The Perfect Star

by Rob Buyea

  One look at that, and Mom and Dad burst into laughter.

  “She’s about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” Mom said.

  “I bet those ignorant anti-women people liked seeing that,” Dad joked.

  I laughed along with them, but my heart wasn’t in it. “I’ve got some homework to finish,” I lied, getting up from my chair.

  “Okay,” Mom said. “Great game today, superstar.”

  “Thanks.”

  Dad nodded.

  I turned and walked down the hall and into my bedroom. Those TV crews had captured all the good stuff on their cameras. The stuff that made me look great. But they hadn’t shown the one play that I couldn’t stop thinking about.

  Gavin had called the play and told us we were going on his first sound—twice he told us. Then we broke the huddle. Don’t ask me why, but on my way to the line of scrimmage, I glanced into the bleachers. It was dumb. I told you, I don’t know why I did it. I just did. Natalie saw me looking up at her, and she waved and blew me a kiss. A kiss! I shouldn’t have let it, but that messed with my head. I was still smiling and thinking about her lips when I put my hand down on the ground and got into my stance. That’s where my head was when number fifty-eight blew by me and massacred my best friend. Used-to-be-best friend.

  When I saw that Mark wasn’t getting up, when I saw that he was still down and clutching his side, I…It was all my fault, and no one could tell me different. My legs felt like they were in cement. It took all my strength to move them, but I walked over and kneeled next to him.

  “Mark, I’m sorry,” I croaked.

  His face was twisted in pain, but at the sound of my voice he opened his eyes and glared at me. “You missed that block on purpose. I know you did,” he hissed.

  What! Was that really what he thought? Had it really looked like that? It wasn’t true, but what was I supposed to say? That I’d gotten distracted by Natalie? I could never tell him that.

  “Out of the way, boys,” the EMTs said. “Let us in.”

  I got to my feet and stumbled backward. I watched as they maneuvered Mark onto a stretcher and loaded him into the back of the ambulance. He would be okay, but it felt like my best friend had just died.

  The stuff they’d shown on TV had made it look like I was the hero, but I wasn’t. Coach Magenta and Scott and Gavin were the heroes—not me. I was the one to blame for everything. The one who’d let his best friend get hurt. I was the loser.

  “Randi, you haven’t stopped smiling since that story came on the news. It must’ve been quite the game,” Mom said.

  “It was. Seeing Mark leaving in the ambulance was a buzzkill, but only for a few minutes, because Gav got back out there and took charge and had us screaming and cheering again. It was incredible how they won on the final play. People were jumping up and down and going nuts. Natalie and I were hugging in the bleachers.”

  “It’s so nice to see you happy,” Mom said. “It’s been a while.”

  She rubbed my leg, and my smile faded. She hadn’t meant it, but that comment had reminded me why I wasn’t supposed to be happy.

  “I’ve got some news,” Mom said. “You have a four-day weekend coming up, so I’ve made arrangements for us to go to Jacob’s. Dr. Pierce will be meeting us at the gym so that he can check on you, and Jacob plans to show you a few exercises that you can add to your rehab routine to help you recover faster.”

  “Great,” I said, and smiled—but it was a fake smile. Nothing genuine like the ones that had felt so good that afternoon. “I think I’ll go up to bed now,” I said. “I’m tired after all that fun today.”

  “Oh. Okay, honey. Good night.”

  I’d liked it better when I’d forgotten about my knee and gymnastics. Going to Jacob’s would be a brutal reminder that I couldn’t compete.

  It turned out to be even more than that.

  I got to school on Monday morning to do The Razzle-Dazzle Show, and Natalie wanted to know where Mark was and if he was okay. I was supposed to have those answers—but I didn’t. I shrugged. What was I supposed to say, that he wanted nothing to do with me—or her?

  “He’s home resting,” Scott said, saving me. “He has badly bruised ribs with some muscle strain and needs time to heal.”

  “Who told you that?” Natalie demanded.

