The Perfect Star

by Rob Buyea

  Eddie: You know, I’m no slouch. I’m still pretty sharp. I’ve gotta be since I’m dealing with Agnes all the time. But I was no match for Coach. That man was a quiet thinker. He was always paying attention, always looking ahead, and always looking out for his family. Even when he got confused, family was on his mind.

  Agnes: What a person says tells you a lot about him. A person’s actions can tell you even more. But seeing how other people respond to a person reveals the most—and there wasn’t anybody in Coach’s company who didn’t love him dearly and want to hang on to every word he said. He was special.

  Grandpa: How lucky I was to have met Coach. When Ellie, my wife, died, I lost my best friend. Coach showed me you can have more than one best friend in a lifetime. I’ll miss him.

  Natalie worked with Trevor and Mark to edit my videos, and they added music to the background to make them even better. Grandpa was able to get us Coach’s old scrapbook, so Gavin and Randi went through it and found different pictures and memorabilia to include in our film. Trevor and Mark added Gavin’s narration in those parts.

  My camp and Big Apple documentaries were really good, but when we got done, Coach’s tribute was a step up. It was perfect—and I wasn’t the only one who thought so.

  It was Scott who came up with the idea for the tribute, Gavin who gave the okay, and Natalie who immediately put us to work. The cool thing was that Mark and I got to use a few of the tricks we’d picked up from the Good Morning America crew. We added music and Gavin’s voice in places and even adjusted backgrounds in parts. We did a bang-up job. The end product was really something. It made all of us feel good inside.

  After seeing our film, Mr. Allen did a cool thing. He got in touch with Mrs. Woods and Mrs. Magenta and told them they needed to see it. We didn’t know that until they showed up one morning before The Razzle-Dazzle Show.

  “Mrs. Woods? Mrs. Magenta? What’re you doing here?” Scott exclaimed.

  “We came to tell you something,” Mrs. Woods replied.

  “Are we in trouble?” Scott asked.

  “No,” Mrs. Magenta said, and chuckled.

  “We came to thank you for your touching tribute to Coach,” Mrs. Woods continued. “It’s…”

  “Perfect,” Mrs. Magenta finished.

  “Yes, perfect,” Mrs. Woods agreed. “We’d like to invite all of you to join us for a celebration.”

  “A celebration?” Scott repeated.

  “That’s right. Instead of some sad old funeral, we’d like to have a day where we celebrate Coach’s life,” Mrs. Woods explained, “inspired by your tribute.”

  “Like a party?” Scott asked.

  “Sure,” Mrs. Magenta said. “We’d like to have it on the high school football field, where Dad coached. Will you help us plan it? Maybe you can be our videographer?”

  “Yippee!” Scott cheered.

  I’m not usually the one to come up with the big ideas, but I did this time. It hit me as soon as Mrs. Magenta mentioned the football field. I made Mark hang back with me after we finished with the broadcast that morning, and I told Mr. Allen what I wanted to do.

  Mom and I swung by Gav’s house after dinner one night because that’s what friends do, they check on each other. I said hi to Meggie and Otis and Mr. and Mrs. Davids, and then I went and found Gav. He was outside by his tire target, but he wasn’t throwing passes. He was sitting with his back pressed against the tree. I sat next to him.

  “This reminds me of the bathroom stall,” I said.

  Gav nodded.

  “What’re you thinking this time?” I asked.

  He shrugged.

  “I heard that if someone dies in your dream, it means a baby is going to be born.”

  “That’s random.”

  “Not really,” I responded.

  “Did someone die in your dream?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What?”

  “Gav, when I first realized how close Mom and Jacob were becoming, I got really worried and scared. I thought Mom was going to make us move so that she could be with him.”

  “You mean, move away for good? Like, forever?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

  It was my turn to shrug. “I don’t know. It stirred up all kinds of feelings. I started having bad dreams. In one of them I was in a packed car with Mom, driving down the highway with tears streaming down my cheeks. I was reaching for you out the back window, but I couldn’t touch you. You were saying something. I could see your mouth moving, but I couldn’t hear you. And then we crashed and the car flipped and rolled and I flew through the air. Then I woke up.”

  “You think you died?”

  “I don’t know, but that was the last dream I had before Mrs. Magenta’s baby was born.”

  “You’re not moving, right?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Losing you would be the worst, especially after just losing Coach.”

  I almost said something about my confused feelings then, but I didn’t. And I felt like Gav was close to saying something, too, but he didn’t. And that was okay. That was enough.

  “Are you looking forward to Coach’s celebration?” I asked.

  “I am. I think it’s gonna help me say goodbye.”

  I reached over and took his hand. We stayed there, quietly sitting together for a long while after that.

