Boiling Point
On the way home, I had no interest in talking about the game, but that didn’t stop my parents. While they talked, I tried to understand what Owen had done.
My brother and I didn’t always see things the same way, and my idea of fair didn’t always line up with his. I hated to say it, but sometimes Owen could be a bit … selfish. I tried to ignore it, because he had so many other great qualities, but when I thought about the way he’d taken those Nikes, it all came rushing back to me.
There were the bicycles my grandparents had given us for our birthdays in the second grade. I took special care of mine to make sure it always looked as good as new. But when Owen crashed his identical bike into a fence while he was goofing around, bending the fender and scratching the paint down one side, he secretly swapped it for mine in the garage. He put a sticker with his name on it under the seat and pretended it had been his all along.
The sad part was, I would have traded him if he’d just asked me.
I could think of a hundred different cases just like that one, where Owen took the best without thinking about anyone else’s feelings.
He took Dad’s big gym bag when Mom told me I could use it for school. He drank the last of the milk. He hogged the TV. He “borrowed” things (like my digital watch) and never gave them back. He wouldn’t even share his friends by letting me talk to Chris the other morning.
And now the shoes.
I could still picture his face when he came back into the locker room after taking them. Why did he even bother hiding them in his gym bag? Was I supposed to frantically search for them, like I did when I was eight and he buried the best astronaut from my Lego space station in the backyard? Or was it more like the game of “keep away” older kids used to play with my rock-identification kit at recess? Was I supposed to beg and plead with him to give me my beloved shoes back?
After all the hard work I’d put in and winning points I’d earned for the Pioneers, I would have thought I’d earned some respect, too. I was supposed to be one of the guys now. I was supposed to have cool gear.
Why did Owen want to ruin that?
As much as loved my brother, I was angry and disappointed that he was trying to play tricks. Especially when he knew how important those shoes were to me.
We drove past Jade Palace and I thought about that celebration dinner just the other night. Owen had grabbed the last egg roll without asking anyone else if they wanted it. I’d been in such a good mood at the time, I barely noticed, but now that I’d seen how mean he could be, I remembered.
I wiggled my toes. They felt strange in my loafers, like they weren’t at home anymore.
I wondered how long Owen would wait to give me the Nikes back. Would he drag it out for a day? Two? Would he tuck the bag under his bed and wait until minutes before game time to whip them out from his hiding place? Or would he wait even longer?
No, he knew those shoes were the secret to my success on the court.
Hmm. That got me wondering even more.
Did he steal them to stop me from playing basketball?
I didn’t want to think so.
When I made the Pioneers roster, it felt like a dream I never knew existed had come true. I’d felt like I was part of something totally new and different and that I could be more than anyone expected. I was happy when I put on that jersey, when kids wished me luck in the hallway before the game and when the crowd cheered for me.
In fact, I was beginning to think he hated it.
I closed my eyes.
There were so many things racing around in my mind, I couldn’t focus on any of them. My stomach was in knots, thinking about all the different expectations people had of me.
Mom and Dad wanted me to be a basketball star.
Owen wanted me to fail.
Three Masters of the Mind members wanted me to give up basketball.
Arthur just wanted me to give up leadership.
But what did I want?
I thought about it for a second and the answer was obvious.
Most of all, I wanted those Nikes back.
When we got home, I knew Owen would go straight for his basketball. I also knew it was out in the garage, so I got there first.
When he came to get it, I was ready for him.
“Looking for this?” I asked.
“Yeah,” he said, making a grab for the ball.
But I wasn’t ready to hand it over. I wanted answers.
“Why wouldn’t you pass to me today?” I demanded.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“I wanted to win.” He rolled his eyes. “Why doesn’t anybody get that?”
“But you didn’t even make all your shots.” I stared at him, wondering what he’d done with his gym bag. “In fact, I had a higher shooting percentage than you did.”
“Yeah, well you had more time on the court.”
“Only because you refused to be a team player and got taken out of the game,” I said quietly. There was a warning in my voice, but somehow he didn’t hear it.
I asked him why he’d actually stolen the ball from me.
Of course, I was pretty sure I knew the answer, but I wanted to hear him say it.
“Why don’t you want me to play?” I demanded.
“Why’d you have to take all those shots? I told you from the very beginning that all you had to do was stand there!”
For the first time in my life, I could have punched him. “Maybe I didn’t want to just stand there, Owen. Maybe I wanted to play the game like everybody else.”
“But—”
“You’re the only person who told me to stand there, you know. Coach didn’t say that. Dad didn’t say that.” I paused. “Nobody else said that. Why do you want me to fail?
“I never said—”
“You don’t have to say it, Owen. I can tell.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about. You and your stupid Russell Hustle.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “That’s why you’re mad? Because I have a rhyme?”
It was almost funny. Almost.
“Maybe you had a rhyme already, Russ. Like Geek of the Week.”
I’d had enough. “Where are they?”
“Who?” he asked.
My fists were clenched by my sides. “My shoes, Owen.”
He paused, then told me, “In the Dumpster behind the cafeteria.”
I felt like I’d been punched.
The Dumpster?
Those beautiful shoes? The most expensive things I’d ever owned? He’d thrown them into a pile of stinking, rotting garbage?
I thought I might be sick.
I wanted to tackle him or swear at him or something even worse. But I couldn’t do any of those things.
Instead, I threw the ball at him. Hard.
“Oof,” he grunted, catching it against his stomach.
“You know what, Owen? You’re a total jerk,” I told him, then walked away before I could do or say anything worse.