by Sean Rodman
“Who is this?” I see my reflection in the rearview mirror, pale and wide-eyed.
“I am business partner of Markus.” The accent is similar to Markus’s. He speaks the same way, very precisely and carefully. “To be accurate, I am a former business partner. In fact, I have only one financial transaction left with our mutual friend.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I should use smaller words for you, no?” He laughs. “You are a football player, after all. Markus told me that you were his bodyguard.”
It all comes together. “You’re Yuri. The Plunger.”
I hear him hiss on the other end of the line. “Do not call me that. In English that is stupid name. In Russian it sounds much better.” Hearing his frustration gives me a boost of bravery. Or stupidity.
“Listen, Plunger, I don’t know what’s going on, but maybe I just better call the cops right now.”
“You may be a football player, but you are not that dumb, are you? Your friend is a criminal. And from the text you just sent, I believe you are in possession of stolen money. You think the police will assume you are innocent in all of this, Ryan?”
“How do you know who I am?”
“Markus and I have had many conversations over the past few hours. He even gave me a tour of Marathon. Your school. Your house. The one thing he did not reveal to me is where my money was. But now I know you have it. So let us do business, without any police. I would like to arrange a trade.”
“You want the money.”
“Yes. In return I will give Markus back to you. As his bodyguard”—he snickers—“it does seem like the least you can do for him.”
“Fine. But I want to speak to him. Make sure he’s all right.”
There’s just empty static for a moment while Yuri considers this. “It is acceptable. Here.” I hear the muffled sound of the phone being passed from hand to hand.
“Replay?” Markus’s voice sounds thin and distant.
“Has he hurt you? Are you all right?”
“I am okay but so sorry for you. I did not mean for this to happen.”
“Whatever. Look, I just want to get this money back to Yuri.”
“No! If you do that,” Markus says quickly, “I will not be able to protect my family. There will be nothing stopping Yuri from threatening them, forcing me to work for him. Do not give him—”
There’s a grunt. Then Yuri is back on the line. “I hope you are more clever than Markus. Bring the money to your school football field. Nine o’clock tonight. Come alone.” The line disconnects with a beep.
Chapter Thirteen
My room is bathed in a blue-white light. The shades are drawn, and I’m hunched over my laptop. Clip after clip of footage scrolls by on the screen. Screaming crowds from the game. A solid mass of people surging in time to the beat at the pool party. Alexʼs big goofy grin as he photobombs a shot of the game. I’ve been watching this stuff all afternoon. Like I can use all the little fragments I’ve recorded over the past week to somehow find an answer to the big question. What am I going to do?
Call the cops. Hand the entire problem over to someone else to figure out. Hope that they don’t figure I’m one of the bad guys. Probably ruin any shot of a scholarship once the word gets out that I’m involved with people like Yuri.
Be a hero. Take down the Plunger and rescue Markus. Get shot, drowned or some horrible combination of the two. Like an action-movie hero, only super sad and depressing.
Hide in my room and try to avoid making any decisions at all. Run down the clock and wait for someone else to make the decision for me.
I jump at a knock at my door, startled out of my trance.
“Ryan?” It’s Dad. I feel my chest tighten up. I don’t want a fight right now. But he knocks again. And again. I finally give up, rolling my desk chair over to open up the door.
Dad peers past me into the shadowy room. “Well, this doesn’t look suspicious at all. You sitting in the dark in the middle of a Sunday afternoon,” he says. Seeing the glow of the screen, he adds, “You looking at something you shouldn’t?” He’s half-joking.
“No, nothing like that.” I roll aside to let him in. “I was just editing some footage.”
Dad walks over to the laptop. On the screen is a clip of him and Mom at the game. They are both frozen mid-cheer, their gold wigs completing their shimmery Warrior outfits. He snorts.
“Yikes. Can’t you fix up those old people with one of your fancy programs? Make them look a little younger?” Dad squints at the screen. “Maybe a lot younger?”
I laugh, feeling the tightness in my chest loosen up. “I’m afraid there’s no app for that.”
Dad laughs too. He turns back to me, smiling. “Ryan, I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday. About how I’ve been making you play football because…because that’s what I always wanted. Not what you wanted.”
“Dad, I didn’t—”
“Let me finish. I think you might have been partly right.” He sits on my bed. The springs squeak. “When I watch you play, I feel…joy in my heart. There’s no other word for it. And part of that comes from me remembering that feeling. Rushing down the field like an angel taking flight.” He punches a finger in the air. “Unstoppable.”
I smile a little, seeing him all worked up like this. He chuckles, then continues.
“I had that feeling, once or twice. You have it every game, I bet. But the joy that I feel watching you? It’s because you’re doing something that you have a gift for. I’d feel the same way if your gift was…was playing the trombone.”
I raise an eyebrow.
