Free Athlete vs. Mathlete by W. C. Mack

staring at me. I waited for someone, anyone, to say something, but nobody did.
    I couldn’t think of a time when I’d felt more out of place.
More wrong
.
    I took a deep breath, realizing that talking about trying out and actually doing it were two very different things. These jocks would be watching every move I made, then laughing about it for weeks.
    I glanced at my Nikes.
    What had I been thinking?
    A pair of shoes wouldn’t save me.
    I needed to just turn around and walk away. I’d be better off going to the Masters meeting and helping my team than embarrassing myself because a new coach came up with a terrible idea.
    But just as I was about to leave, I heard Owen’s voice.

Turnover
    â€œCome here,” I said, waving Russ over to an empty spot on the bench.
    He looked like he had a panic button in his back pocket and he was ready to use it. I felt sorry for him.
    â€œWe’ve only got a couple of minutes,” I told him quietly. “You can do this.”
    In just a few seconds, he was dressed and ready. Well, he
looked
ready, but clothes couldn’t fix everything.
    â€œJust take a deep breath,” I told him. “All you have to do is get through it, and I’m right here with you.”
    He closed his eyes. “Thanks, Owen,” he said when he opened them again. “For everything.”
    â€œReady?” I asked, and when he nodded, I led him out tothe gym, where Coach Baxter was standing at center court with his assistant, Mr. Webster.
    â€œWelcome to tryouts,” Coach said, looking from one guy to the next. “We’re going to start with a few laps around the gym, then we’ll get into drills. What I’m looking for today is some speed, stamina, and decent shooting.”
    Whew
. I could handle that.
    But could Russ? He didn’t really have
any
of that stuff.
    â€œLet’s go!” Coach blew his whistle and we started to circle the gym.
    By the end of the third lap, all of us had passed my brother. Twice.
    Part of me wanted to slow down and jog with Russ. He was my twin, after all. But the other part knew that everyone in the gym was competing for a place on the team.
    I
was competing.
    And I wasn’t going to throw away my chance.
    When I jogged past him again, I whispered, “Good job, Russ.”
    â€œI’m not fast enough,” he gasped. His cheeks were red and he was already sweating.
    â€œJust keep it slow and steady,” I told him. “This isn’t a race.”
    I thought about the stopwatch hanging from Coach’s neck. The racing was later, but Russ didn’t need to freak out about that yet.
    By the end of the warm-up, we were all out of breath and sweaty, but only Russ looked like he was dying.
    Or wished he was.
    Forty-five minutes later, after a bunch of drills, most of us had finished running lines, and I’d just caught my breath when Coach asked, “Who’s left?”
    â€œEvans,” Mr. Webster said. “Russell Evans.”
    â€œAnd?” Coach asked.
    â€œThat’s it,” Mr. Webster said, checking his clipboard.
    â€œOkay, then. Evans, you’re up.”
    Russell tucked his shirt into his shorts and moved away from the wall. He swallowed hard and walked to the line.
    I gave him a thumbs-up as he went by, and I watched him get into starting position, his awesome Nikes toeing the line. He was all alone. With a crowd staring at him, waiting for him to fail. I took a deep breath, wishing I didn’t have to watch.
    And then it hit me. I
didn’t
have to.
    When I stood up and walked toward my brother, everyone started whispering, but I ignored them.
    Russ jumped when I stepped onto the line next to him.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” he asked.
    I cleared my throat and told Coach, “I’ll run with him.”
    â€œYou’re sure, Owen?” Coach asked.
    â€œYeah,” I said, nodding.
    â€œOkay, then.” Coach blew the whistle.
    As soon as