“Maybe not to you,” Russ admitted.

  “Cool,” I said, turning away from him to focus my thoughts on the game.

  While the rest of the guys got amped up about the game, Russ and I looked out the window, totally silent.

  When we got to Willamette Middle School, we filed off the bus.

  “Here’s your eraser,” a Twinvader said, handing it back to Russ. “Thanks for letting me use it.”

  “Anytime,” Russ said, tucking it back into its pouch. “Were you working on the assignment from Mr. Hollis?”

  “No. One of the girls from our old math club e-mailed us a problem, and we were trying to solve it.”

  “Cool,” Russ said. “You know, Lewis and Clark has a math club, too, and—”

  “We’re not interested,” the other brother said from behind us.

  “But it’s a great group of people and—” Russ began, but he was cut off.

  “Not interested. Come on, Marcus. We need to warm up.”

  Without another word, he nudged his twin and they took off up the path to the main door of the school.

  “So, I guess Mitch is the bigger jerk,” I said, glad to have cleared that up, anyway.

  “I guess,” Russ said quietly.

  Once we were inside the school, we followed the sound of squeaking shoes to the gym. When we got there, we saw that the bleachers were practically full.

  “Big crowd,” I said quietly.

  “We’ve had bigger,” said one of the twins.

  Why couldn’t one of them always stand on the right or something? I’d mixed them up again!

  “Back in Minnesota,” the other one explained, “everyone comes to the games.”

  “They make signs, blow horns—”

  “And dress in team colors,” they both said at once.

  Enough with the surround sound, I thought.

  But the rest of the guys were leaning in to hear better, like they’d bought tickets to hear those bozos talk.

  I mean, come on.

  We dumped our stuff around the visitors’ bench and started to warm up.

  I dribbled a ball over to the free throw line and took a few shots, hearing the sounds of my teammates getting into game mode around me.

  Whenever I checked over my shoulder, the Warriors looked pretty smooth. But who didn’t look smooth during drills?

  I glanced back at the Pioneers, who had about a hundred balls in the air at once, all bumping each other out of the basket.

  Well, maybe we didn’t look so smooth.

  I noticed Mitch and Marcus weren’t shooting with the rest of the guys and spotted them near center court. They were standing about ten feet apart, bounce-passing two balls between each other at turbo speed.

  They didn’t miss a single catch, and every pass was perfect. And the weird part was, neither one of them was even looking at the balls. They were staring into each other’s eyes instead.

  While I watched, they passed faster and faster, never missing a beat.

  Where did they play last? A freakin’ circus?

  “Okay, that is seriously awesome,” Nate said, from next to me.

  Before I had a chance to say anything else, the ref blew his whistle and it was time to huddle up.

  I was hoping Coach Baxter would start me this time, so I wouldn’t have to be embarrassed by spending those first minutes on the bench.

  But he put both of the Matthews brothers in instead.

  After the huddle, I watched the rest of the guys run into their positions.

  That’s when I saw it.

  I was shocked I hadn’t noticed it on the bus.

  Paul and Nate had both parted their hair like the new guys and molded it to their heads with goo.

  Come on.

  “What’s with the hair?” I asked Russ.

  He patted his. “Mine?”

  “No, Nate’s and Paul’s. They styled theirs just like the Twinvaders’.”

  He glanced at them. “Hmm. Maybe it’s to improve their aerodynamics.”

  I rolled my eyes. “This isn’t NASA, Russ. It’s freakin’ middle-school basketball.”

  “Well,” he said with a shrug, “you asked.”

  The Warriors took possession at the tip-off, and I realized that I should have seen their smooth drills as a warning.

  Those guys knew what to do, and they did it well.

  “Nice play,” Russ said when a Warrior practically ran over Nate to make a basket.

  “Geez, don’t compliment the other team, Russ.” I couldn’t believe the stuff I still had to tell him about basketball.

  “Well, it was a good play.”

  “So, wait for us to make a good one.”

  He didn’t have to wait long.

  Paul passed to a Matthews twin, who spun around and passed to his brother, who was in perfect position for a three-pointer.

  “Yes!” a couple of our fellow benchwarmers shouted, jumping to their feet to cheer.

  I tried to smile but I couldn’t help wishing someone else had scored.

  And I ended up wishing that a lot during the first quarter, when Mitch and Marcus racked up points like it was a video game instead of real life.

  But the Warriors weren’t giving up.

  By the time Russ and I got in the game, the Pioneers were down six points and I was looking forward to closing the gap.

  When I passed the Twinvaders coming off the court, I lifted a hand for a high five, and they both ignored it. I pretended to check my watch, so I wouldn’t look like a total loser, but I didn’t have a watch on.

  Russ must have seen the guys diss me, so he lifted his hand for a high five from me instead.

  Based on experience, I knew I was making a mistake, but I went for it.

  Russ’s hand missed mine and then we both looked like losers.

  Great.

  The ref blew his whistle and one of the Pioneers passed me the ball. I hauled down the court, dodging red jerseys all the way. I could hear the handful of our fans who’d made the trip cheering for me, and that got me pumped.