“Not sure where that came from. I’m not a fan of the trombone. But I would feel joy if playing it was your gift,” he insists. “I do admit, the fact that you are so good at a game that I love so much, well, that blinded me a little. Your mom too. I didn’t pay as much attention to the other stuff you were good at. Like this.” He jerks a thumb at the laptop.
“It’s okay, Dad. I went along with it. I mean, being a football star has some upside,” I say.
“Yeah, I bet it does. But now that you’re graduating, I want to make one thing clear.” Dad stands up and puts a hand on my shoulder. “From here on in, it’s your call. You decide what you’re going to do with your gifts. Your mother and I are on your team, one hundred percent.”
“Thanks,” I say.
Neither of us knows what to do next. Dad turns to leave. Maybe I should let him in on what’s going on with Markus.
“Hey, Dad. There’s something else.” He turns slowly back. I think about what Yuri said, about how he knows where I live. Mom and Dad might be on my team, but that doesn’t mean they need to take the risk with me. I change my mind.
“There’s this trombone I want to buy,” I say. “Maybe you can help me out?”
He laughs and closes the door behind him. I swivel back to the screen.
It’s my call. Like Markus said, I’m the quarterback. Time to start calling the play.
Chapter Fourteen
I’m in the tunnel that leads to the field, the white stadium lights from the field spilling into the shadows.
“You’re sure you know what to do?” I whisper to Alex, probably for the tenth time.
“Replay, I’ve got this.” Alex rolls his eyes.
“If you want to back out, I can handle this on my own. I mean, maybe it’s not a good plan. You should just—”
“Dude.” Alex grabs me. “Do you need to ride the vomit comet? Have a little pre-game puke session to get the nerves out?”
My face loosens into a smile. “No, I’m fine.”
“It’s a good plan. Stick with it.” Alex slaps me on the back. “Now get out there.”
I take a deep breath, lift the backpack onto my shoulders and start walking into the brilliant light of the empty stadium.
When Yuri shows up I’m waiting at the fifty-yard line. He appears at the north entrance to the field, shoving Markus ahead of him. Yuri is a big guy
, broad shoulders wrapped in a black motorcycle jacket with a low collar, head shaved to look tough. He pretty much looks just like I imagined—except for his age. He can’t be more than a year or two older than I am.
Markus looks pale. He blinks a few times through his glasses, finally focusing on me. He shakes his head.
“Get away, Replay. Do not give him anything.”
Yuri shoves Markus to his knees, and I step forward.
“Do not get closer,” Yuri says. He gestures with one hand toward his open jacket. I can see the bulge of a handgun tucked into a holster. “You have my money?”
I nod, then shrug the backpack off and drop it at my feet. “Markus, come here.”
Yuri grins. “No, no. I think that you do not give the orders. I get the money first, Mr. Football.”
“That’s not my name,” I say. “It’s Replay.”
Yuri looks puzzled. “Replay? That is not a very tough-guy name.”
“Well, the Plunger is a pretty crappy name. Literally,” I say. From down on the grass, Markus snickers. Anger flashes across Yuri’s face.
“Is much better in Russian. I did not know about the tool for the bathroom cleaning.” He’s almost whining, like a little kid. “See, the name means that I—”
“I know what it means,” I say innocently. “It means that you believe in having a clean crapper that flushes well.”
Markus looks up at me. “Replay, what are you doing?” he hisses.
“I’m calling an audible,” I say quickly. “Remember what that means?” Markus looks confused. Yuri steps past Markus to get closer to me.
“You are insulting me? I do not think you understand what I am capable of. Do you know who my family is? Who I am?” There’s a muscle under his left eye that’s twitching.
“I know that you took your daddy’s money and gave it to Markus here to play poker with. Now you want to keep him like some kind of trained pet. To keep making money for you.” I step over the backpack so that we’re inches away from each other. “I know you. You’re a little kid pretending to be a tough guy. And I’ve protected Markus from worse.”
Yuri growls and reaches into his jacket. Moments start flashing by in slow motion. Markus scrambles away from us, yelling. Yuri pulls out the gun. My pulse is racing, but I force myself not to move. I just stand there, hands at my side. Yuri carefully raises the barrel of the gun to my forehead.
“Do not insult me, Mr. Football.” Yuri’s hand is shaking a little, and he blinks furiously at me.
He might pretend to be a killer, but I don’t think he’s done this too many times before. Which doesn’t actually make me feel any better, considering there’s a gun pointed at my head. I swallow and try to speak as calmly as I can.
“That’s not my name. It’s Replay,” I say. “Want to see why?”
I look up at the huge screen that hangs over the stadium. It suddenly flashes to life with a burst of static. Then an image snaps into focus. It’s a live feed of Yuri pointing the gun at me. I made sure when I set up Alex with the camera that it would get a good view of Yuri’s face.
“I have all of this on tape. You, threatening a defenseless kid with a gun that I’m betting isn’t legal. That’s got to be worth, what, a year in jail? Daddy would not be impressed.”
