The Perfect Star

by Rob Buyea

  “I know. I am. I will,” Mr. Allen sputtered.

  “Good. Because I’m not stepping down. If I do, then you’ll have no choice but to cancel the season, and I’m not going to let that happen. It’s not fair to these boys.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “We’re going to show—”

  “Oh my God,” Mr. Allen said, gazing beyond me into the distance. “What now?”

  I turned and looked. Walking toward us from across the field were reporters and cameramen from WGBTV Channel 13 News, ARDTV Channel 5 News, BSZTV Channel 7 News, and NESTV Channel 3 News. It said so on all their jackets and video cameras. We were going to be famous!

  “I’d better go see what these people want,” Mr. Allen said.

  “You can tell them I’d be happy to talk after practice, but not until then,” Coach Magenta said. “The boys and I have work to do.” She blew her whistle and got things under way.

  Same as day one, Coach Magenta kept the guys hustling. She put them through agility stations again, plus a few new drills, and then we ran through our plays and added four more. We finished with defensive work and schemes, and then conditioning.

  We got through a lot, but it wasn’t our best practice. The team was too distracted. Too many of the guys kept jockeying to get in front of the camera. Even Gavin was trying too hard on his throws, wanting to look impressive. The TV crews stayed and filmed our entire practice, but no station aired more than sixty seconds of it on their show that night. Coach Magenta was on the screen the longest. She was the story because she was the first female football coach in our state’s history. I thought that was awesome, but not everyone agreed.

  There was also footage of the TV reporters interviewing a few of the protesters Mr. Allen had mentioned.

  “Women should coach girls’ sports,” some lady said.

  “You can’t coach something you’ve never played,” a man argued.

  “This is a perfect example of feminism going too far,” another guy griped.

  “Ugh!” Mom groaned.

  “Don’t worry, Mom. We’re going to make them eat their words,” I said.

  “I hope you do.”

  It was the same thing all over again at practice on day three, except there were only two stations that came back. Must have been they still weren’t convinced there wouldn’t be any trouble. Coach Magenta continued to ignore them. By day four we were down to only one TV crew—and they didn’t stay long. Come day five, we were finally left alone.

  There were still people complaining and making trouble, writing letters to the papers and sticking signs that said NO TO MAGENTA on their lawns, but Natalie told us not to worry about any of it. The school couldn’t fire Mrs. Magenta just because a few parents were upset—or else they’d be in big legal trouble. Natalie said the only legitimate concern she’d heard voiced was about our locker room being unsupervised, so she got Mr. Murdoch to agree to be our assistant coach, and that took care of that problem. I don’t know how she did that, but she did.

  A lot happened that week, but I thought the team did a decent job of staying focused and ignoring those TV people. That was important because the guys didn’t have a second to waste if they were going to stand any chance of being ready for Stonebreaker. I’d told Coach Magenta about the Titan’s beast, but we’d agreed not to tell the team about him yet. We wouldn’t see him until our Thanksgiving showdown, and we had a lot of football to learn and perfect before worrying about him. The thing I should’ve been worrying about was the fight brewing on our own team—but I never saw it coming.

  NATALIE KURTSMAN

  ASPIRING LAWYER

  Kurtsman Law Offices

  BRIEF #5

  September: Showtime

  We convened for our first official news show meeting before school on Monday of the second week. I had advertised our meeting, but not surprisingly, it was only the Recruits and Mrs. Woods and Mrs. Magenta in attendance. I hadn’t expected otherwise, especially with us gathering early in the morning, but we had to schedule it for that time to avoid conflicting with football so Mrs. Magenta and the guys were able to come. The only one missing was Mark.

  “Trevor, do you know where Mark is?” I asked him.

  “No,” he responded, shaking his head. He made no attempt at eye contact; on the contrary, he avoided it. That was textbook guilty behavior from a person on the stand, but I let it go—for the moment.