  I had my chance at a basket and was just about to shoot when a Warrior reached over my back and shoved the ball to the side.

  “You’ve gotta move faster, Owen!” Coach Baxter shouted from the bench.

  I gritted my teeth and took off running so I could get the ball back. But I was too late.

  Two points for the Warriors.

  Ugh.

  When I had my next chance at a shot, I choked and threw a total brick.

  “Take your time, Owen,” Coach called to me.

  What did he want me to do? Speed up or slow down?

  If I hadn’t spent so much time on the bench, my playing wouldn’t be so rusty. I just knew it.

  Russ did okay, though. He made a couple of sweet jump shots, and I was totally proud of him.

  By the time Coach pulled us out, the Pioneers were eight points ahead, thanks to nine points from Russ and four from me.

  I reminded myself that four was better than none as I walked back to the bench.

  But “better than none” didn’t do much for me at the end of the game. We won, forty-eight to thirty-nine, but only six of the points were mine.

  The Matthews twins walked out of there with thirty points between them.

  When I got home that night, I grabbed my ball out of the garage so I could take some practice shots. I tried a few from the free throw line I’d marked on the concrete, and made most of them. I took a few more from the corner by the mailbox but didn’t have as much luck.

  I thought about some of the moves Mitch and Marcus had been showing off at practices and at the game.

  I bounced the ball through my legs, like they had, slowly walking toward the street and passing it through on each step.

  Not bad.

  Figuring it wouldn’t hurt to push myself, I tried to do the same thing while walking backward up the driveway.

  It was way harder, and I lost control of the ball almost as many times as I banged it against the backs of my knees.

  “You look just like M&M,” Russ said, from behind me.

  The ball bounced against my ankle and rolled onto the grass. “I wasn’t trying to,” I lied.

  “It was a compliment,” Russ said with a shrug. “They’re really good.”

  “Yeah, well they aren’t the first people on the planet to dribble like that.”

  “I didn’t say they were.”

  “Lots of people do it.”

  “Fine,” he said, shrugging again.

  “Fine,” I repeated, then picked up the ball and carried it into the garage.

  I really didn’t feel like practicing anymore.

  “You know, I think one of them was going to high-five you at the game,” Russ called after me.

  “One of who? The Twinvaders?” I shook my head. “Nah, they both ignored me.”

  “I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure it was Marcus who moved toward you, then Mitch kind of blocked him.”

  I couldn’t help snorting. “You’re seeing things, Russ. Mitch might be the bigger jerk, but they’re both jerks.”

  “I’m not so sure,” he said.

  “Yeah, well I am,” I told him, starting toward the door.

  “I’m just saying that Marcus might be okay.”

  That was the last thing I needed to hear. “It’s official,” I muttered, as I walked back inside. “The whole team’s been brainwashed.”

  Just before dinner that night, I was washing my hands in the bathroom sink when I glanced at myself in the mirror. I turned off the faucet and let the water drip off my fingers as I studied my reflection.

  Curious, I lifted one hand up to the top of my head and started to push the hair to one side.

  It wouldn’t stay, so I ran the faucet again and dipped one of Dad’s little black combs under the water, then pushed the hair to the side.

  I used the comb to make a perfect part and was just about to take a good, long look at myself when the door swung open.

  “Oops!” Mom gasped. “Sorry, O, I didn’t know you were in here.” She started to close the door again, but stopped partway. “Hey, I like what you’ve done with your hair. Very cute.”

  Cute?

  I leaned closer to the mirror. She was right, it wasn’t a bad look.

  I jerked backward.

  What was I thinking?

  I didn’t want Twinvader hair.

  I didn’t want Twinvader anything.

  And I definitely didn’t want to look cute.

  I dropped the comb back into the drawer and messed up my hair with my hands.

  If I wasn’t careful, I’d be sucked into the Matthews brothers’ trap, just like the rest of the Pioneers.

  And I didn’t want that most of all.

  At dinner, Dad congratulated us on our game.

  “The streak continues, huh?” he said, passing me the carrots.

  “Yeah,” I muttered, scooping a bunch onto my plate.

  “Wow,” Dad said. “Now that’s enthusiasm.”

  “I thought you’d be thrilled with another win,” Mom said.

  “I would, if we’d won.”

  They both looked totally confused, and I guess I couldn’t blame them.

  “The Matthews twins,” Russ explained, once he’d swallowed a mouthful of salmon. “They’re dominating the team.”

  “Dominating, huh?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah, dominating,” I said, trying not to sound ticked off but failing.

  “But everyone’s getting court time, right?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah,” I admitted. “But Russ and I have been starting on the bench lately.”

  “Somebody has to start on the bench,” Mom said.

  Like that helped.

  “Yeah, but it used to be somebody else,” I said, passing the carrots to Russ.

  “You know,” Dad said. “You guys are looking at these twins as threats instead of allies. And that’s a big mistake.”

  “What do you mean?” Russ asked.

  Dad swallowed a mouthful. “You already had a team who was great together, right?”

