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Athlete vs mathlete outfit ideas4/25/2023 It sounded like a jet flying too low, but instead of ducking, I turned around and saw Coach Baxter waving one arm in the air. I’ll see you at home, he said, heading for the stairs. The thing is, my brother never actually boiled over. Mom said I was a short fuse and he was a slow boil. Russ never let stuff bug him, and I got mad a couple of times a day, minimum. Hey, Russ, I said, picking up a couple of books and handing them to him. Even in his brown cords, his legs look like toothpicks and his crazy curly hair is nothing like mine. He’s almost five inches taller than I am and has arms like wet spaghetti. We were twins, but nobody ever believed it, even when we said we were fraternal, not identical. I can’t believe you guys are related, Chris said, shaking his head. He stopped to fix the top book on his stack and ended up dropping the whole pile on the floor. He was carrying more books than any other kid in the hallway and his glasses were sliding down his nose, like they always did. We grabbed our stuff from our lockers, and I saw my brother, Russell, coming our way. Once we were back in the hallway, I groaned, This totally stinks. I nodded, and Chris pushed me out the door. Okay, then I’ll see you next Wednesday, ready to work. I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but that’s the way it is. Nobody gets a jersey just because they played last year. I’m in charge, and I’ll pick my team the way I want to. I don’t think you do, he said, dropping into his chair. Getting a whole sentence out of my mouth would have been awesome. He was probably closer to fourteen feet tall.īecause I was on the team last year, and. And why is that? he asked, standing up straight and crossing his arms over his chest. I just don’t think I need to."Ĭoach Baxter finally looked at me, and I wished he hadn’t. No exceptions.Ĭhris elbowed me and whispered, Let’s go.īut I wasn’t finished. I saw the sign, but I wanted to talk to you about it because. Uh … it’s about the tryouts.Ĭoach lined up the books on the middle shelf, from tallest to shortest. The clock is ticking, Coach Baxter growled. But so did we, the Lewis and Clark Middle School Pioneers. The guy obviously knew what he was doing. I checked out the team photos on the wall behind his desk, the framed newspaper pages with champ headlines, and the shiny trophies on top of his bookcase. What can I do for you? he asked, without looking up from the box of books he was unpacking. It sounded like a squeak, so I cleared my throat and tried again. And it was all muscle.īefore I could say anything, I heard Chris breathing next to me. He wanted us to try out for our own team. I only knew three facts about our new coach:ģ. I rolled my eyes, turned the knob, and swung the door open. Uh … He took a couple of steps away from me. You coming? I asked Chris, hoping I had backup. Talk to the coach, I said, knocking on his door.Ĭome in, a deep voice boomed from inside the office. Next Wednesday afternoon, Chris said, then pointed at the word as he read it. We were undefeated in sixth grade (if you didn’t count our five losses, which I didn’t because the refs had been out to get us), and we’d been shooting hoops at Sunset Park all summer to stay on top of our game. Unbelievable, I muttered, staring at the sign-up sheet on our new coach’s office door.Ĭhris, the rest of the guys, and I had been playing together since Cotter Elementary. Seventh-grade basketball started out all wrong, and it only got worse.
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