  “Well, hopefully he’ll show up, but we need to get started.” I walked to the front of the room so I could see everyone. “May I have your attention, please?” I waited. “Thank you. You’ve all heard the exciting news. We’re hitting pause on the production of our school newspaper, the Lake View Times, so we can begin a morning news show. The goal is to broadcast us live on every classroom TV.”

  “What’s the show called?” Scott interrupted, pulling his finger out of his nose.

  I almost gagged. “It doesn’t have a name yet,” I answered.

  “We should call it The Razzle-Dazzle Show!” he squealed.

  I started to object. “We can’t make an impulsive decision about something as important as—”

  “I like it,” Gavin interrupted.

  “Me too,” Mrs. Magenta agreed.

  “It does have a nice ring to it,” Mrs. Woods mused.

  Trevor shrugged, and Randi didn’t say anything.

  I sighed. “Fine. We’ll call it The Razzle-Dazzle Show.”

  “Yay!” Scott cheered. “Can I be the weatherman?”

  “Will you slow down?” I snapped. “There is no weatherman position.”

  “Why not? The Razzle-Dazzle Show needs a weatherman. Every news show has a weatherman,” Scott argued.

  exasperated (adjective): extremely annoyed or irritated

  That was me. I was ready to scream. Composure, Natalie, I reminded myself. “I’ll make a deal with you,” I said. “I’ll create a weatherman role if you agree not to interrupt our meeting from this point forward.”

  “Deal,” Scott declared, sticking out his hand so that we could shake on it—the same hand I’d seen him using to dig for gold.

  I gave him a fist bump and then immediately squirted sanitizer onto my hands. Mrs. Woods gave me a wink. You’d be surprised how much that actually helped me to calm down.

  “Okay,” I continued. “Here’s what Mrs. Woods and Randi and I have in mind.” I went on to explain how things would operate and the various roles that needed filling. In the end it was decided:

  Cameramen: Gavin and Trevor

  Computer and sound technicians: Trevor and Mark (assuming he was participating)

  Reporters: Scott and Randi (Note: Randi didn’t have anything other than physical therapy in her schedule, so I hoped this would give her something more to do. I didn’t say that to her, but that was my thinking.)

  Weatherman: Scott

  Troubleshooters, overseers, and occasional idea-givers: Mrs. Woods and Mrs. Magenta

  Lead anchor and writer: Me/Natalie

  (Note: Mrs. Magenta would be with her students during the actual airing of our show but could meet with us before school when needed.)

  “We will do a practice run tomorrow morning,” I explained. “At that time I will give each of you a photocopy of the script so that you know what’s happening when. I have most of it written already, just a few tweaks to make. Basically, our first show needs to be an introduction. We need to let our viewers know what they can expect. We’ll include things like the day’s lunch menu, any special schedule information and/or announcements, a recap of events, and a preview of upcoming events. We’ll start slowly, but once we get our feet wet, we’ll add to it and make the broadcast longer—and better. The Razzle-Dazzle Show is our chance to bring real stories to Lake View Middle. We
’re going to tackle real issues. Things that matter.”

  “Don’t forget to add the weatherman,” Scott insisted.

  I sighed. Incredible. That was all he could think to say after my impassioned speech. “Yes, I’ll add the weatherman,” I promised.

  He grinned, and then his watch began beeping. “We gotta go!” he cried. He grabbed his bag and zigzagged his way toward the door. “Bye, Mrs. Woods,” he called over his shoulder. “See you at practice, Coach Magenta.”

  “Bye, Scott,” everyone replied in unison.

  “I think that kid is part Tasmanian devil,” Trevor remarked, eliciting laughs from all of us—except Randi.

  “He’s right, though. We do need to get a move on,” Gavin said, pointing to the clock.

  Indeed. It was nearly time for homeroom. We collected our belongings and said thank you and goodbye to Mrs. Woods and Mrs. Magenta. Gavin helped Randi with her stuff, and I left with Trevor. I would’ve offered to help her, but I couldn’t risk arriving late; if that were to happen, then my agreement with Mr. Murdoch could be voided.