  “Yeah, back in the good old days,” I muttered.

  “And now you’ve added two more solid players to the roster, which will make your great team even greater.”

  I nodded, even though I didn’t totally agree. “Uh-huh.”

  “So, why are you worrying about how you start? You should be thinking about how you finish.”

  “We are winning,” Russ said quietly.

  “No,” I told both of them. “The Matthews twins are winning. The rest of us are just decoration.”

  “Then you need to step up your game, Owen,” Dad said. “Be a part of what they’re doing instead of treating them like your enemies. If they’re making most of the plays, help them make even more.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I choked.

  “Hey, a good assist is as valuable as the basket itself.”

  Yeah, right.

  “They don’t need assists from us,” I told him.

  “They’re like a full team on their own,” Russ agreed.

  Dad laughed. “Two players can never do more than five, you guys.”

  I gave up on trying to convince him. He just didn’t get it.

  At the next practice, I was ready to do my best, because that was all I really could do.

  But when Chris showed up wearing a Timberwolves T-shirt, I got distracted.

  “What’s that about?” I asked, pointing at it. “Since when do you like Minnesota?”

  “They’re not bad,” he said, shrugging.

  “Seriously?” I couldn’t believe he’d joined the stupid fan club! “Why don’t you start combing your hair like the Matthewses’, too? Maybe you can be triplets together.”

  Coach blew his whistle before Chris could say anything.

  For the whole practice, I concentrated on playing as hard as I could so that when the Hogarth game rolled around, I’d be ready to make a difference.

  But I couldn’t keep one question out of my mind: What if I finally had my chance to face off with Dante Powers and I was stuck on the bench?

  Divisibility Rules

  The Pioneers’ winning streak should have been enough to keep Owen bouncing off the walls with happiness, but all I heard about for the next few days was the upcoming game against Hogarth.

  I’d never seen Dante Powers before, but I’d heard plenty. In the past I would have written it all off as exaggeration, but now that I’d played with the Mitch and Marcus, I knew that it was possible for someone my age to be extremely good.

  But even the best player on a team had to take a break sometime, didn’t he?

  “Don’t you see?” I said to Owen on the way home from school one afternoon. “When Dante’s on the bench, that’s when we’ll strike.”

  Owen shook his head. “No, that’s when the Twinvaders will strike.”

  I sighed. “You’ve got to get them out of your head, O.”

  It was advice I should have been giving myself. Science class had turned into my least favorite period, next to math, where M&M continued to outwit everybody (including Mr. Hollis) without scrap paper, calculators, or more than a few seconds of thought.

  I became almost obsessed with watching them in the classroom, and I was surprised when my frustration turned to fascination. Then, totally unexpectedly, I was able to tell them apart!

  Marcus very rarely raised his hand in class, but when Mitch raised his, Marcus was always ready to back him up or complete a thought. Marcus took the notes while Mitch did the talking.

  In the hallways, Mitch always walked slightly ahead, leading the way for his twin. I’d never noticed it before, but I had the feeling it had been happening all along.

  And even though they seemed to have the same expressions on their faces most of the time, I realized that Marcus was quicker to smile than his brother. He was also the one to fix things if Mitch offended someone or sounded kind of rude.

  The way Marcus stayed in the background and kept things running smoothly for himself and his brother was strangely familiar.

  It didn’t take long for me to realize that Marcus was a lot like me.

  Sensing that we had things in common, I tried to speak to him between classes, but Mitch was always there to step in and break it up.

  I got the distinct feeling that Mitch didn’t need anyone else. He wanted to be part of a twosome, and no more.

  I might have been figuring out the differences between the Matthews twins, but that didn’t mean I’d abandoned my dream of being in sync with Owen.

  I’d tried dressing exactly the same on the court, right down to the Nike swooshes on our socks. I matched his stride when we walked and tried anything else I could think of, but none of it worked.

  On the way home one afternoon, I gave it another try.

  “Close your eyes for a second,” I told Owen.

  “What now? I’m walking, Russ.”

  “Just stop where you are and close your eyes.”

  “What for?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Can’t you just trust me?”

  He sighed, but did what I’d asked.

  I closed my eyes, too, and tried to clear my mind of everything but one thought. I made it really easy for him by picturing an orange basketball. Nothing else; just the ball.

  “Okay,” I said. “What are you thinking about right this second?”

  “Right now?”

  “Yes. Just blurt it out.”

  “I’m thinking about dipping a Cheeto into chocolate pudding and trying to decide whether it would taste awesome or totally disgusting.”

  I opened my eyes. “Are you joking?”

  He opened his as well. “No, why?”

  “Never mind. Let’s try this again. Close your eyes and picture one object. Get rid of everything else and just picture that one object.”

  “This is stupid.”

  I waited until he closed his eyes, then closed my own. I cleared my mind again and waited for something to pop into it.

  After a couple of seconds, it did. There was a picture of a scoreboard in my head, red numbers bright and flashing.

  “What are you picturing?” I asked.

  “A banana split.”

 

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