  “Coach Magenta. After the game she told the team not to rush to the hospital. That Mark was okay and that he was waiting to get X-rays and then he’d be going home.”

  “How do you know his results, then?” she pressed.

  “Because I asked Coach Magenta to call me the moment she had news. I needed to know his prognosis so I can get started strategizing and game planning if we’re going to be playing without our top running back.”

  “How long is he going to be out?” Gavin asked.

  “About three to four weeks,” Scott said.

  “And how long will he be sidelined from our show?” Natalie followed up. She was the one thinking ahead and game planning now.

  Scott shrugged. “That I don’t know. But don’t rush him. Proper rest is the key to healing. You’d better make a backup plan.”

  “Fine,” she huffed. “You’re the backup plan, then. We’ll need you to pull double duty. You’ll continue as weatherman but also fill in as our second computer and sound technician.”

  “Okay,” Scott agreed, all excited. “I mean, aye, aye, Captain.” He stamped his feet and saluted her. He also puffed out his chest, but you could barely tell.

  Natalie shook her head.

  Just then Mrs. Woods arrived. I hadn’t even realized she was missing because I’d gotten hit by the Mark questions as soon as I’d walked through the door. “Sorry I’m late,” she apologized. “I stopped and got us some doughnuts so we could celebrate the team’s big win.”

  “Doughnuts!” Scott cried. “Mrs. Woods, you’re the best!”

  We stayed back while Scott went Tasmanian devil after the treats, and then the rest of us got one—even Randi, which I took as a good sign. The next sign I picked up on wasn’t so good, though.

  “How’s Coach doing?” Gavin asked Mrs. Woods.

  His question stumped her. She couldn’t decide how to answer. Anyone with half a brain knew that meant there was something she didn’t want to tell us—or didn’t know how to tell us. I’d felt the same way when the Mark questions had started flying at me.

  “When I didn’t see him at our game, I asked Coach Magenta, and she told me he was a little under the weather,” Gavin said. From the way he said that, I could tell he didn’t believe it, and I wasn’t sure I did, either, after seeing how Mrs. Woods had reacted to his question.

  “That’s right,” Mrs. Woods agreed. “He’s still not a hundred percent, but he’s doing better.”

  There was an awkward silence because we weren’t buying it, but Scott was lost in his powdered-jelly-doughnut world and didn’t notice. “These are so yummy!” he cheered. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Woods.”

  One look at him, and we could only chuckle and shake our heads. He had powder all over his nose and chin, and jelly on his shirt. He’d never change.

  “We’d better get started,” Natalie said.

  Now was not the time to push Mrs. Woods. I saw the concerned look on Gavin’s face, though, because when it came to Coach Woods, it had always been about time.

  Natalie passed out our script, and we did our thing. The Razzle-Dazzle Show delivered like always, because Natalie was in charge. When we finished, we thanked Mrs. Woods for the doughnuts one more time and told her to tell Coach we hoped he felt better soon, and then we left for our first-period classes. Even though Natalie and I didn’t have the same class, we always walked together because we were headed in the same direction. This was the first time I wished that wasn’t the case.

  “So you really haven’t talked to Mark?�
�� she asked.

  “No,” I said. “I’d planned on seeing him this morning.”

  She was quiet then, but she slipped me one of her looks.

  “I need to use the bathroom,” I said. “I’ll see you later.”

  That was a desperate lie, but it got me out of there. Too bad things didn’t get any better. By the end of the day, I’d been asked about Mark by almost everyone. No joke. He didn’t come to school, so I got bombarded with questions. It got me understanding Mrs. Woods, and Randi, too, with people always asking how she was doing. Maybe we had answers, but we weren’t interested in sharing them.

  Leave me alone! I wanted to scream. But leaving things alone, ignoring the situation, was only making it worse. Sooner or later it was bound to explode.

