like he wasn’t worth my time.
I nodded. “Yeah, I do.”
“Because my dad’s Roberto Farina?”
“Roberto who?” I asked, trying to make a joke. “Oh, you mean the NBA superstar. No, I want to be friends with you because you’re . . . you know. You.”
He lifted a fist for me to bump. “Cool.”
“That’s it?” I couldn’t believe he was letting me off that easily. “Wait, why are you giving me another chance?”
“My dad,” he said, with a shrug.
“What?”
“He always says that if you can forgive someone, you should.”
How lucky was that? I’d been expecting a whole lot worse from Jackson, but telling him I was sorry (and really meaning it) was enough.
Sweet!
Jackson cleared his throat. “Owen?”
“Yeah?”
“I can only forgive you once.”
I looked him right in the eye, so he’d know I understood. “That’s all I need.”
We’d spent most of Wednesday running. And when I say running, I don’t mean laps. We sprinted.
It turned out that aside from physics, the common element that would be shared by our track activities was speed.
And I didn’t have any.
After a full day of working on starting, running, and finishing, I knew that day two was going to be rough.
So, when I woke up on Thursday morning, I had to drag my aching body to the gym for another round.
“Okay, guys,” Coach Bennett said. “Yesterday, we learned the fundamentals of speed. Today, we’re going to use it.”
Everyone around me sounded excited and I followed the group over to the row of aluminum hurdles Coach had placed on the track.
I’d studied the diagrams in my book, so I knew what my body was supposed to do. I just wasn’t sure that it could. In addition to speed, hurdling would require timing and coordination. And on that particular morning, I doubted I had any of those things.
Coach Bennett went over the basics with us and when he blew his whistle, we lined up to jump over one.
Just one.
I took a deep breath from my place at the back of the line.
“Are you
okay?” Sam asked.
“Sure,” I told him, watching as the first of our teammates charged at the hurdle. I watched his feet and when he got close, I counted off Coach’s recommended four steps before the jump.
He led with his right foot and soared over the obstacle like it was nothing and the whole lineup cheered.
When the next runner was up, he did the exact same thing and cleared the hurdle. The third bumped it with the tip of his shoe, but it merely wobbled for a second, then became still again.
“Nice,” Sam said.
“Hey, my brother could jump a hurdle twice that size,” James joked.
“Oh yeah? Mine could do it backward,” Sam countered, and they both laughed.
“Just do your best,” James said.
And Sam did. When it was his turn, he took off at the blast of Coach’s whistle and made a perfect leap.
“Next,” Coach said.
I nodded as I stepped up to the line. I took a deep breath, then another.
You’re tall.
You have long legs.
You can do this.
I inhaled deeply again and exhaled slowly.
“Ready?” Coach asked.
I nodded and when he blew his whistle, I took off as quickly as I could.
One, two, three . . . no, don’t count yet!
The closer I got to the hurdle, the taller it was.
I took a few more steps.
Count now! Four more!
Wait, is it too late?
At the very last second, instead of jumping, I veered sharply to my right and ran around the hurdle. I stumbled slightly, but stayed upright.
“Okay,” Coach said. “That was a good dry run. Let’s give it another try.”
Embarrassed to be the only one who had faltered, I returned to the starting line with hot and undoubtedly bright red cheeks.
“You can do it,” James said, patting me on the back.
Considering how nice the Cougars had been all week, I shouldn’t have been surprised by the “you had good speed” and “just go for it” that followed from the other guys.
I nodded and took another deep breath as I stepped on the starting line.
“Let’s go, Russ,” Sam encouraged from behind me.
Coach Bennett blew his whistle and I took off again, feeling every step in my aching muscles.
I heard some cheering behind me, and when the moment came, I counted off the steps.
One, two, three.
On four, I leaped, extending my right leg as far ahead of me as it could go and lifting my body off the ground.
I was flying through the air, amazed that I could do it.
And then, suddenly, I wasn’t doing it at all.
My left shoe caught the hurdle, right on my laces, and I didn’t have time to shake free. The next thing I knew, I was heading face-first onto the track.
Uh-oh.
I threw my hands out in front of me and landed hard, then somersaulted a couple of times before coming to a stop.
I waited to hear laughter from the starting line.
But there was none.
Instead, I heard the pounding of footsteps as my teammates and Coach ran over to make sure I was okay.
To my utter amazement, I was.
Sure, I felt embarrassed, and my palms were a bit scraped, but I was fine.
The fall hadn’t killed me.
“You were so close,” Sam said.
“You missed it by a couple of inches,” James added, demonstrating with his fingers how far I’d been from clearing the obstacle.
“Would you like to sit out for a few minutes?” Coach asked, once he’d helped me to my feet.
I looked at the faces of my teammates, who were obviously eager for me to succeed at something I’d never even imagined trying.
And that made me want to succeed, too.
“Can I give it another try?” I asked Coach.
“Attaboy,” he said, with a smile.
As is often the case with new things, the third time was a charm. I knew what it felt like to avoid the obstacle and I knew what it felt like to crash into it. Somehow, that gave me the confidence to give it all I had.