  NATALIE KURTSMAN

  ASPIRING LAWYER

  Kurtsman Law Offices

  BRIEF #22

  March: The Celebration

  Given that Mrs. Woods and Mrs. Magenta decided that a celebration of Coach’s life was the best way to say goodbye, I’d say Father’s advice about taking a backseat had been incredibly wise. I hadn’t ever had reason to ponder death before, and I definitely wanted to be respectful of people’s beliefs, but putting someone into the ground for the rest of eternity did strike me as rather morbid. I much preferred the idea of cremation, which was what Mrs. Woods and Mrs. Magenta had decided. There were several reasons for that: (1) It was Coach’s game plan, (2) Mrs. Magenta wanted to keep her father’s ashes in a special urn alongside her brother’s—Eric had been cremated—so that she could take them with her should she and Mr. Magenta ever move again, and (3) Some of Coach’s ashes would be spread on the football field where he’d spent his days coaching and where, unbeknownst to us, some of Eric’s remains had been scattered years before.

  Thus, Warrior Field became the site of Coach’s celebration. Not where I would want my ashes sprinkled, but very fitting for Coach—perfect, actually. Also perfect was the weather on the day of the ceremony. It was chilly, but sunny with a slight breeze. The slight breeze was key because a stronger wind had the potential to blow Coach’s remains all over us—a truly mortifying thought. According to Scott, however, it wasn’t the sun or breeze but the presence of seagulls covering the football field when we first arrived that was perfect. After he got done explaining, I had to agree.

  He and I had this conversation before anyone else showed up. It should come as no surprise that it was the two of us who were the first to arrive. We were there early not only because that was in our nature, but also because we had important roles for the day. Scott was the videographer, and Mrs. Woods had asked me to be the emcee (master of ceremonies). Of course, I’d agreed.

  As people arrived, my first task would be to hand out the programs I had created. It wasn’t that we needed the program, but I wanted everyone to have something to take with them to remember the day. For me personally, the program wouldn’t be necessary, though. There was a moment that occurred before the ceremony even took place that will be forever stamped in my brain.

  Many people came to celebrate Coach. Some I knew; many I didn’t. There were quite a few of his former players who made the trip, which I f
ound very touching. There were even some old coaches he’d played against, and Director Ruggelli brought a busload from the Senior Center. But when I saw Mrs. Holmes and Nicky and Robbie, a swell of feelings and emotions flooded my body. I couldn’t explain how they’d found out about the ceremony or even why they’d chosen to attend, but none of that mattered. I stood frozen and watched Nicky go up and shake Gavin’s hand. I watched Mrs. Holmes hug Mrs. Davids. And through blurry eyes, I watched Robbie walk up and present me with a single flower.

  Coach’s celebration had brought out the best in us. How fitting.

  How perfect, I thought.

  Coach’s celebration kicked off at one o’clock sharp. Game time. We didn’t have the national anthem or a coin toss, but Natalie did prepare some opening remarks. I made sure I got them on video when she stepped to the podium. As videographer, I was just trying to capture as much of the day as I could so that Mrs. Woods and Mrs. Magenta would have the memories.

  “I’m Natalie Kurtsman, your master of ceremonies. I’d like to welcome you to Warrior Field and thank you for coming. In addition, I’d like to make it clear that we are here to have a razzle-dazzle time celebrating the life of this great man, Wesley Woods, whom many of us affectionately knew as Coach.”

  My filming got bouncy then because I was clapping and cheering after she said that.

  “At this point in our program anyone who’d like to say a few words about Coach is invited up to the microphone,” Natalie said, and stepped away from the podium.

  I was surprised when I saw that Meggie Davids was the first person walking up there, and her dad was wheeling his chair right behind her. Meggie approached the podium, and Natalie gave her a boost so that she could reach the microphone.

  “Coach, thank you for being a good friend to Gavvy. He loved you,” Meggie said.

  Short and sweet—very sweet.

  Mr. Davids went next. “Coach, thank you for being a great mentor and grandfather figure for my son.”

  Also short and sweet, but that was good because after they spoke, there was a line of people waiting to do the same. I videoed a bunch, but I couldn’t hold my words in any longer. I went and got in line, and Gavin joined me because he was nervous about talking in front of so many people that we didn’t know. I handed my camera to Natalie when it was our turn, and we stepped up to the microphone.

  “Coach called me Junior,” I began. “He was the first one who saw that I could be our team’s stats man.”

  “And he called me Valentine,” Gavin said. “He was my first true coach.”

  “Coach taught me that an onside kick on the opening play can catch the other team sleeping,” I said. “And that seagulls on the field before a game are good luck.”

  “ ’Cause of Coach, I’ll always train with a tire target,” Gavin said.

  “Coach taught me it’s not the number of plays in your arsenal but how well you run the ones you do have,” I added.

  “ ’Cause of Coach, I’ll make sure I can always look the guy in the glass in the eye. And ’cause of Coach, I’ll always fight until the last play.”

  “Coach taught me many lessons, but the most important thing he helped me do was believe in myself,” I said. “I want to thank him for that, and I want to thank him for being my grandpa’s best friend.”

  “ ’Cause of Coach, I’m better than I ever woulda been without him. I’m gonna miss him, but I’m also gonna make him proud.”

  Gavin and I left the podium, and I went back to videoing. There were a lot of nice things said that afternoon by a lot of people, but I couldn’t possibly tell you about all of it. That’s what the video was for. You’d need to watch it.