  Scott was the first one to tell us that Mark would be out for a few weeks, and Magenta confirmed that at practice on Monday afternoon. Getting Justin, our second-string running back, ready to go in time for our next game became a top priority. Kurtsman was right—winning our opener had quieted the protesters, but if we didn’t keep winning, they were gonna be making noise again real quick.

  Justin was a seventh grader and a nice kid, which didn’t necessarily help when it came to football, but he was our guy. It wasn’t gonna be easy, but this was where the smart part of football came into play again. Together, Magenta and Scott put in a special game plan built around helping Justin do well so that he built up some confidence—’cause believing in yourself can make a huge difference.

  We spent the week working on runs to the outside, where Justin wouldn’t get hit as much, and we added more quick short passes to take the place of those missing inside runs. In other words, it was up to me to pick up the slack while Mark was out, but I was ready for the challenge.

  So was Scott. You shoulda seen him. We were scrimmaging at practice, running our first-team offense against a defense so we could get Justin repetitions. There was one play where I reverse-pivoted and tossed the ball to Justin, and he was supposed to take it to the sideline and then up the field. The line did a great job, and Justin sprang free just like he was supposed to. Scott went nuts. He ran down the sideline screaming and cheering. At first he was behind Justin. Then he was running side by side with him, and after ten more yards he’d left our running back and everyone else on the team in the dust.

  I knew Scott was fast. He’d always been fast. But he never seemed to sprint in a straight line. He always ran zigzag style, sorta all over the place. Not this time. This time he demonstrated just how crazy-fast he was—and the best thing was, he didn’t even know it.

  I glanced at Coach Magenta and the guys standing around me. Everyone wore the same expression. We’d all seen the same thing.

  Scott came jogging back, and Magenta made a bold coaching move. “We’re suiting you up tomorrow,” she told him.

  “Me? I can’t. My mom won’t let me.”

  “I’ll talk to her,” Magenta said. “Suiting up doesn’t mean playing. You’ll be our secret weapon for emergency situations.”

  “Secret weapon?” Scott asked.

  “Secret weapon,” Magenta repeated.

  “Secret weapon!” he cried.

  She’d picked the perfect thing to tell him. She had to. You didn’t keep the fastest kid in the school on your sideline.

  Coach Magenta designated me the team’s secret weapon. I was going to suit up and be at the ready for emergency situations. It was going to be awesome. Stonebreaker would never see me coming. He was no match for a secret weapon.

  This new development had me more wired than if I’d eaten a box of doughnuts. I zoomed around the locker room after practice, calling a pretend play-by-play while putting equipment away.

  “Davids drops back and slings one to Mason on the outside. Mason pulls it in and streaks down the sideline. He’s at the forty…the thirty…the twenty…the ten…touchdown!” I yelled.

  “Scott, you’re bouncing around this place like a pinball,” Gavin said.

  “I can’t help it. I can’t wait to tell Grandpa I’m the secret weapon.”

  “Are you going to the Senior Center?”

  “Yup. Mr. Allen assigned me more community service hours there. It’s part of my consequence for the fire. I get to visit Grandpa, but I also have to help Director Ruggelli with whatever she needs.”

  “You think I can go with you?” Gavin asked.

  “Sure!” I exclaimed. “You’re excited to tell Grandpa about my secret-weapon news, too, aren’t you?”

  “Something like that,” he said. “Gimme a second to call home and I’ll be ready.”

  “Okay.” I was even more psyched to tell Grandpa my news now that Gavin was coming with me, but Gavin had a different secret-weapon plan in mind.

  It wasn’t good right off the bat. We found Scott’s grandpa in his own room, not hanging out with Coach like usual.

  “Grandpa, guess what! I’m the secret weapon!” Scott shouted before I even got through the doorway. The kid woulda burst if he’d had to keep that in one second longer.

  “I’ve known that all along,” Mr. Mason said, peeking at me and winking.

  “Mrs. Magenta wants me to suit up because we’re down a player since Mark got hurt.”