It probably wasn’t the most graceful hurdle the world had ever seen. I’m sure my arms were flailing and I can only imagine the crazed expressions on my face as I took off, cleared it, and landed safely on the other side.
I wasn’t a natural, but I did it.
My teammates cheered.
Coach patted me on the back and said, “Nice work, kid.”
The rest of the morning went just as well. I had some rocky moments when we added more hurdles and timing became an even bigger issue. But I did my best, just like everyone else.
When we broke for lunch, I walked over to the cafeteria with the rest of the Cougars. We talked and laughed as we filled our plates with pasta, garlic bread, and salad.
Sam found a table that had room for all of us and we sat down to enjoy the meal.
I was barely two bites in when I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Hey, Russ,” Owen said when I turned around.
“Hey.”
“Can I talk to you?”
“Sure,” I said, making room next to me. “What’s going on?”
“I patched things up with Jackson,” he said. “I came by your room to tell you last night, but—”
“I was asleep by eight th—”
“You didn’t answer,” he interrupted, before I could tell him about my exhausting first day of track and field.
“I’m glad you worked it out,” I told him. “I like Jackson.”
“Me, too. But the thing is, I can’t figure out how to deal with the other guys.”
“Talk to them, Owen. They’re just people.”
He shook his head. “They won’t listen.”
“Then try again.”
“You don’t get it, Russ. Jackson told me they think I’m a ball hog—”
“Which you have been, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so. But they also think I’m too aggressive—”
“Accurate?” I asked.
“Um . . . maybe. Jackson wouldn’t tell me which guy said it, but one of them thinks I’m a showboat.”
I stared at him. “Would you agree?”
He groaned. “You’re not helping, Russ.”
“Well, would you?” I pushed.
“I guess, but I just wanted to show them what I could do,” he said, shoulders slumped.
I thought about it for a minute before I told him, “Then maybe that’s the solution.”
“What?”
I adjusted my glasses. “Maybe I was wrong—”
He laughed. “Wow, could I have that in writing?”
“I said maybe, Owen.” I gave him a long look and waited for the smile to leave his face. “Can I continue?”
“Yeah.”
“Maybe I was wrong to suggest talking to them, when the fact is, your actions speak the loudest.”
“Is this some kind of a riddle?”
I sighed. “No. What I’m saying is that you need to show these guys that you aren’t a ball hog by passing to them. Be less aggressive. Don’t be a showboat.”
“But—”
“Show them you’re a good player and a good teammate. I know for a fact that you’re already both of those things for the Pioneers.”
“I know, but it’s Hoopsters camp and—”
“You don’t have to turn into someone else, Owen. Who you are is enough.”
He thought about that for a moment or two, then smiled at me. “Thanks, Russ.”
“You’re welcome,” I said, starting to turn my attention back to my pasta.
“You know something?” Owen asked. Before I had a chance to respond, he continued, “I can see why your Masters of the Mind team made you their leader.”
My fork stopped halfway to my mouth and I was going to ask him what he meant.
But he was gone.
During the afte
rnoon session of track and field, I let Owen’s words simmer in my mind. Of course, I also concentrated on what Coach was saying, but my brother’s comments gave me a warm, satisfied feeling at the same time.
We moved on from hurdles to long jump, which proved to be wonderfully easy in comparison. To my surprise, I ranked third on the team for longest jump.
Pole vaulting was a slightly different story, but once I’d taken a couple of practice runs and reminded myself it was simply a matter of physics, I managed to heave myself over the bar.
My landing was atrocious, but the thick mattress that caught me certainly helped.
As I walked back to the line, I felt taller than usual. It took me a moment to realize that I’d abandoned the slouched shoulders that had weighed me down since the mess at state.
Hmm.
It seemed that despite the fact that none of the sports and activities I’d been involved with all week had anything to do with Masters of the Mind, they’d helped me find my way back.
The pranks had brought me back to brainstorming.
I’d found physics and geometry in the most unlikely places.
I’d made friends and shown them that I wasn’t the sort of person who gave up.
And that’s when it hit me.
There was no reason to give up on Masters of the Mind.
We’d suffered a setback at state. A bump in the road. A blip on the radar.
An aluminum hurdle in the middle of a sprint.
Next time, we would jump over it.
It was as simple as that.
I found myself smiling as I stepped into my place at the back of the line.
“Why are you so happy?” James asked when I joined him.
I grinned at him, but didn’t answer.
There were too many reasons to list.
I knew my brother was smart, but it always surprised me when he wasn’t just textbook, classroom, nerd herd smart, but people smart.
When I left him in the cafeteria, I headed down to the chip trail to walk and think for the rest of my lunch hour.
Russ was right about being myself.
There was a reason I hadn’t made a bunch of friends at camp like I had at home. I thought back to the night in the pool, when I was the only guy playing Marco Polo. My Pioneer teammates would have done the exact same thing if someone had acted the way I did.
No one wants to hang around with a jerk.
As I walked, I wished I hadn’t wasted so much of the week trying to wow everybody and be a superstar. I wished I’d had fun every day, instead of being so obsessed with who would give me a medal at the end of it.