  Kurtsman is about as smart as they come, and on top of that, she’s a go-getter. She’s not one bit afraid to take the bull by the horns. She coulda made one heckuva football player if she wasn’t so…Kurtsmany. So I sorta felt bad for her when one of our first news shows went off the rails. It all worked out in the end, but I still can’t believe she didn’t think to give Scott advance warning about what she’d planned to say. Scott didn’t do well with surprises. He loved them, but he couldn’t ever control himself when there was one. He always freaked. Let me tell you, he put the razzle-dazzle in our show that morning.

  Kurtsman made it so easy. She created a template of the broadcast, and we just had to fill in our parts and follow along. We did that before going live each morning. This serves as our homeroom period, thanks to Mrs. Woods. The girl was organized. The Razzle-Dazzle Show was going to kick butt ’cause she was going to make sure it did—plain and simple.

  We got through the beginning and all the normal stuff just fine, and then we reached the place in our script where all it said was “Natalie’s Monologue.” I didn’t even know what a monologue was. Turns out it was Kurtsman looking into the camera and giving a speech. This was where it got crazy. I zoomed in on her like it said to do in the script. Kurtsman sat up straight behind her desk and got serious.

  “Before we sign off,” she said, “there’s something happening here in our community that needs to be called out, and that something is sexism.”

  “Natalie, you can’t say that word on TV!” Scott squawked. “That’s a bad word!” He ran in front of my camera and tried to block her out.

  “Scott!” Natalie could be heard shouting. “The word ‘sexism’ is fine to say. It’s what the word means that is bad. Now get out of the way.” She shoved him aside.

  I kid you not, I could hear laughter coming from the classrooms nearby. Everyone was laughing—everyone except Randi. The fact that not even Scott could get her to smile tells you how down in the dumps she was.

  “What does it mean, then?” Scott asked.

  “Sexism is discriminating against someone because of their gender,” Kurtsman explained.

  I adjusted my camera so that I had them both on-screen.

  “Huh?” Scott’s face scrunched.

  “All those people claiming that Magenta can’t be a football coach just because she’s a woman are contributing to sexism. They are, in fact, sexist.”

  Scott slammed his hand on the desk, and Kurtsman jumped. “Those people are wrong!” he yelled.

  “I know,” Kurtsman agreed. “Why is it okay for a man to coach girls’ basketball, but not for a woman to coach football?”

  Scott turned and looked at me, which meant he was staring into the camera. “They’re wrong, and we’re going to show them they’re wrong, aren’t we, Gavin?”

  I gave him a thumbs-up from behind my post.

  “Don’t worry, Natalie. We’re going to show them,” Scott promised. He turned and walked off the set, leaving Kurtsman sitting by herself.

  “There you have it, Lake View Middle. Stats Man, Scott Mason, is leading our football team on a mission to prove that sexism doesn’t belong here—or any place in the world, for that matter. I, for one, am rooting for the guys and Coach Magenta. I hope you’ll join me in cheering them on.

  “I’m Natalie Kurtsman, giving you something to think about. Have a razzle-dazzle day, Lake View Middle.”

  “And cut,” I said after I’d turned the camera off. “Great recovery, Kurtsman.”

  “Thanks,” she said, sagging in her chair and letting out a tiny chuckle.

  “Bye, everyone!” Scott hollered. “Great job this morning.” And out the door he spun, Tasmanian-devil style, running to get to his class.

  “Perhaps that wasn’t exactly what you had planned, Miss Kurtsman, but I’ve got a feeling you and Mr. Mason captured the school’s attention during that segment,” Mrs. Woods said.

  “I hope so,” Kurtsman replied. “And I hope you’re ready, Gavin,” she added, sitting up straight again. “You guys winning is the only thing that’s going to get these protesters to calm down.”