  Was that really what he thought? “She wants you to suit up ’cause you’re the fastest kid in school,” I said, setting the record straight. “You had smoke coming off the bottom of your sneakers, you burned down the sideline so fast at practice today.”

  “Really?” Scott said.

  “Yes, really. Scott, you might be the fastest kid in the whole dang state. You made everyone else look like they were standing still.”

  “That’s good,” his grandpa said. “Run fast so you don’t get hit or tackled.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Mason. Coach Magenta will design the perfect secret-weapon play to make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  “Grandpa, where’s Smoky?” Scott asked out of the blue.

  I hadn’t noticed, but he was right. The cat was missing.

  “Smoky’s been staying with Coach ever since—”

  Mr. Mason stopped, catching himself before the words he wasn’t supposed to say had spilled out—but he’d already said too much. Grandpa and grandson weren’t that different.

  “Ever since what?” I asked.

  “Ever since Coach got sick,” he said.

  “What kind of sick?” I pressed.

  “Oh, he’s just a little under the weather, is all.”

  “I’d like to go and say hi to him, then,” I said.

  “No,” Mr. Mason was quick to say—too quick, just like Magenta.

  “Grandpa, what’s wrong?” Scott asked. “Is Coach okay?”

  Mr. Mason sighed. “You know what, on second thought, let’s go on over and pay him a visit. Seeing you boys just might help him. It always makes me feel better.”

  This was what I wanted. This was why I’d come. So why was I suddenly so scared?

  I held my breath and didn’t say a word on the walk over. When we got to Coach’s place, I was both surprised and relieved to see that Coach Magenta and Mr. Magenta were there. And Mrs. Woods, too.

  I spotted Coach sitting in the recliner in his living area. Smoky was curled up on his lap. One look at Coach, and I knew he wasn’t just “a little under the weather.” Something was wrong. The left side of his face was all droopy. He was wearing a bib, and Mrs. Woods was feeding him. She handed the bowl and spoon to Magenta and got up when she saw us.

  “Don’t be scared, boys,” Woods said, coming over to me and Scott. “Coach had a stroke, but he’ll be okay. He’s had them before.”

  “Is that why his face looks funny?” Scott asked.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Woods answered. “Strokes can result in some paralysis. That’s what you’re seeing.”

 
“How long will he be like this?” I asked.

  Woods took a breath. “It’s hard to know. That depends on the severity of the stroke. Sometimes it’s a quick recovery. This one wasn’t as small, so it’ll take time, but he’ll bounce back. He always does.”

  Me and Scott stood there staring at Coach in his chair.

  “You can come over to him,” Woods said. “He might like that.”

  Will he even recognize us? I wondered. We eased closer.

  Coach Magenta and Mr. Magenta scooted back from Coach’s chair. “Somebody’s here to see you,” Magenta told her dad.

  Me and Scott stepped in front of Coach, and I saw his eyes lock on mine, but I couldn’t tell you if he knew it was me or not. I forced down a swallow. Standing next to a person you love when they’re this kinda sick is hard—but this was only practice for what was yet to come.

  I swallowed again. “Hi, Coach,” I croaked. “I brought you something.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out a copy of our play sheet. I unfolded it and held it up for him to see. “I thought you might like to look at the Xs and Os that helped us win our first game.” I put the paper on the end table next to his chair. Coach followed it with his eyes. Then he glanced back at me and the unparalyzed side of his mouth lifted up some. Seeing that right then felt better than connecting on a Hail Mary pass.

  “The only thing is, our game-winning play isn’t on there,” I continued explaining. “Junior drew that one up during our final time-out. We scored on the last play of the game.”

  Coach glanced at Scott, then back at me. I don’t want to sound sappy, but his eyes were brighter now. I wished I knew what he was thinking, but I wasn’t able to read eyes. That was Kurtsman. So I settled for telling Coach what I was thinking.

  “Your game isn’t over yet,” I reminded him, “so you better keep fighting. I want to see you in the stands before our season is done.”