  What I can tell you was that my favorite part of the celebration was Trevor’s surprise that I didn’t even know was coming.

  I stepped to the podium after everyone had finished saying what they wanted to about Coach. I imagine everyone expected me to get up there and do more of the same, but I didn’t. That was my first surprise.

  “I’m not up here to talk about Coach,” I said, “but I am up here to help us honor him. When I found out that today’s ceremony was taking place on Coach’s old field, which happens to be our high school football field, otherwise known as Warrior Field, I approached Mr. Allen with an idea.”

  I turned around and left the podium. I could hear murmurs and whispers. People were confused. What was I doing? They watched as Mark and I walked over to the scoreboard, where two stepladders lay on the ground waiting for us. We stood the ladders upright. Then together we climbed to the tops and each grasped a corner of the sign we had covering the scoreboard. The sign had Coach’s name and dates of birth and death written on it, similar to what you’d find on a gravestone. To all attending, the sign was a nice touch for the ceremony, but really it was only a temporary cover. I looked at Mark, and on three we pulled it down, unveiling our surprise.

  It took a second, but once everyone realized what they were seeing, they were on their feet and clapping. Painted on the scoreboard were the words “WESLEY WOODS FIELD.” Warrior Field had been renamed and dedicated in honor of Coach. It was perfect.

  I didn’t talk from the podium, but I did have a talk. It happened after the ceremony when I realized that I had to pass Coach’s words on to somebody important.

  I asked Mom for the keys and started toward the car.

  “Randi, where are you going?” Natalie asked when she saw me leaving.

  “Natalie, sometimes a woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do.”

  She scowled, and I laughed.

  “Relax. I’m not blackmailing anyone,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

  I jogged off. When I got to the car, I grabbed my crutches from the trunk and I went and found Mr. Davids.

  “I’m done with these now, Mr. Davids. They served me well, and I don’t mean to be superstitious, but I’d like to give them to you for good luck.”

  “Thank you, Randi, but I don’t need them quite yet.”

  “No, but you will soon. Mr. Davids, I didn’t have much direct interaction with Coach, but the one thing he did tell me was that my recovery after getting injured was all about attitude. And he was right. You’ve got to stay positive, Mr. Davids. You can do it.”

  “Thank you,” he said, taking the crutches from me. “And, Randi, thank you for being there for Gavin during these hard times. I hope you two always have each other.”

  “Don’t worry, Mr. Davids. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Coach’s celebration was nice, but hard. Real hard. Saying goodbye to someone like that is way tougher than football. But I got through it. And I said the things I wanted to say. I could hear Coach saying, “Of course you got through it. You’re a football player.” That thought made me smile. I guessed that was a good sign ’cause I hadn’t been doing much smiling.

  Nicky Holmes and his mom and little brother showing up was something I’ll remember. I didn’t talk to Nicky, but that didn’t matter. His being there was all that needed to be said. I’ll remember the different things people said about Coach and I’ll remember when Trevor and Mark revealed Coach’s name on our scoreboard. Next year I’d be playing on Wesley Woods Field. Coach would be with me every play. That definitely made me smile.

  The day was full of special moments like that, but it was later that night, when I was back home leaning against my tire-target tree, just taking a few moments to myself, that the most important thing happened.

  “Hi, Gavvy,” Megs said, cuddling up next to me.

  “Hi, Megs,” I said. So much for time to myself, I thought.

  “Wow, Gavvy, look.” She pointed to the sky. “That star is so big and bright.”

  I smiled. “That’s Coach,” I said.

  “Did the angels help him get up there?”

  “That’s right.”

  �
��He’s got the best seat in the house, Gavvy. He can watch you throwing all your passes from up there.”

  My little sister had just used her superpowers on me. I wiped my eyes. “Yes, he can,” I said, smiling more.

  There Coach was—the perfect star.

  NATALIE KURTSMAN

  ASPIRING LAWYER

  Kurtsman Law Offices

  BRIEF: #23

  June: A Final Razzle-Dazzle

  Mr. Allen ended the school year in the same fashion he’d started it—with an impromptu assembly. There was, however, one minor difference this time—the Recruits knew about it in advance. The reason being, Mr. Allen wanted our final Razzle-Dazzle Show to broadcast live from his event. We jumped at the opportunity.

  The six of us and Mrs. Woods met at school even earlier than early on that day so that we had enough time to get our equipment moved and set up in the auditorium. Mr. Allen was also there to help and to make sure we had everything that we needed, which we did. Though a bit of a hassle, we pulled it off and were ready to go. The only thing missing was the audience, and they began filing in right on cue.

  I hadn’t stopped to consider what broadcasting in front of a group of people would actually look or feel like. It had sounded fun when Mr. Allen had proposed the idea, so I’d jumped without hesitation, but now that the event was here, now that there was a packed house sitting in front of me, I had the jitters.

  “Okay,” Mr. Allen said to us. “Looks like we’ve got everyone assembled. It’s time. Do your thing.”

  I took my seat behind the desk, and Mark dimmed the lights.