  “We’ll try our best,” I said. I didn’t know how convincing that sounded, but I wasn’t ready to guarantee victory like Joe Namath had before Super Bowl III. The only thing I could promise was that I was gonna give it everything I had from start to finish. Believe me, I wanted to win for Magenta just as much as I did for me.

  “Miss Cunningham, I’d like you to stick around for a few minutes,” Woods said. “You don’t want to try navigating the halls on crutches when everyone else is rushing to class anyway. I’ll give you a late pass.”

  Randi shrugged.

  I glanced at Woods, and she gave me a slight nod. I was no dummy. She was keeping Randi back for more than busy halls.

  I grabbed my bag and eased my way to the door. “See you later,” I said to them.

  “Have a good day, Mr. Davids,” Woods replied.

  I stepped into the hall and saw Kurtsman and Trevor walking up ahead. They were too busy with each other to notice Mark coming the other way—but he saw them. I watched him stop and turn around.

  Just what I’d been afraid of. Mark hadn’t been coming to our morning broadcasts ’cause he didn’t want to be there. It wasn’t ’cause of not feeling well or oversleeping or doctors’ appointments or any other excuse him or Trevor had tried giving us.

  This wasn’t good.

  Things were worse now than they had been before surgery. My leg was worthless, school was a drag, and I just wasn’t excited about Natalie’s morning news show. I wasn’t excited about anything. I couldn’t do anything! And there were all these people asking me what had happened and telling me how sorry they were or how much it stunk—like I didn’t already know that. Dad and Kyle said the same stupid stuff, so I stopped calling them. Mom was the worst, though. She was so fragile. Me being injured was breaking her heart as much as it was mine. “I’d give you my leg if I could,” she told me. I knew she meant that, but it didn’t help.

  The only person who had something different to say was Mrs. Woods. She asked me to stick around after our morning broadcast. I thought I knew what was coming, and I pretty much did, but that didn’t mean I was ready for it. I was nowhere near ready for it. I got a full dose of her tough love.

  “Miss Cunningham, I’m sorry you got hurt. I really am. But do you think you’re the only one who’s ever had to face hardship? Do you think you’re the only one who’s ever been disappointed or injured or worse? You know better than that. And you know I can say these things to you.

  “This is where you need to write your own destiny. Are you going to pout for the rest of the year, go on feeling sorry for yourself, or are you going to pick yourself up and press forward? Are you goin
g to see this setback as a challenge in the middle of your journey, or as the end? You must decide, but let’s be clear, Miss Cunningham, this isn’t destiny’s call—it’s yours.”

  Mrs. Woods got up from her chair and walked over to my side. “Here’s your late pass.” She dropped the pink notepaper onto my desk. Then she bent closer. “You can overcome this,” she whispered. “Remember what Coach told you about attitude.” She squeezed my shoulder and then she left, leaving me sitting there all alone.

  I wish I could say that that was all it took to snap me out of my funk, but it wasn’t. If you’re not ready to hear something, then it doesn’t matter who gives you the speech or even how good the speech is.

  I cried.

  Saturday was the first I’d seen Brian in a couple of weeks because he was so busy working the night shift at his warehouse job and volunteering to meet his community service hours, and on top of that he was even starting classes to become a licensed electrician. If you asked me, Madison had whipped him into shape. Told you she was a keeper.

  “Hey, Bro. How’s it going?” he said when I got into his car. He was giving me a ride to practice.

  “Good.”

  “How’s the team looking?”

  I buckled my seat belt. “Pretty good.”

  “Yeah? Even with a girl coach?”

  “Dude, that’s sexist.”

  Brian laughed. “Who told you that, your girlfriend?”

  I shrugged.

  He laughed harder.

  “Shut up,” I said.

  He pulled out of the driveway, and we headed down the road. “Madison would’ve smacked me for saying that. I was joking. How’re things with Natalie, anyway?”