Yuri quickly stuffs the gun back under his jacket, looking around.
“So here’s the deal, Plunger.” I toss the backpack at him. “You take your money and never contact Markus or me again. As long as you leave us alone, the tape will never be seen by anybody. You screw with me or Markus, or our families, or our friends? The tape goes straight to the Jersey police.”
I’d expected Yuri to look furious, but instead he just looks really confused. He snatches at the backpack and sticks a hand inside to feel around for the money. Satisfied, he recovers some of his tough-guy act.
“We have a standoff for now, Mr. Replay.” He points a finger at me. “Watch yourself.”
After a quick look around at the empty stands, Yuri hustles for the exit. A minute later we hear a car engine start, then fade into the distance. I kneel down and help Markus to his feet.
“You were most scary,” says Markus.
“I was most terrified. But thank god it worked,” I say.
Alex comes running out of the dark. “Dude, that was awesome! It was like the Godfather, but you’re all, like—”
I know he’s about to start acting it all out, and I shut him down.
“You can never say a word, you got it? This never happened.”
Alex smiles. “Yeah, sure, man. Just keep some notes for your first blockbuster movie.”
Chapter Fifteen
I open the door to see Markus standing there. He looks nervous. His formerly fancy gray jacket is now beaten up and smudged with dirt. Behind him I can see a car, the engine running. A man and woman watch us through the passenger window.
“Hello, Replay,” says Markus. “I am on my way to the airport, but I made them stop. I must talk to you.”
I gesture at the car. “Who are they? You okay?”
“They are my parents. They took a flight out here as soon as I called them.”
“You told them what happened?” I ask.
“I told them a little piece of truth. That the exchange did not work out so well. That I am sick for home. Now we must return to Jersey.” He shakes his head. “I am regretting my poker games. Perhaps I should have learned to play football?”
“I don’t think that would have worked out for you either. No offense.”
“It is true.” He holds up a little envelope. “Also, I must give you this before I leave.”
“Thanks.” I take it. With everything that has happened, I had forgotten all about our deal.
Markus suddenly gives me an awkward hug. “Thank you,” he says into my shoulder. “You are the best bodyguard.”
“I don’t know. You did get kidnapped, after all.”
Markus nods. “Well, at least you are the best friend.”
There’s a honk from the car, and Markus lets go. “I must leave now. Be seeing you!”
When I’m back in my room, I look at the white envelope. It has Reply written across the front. I rip it open to find a bunch of bills and a little sticky note.
This is my money, not Yuri’s. And this is not payment for Replay the Bodyguard. This is an investment in Ryan the Film Director. I can’t wait to see your first film when it arrives in Jersey. Or even Estonia.
Your Friend, Markus
I laugh. It’s a hundred and fifty bucks. Just enough to cover my film-school application. Mom and Dad are happy to help with the fee now, of course. But the money will definitely come in handy. I search around under the bed and find the crumpled-up application. I smooth it out on the desk.
Time to call my own play and see what happens.
Sean Rodman’s interest in writing for teenagers came out of working at schools around the world. In Australia, he taught ancient history to future Olympic athletes. Closer to home, he worked with students from over 100 countries at a nonprofit international school. He is currently the executive director of the Story Studio Writing Society, a charity dedicated to unleashing the creativity of young writers and improving literacy. Sean lives in Victoria, British Columbia. For more information, visit srodman.com.
Chapter One
I don’t recommend breaking and entering on your first date. Wait until you can really trust them. Asha and I waited in the shadows of a closed convenience store. We sized up the building across the street. The cold drizzle was starting to soak us. She squeezed my hand and kissed my cheek.
“Bex, this is going to be awesome,” she said.
It was kind of romantic, I guess. We were looking over at the old Orpheus Theater. It was a tall, narrow building tucked between two ancient storefronts. A tall neon sign crawled up the front of it, reading ORPHEUS. Smaller signs covered the ticket booth. A couple of big ones were marked Closed and Demolition Order.
The Apr
il rain made me wish I had brought more than my black hoodie. We needed to get moving or we’d get uncomfortable. I checked to make sure the coast was clear. At this time of night, there was barely any traffic. Most people with any sense were tucked into bed. But we were just getting started.
At my signal, Asha and I ran across the street. We headed straight into a narrow alley next to the Orpheus. We were on our way to meet up with my best friend Jake. We wanted to see what the theater looked like on the inside.
My friends and I have a hobby. We like to explore old buildings in the city. But not on the official tour. We go where we’re not supposed to. In my opinion, a No Trespassing sign just means you’re on your own. We’re not the only ones. There’s a bunch of people in the city who do this. They call themselves urban explorers. We compare notes and brag about our illegal adventures online. It’s all anonymous, of course. On the urban exploration forums, I’m Urbex604. My real name is Taylor Bexhill. My friends just call me Bex.
It’s a bit like being a superhero. In real life, I’m under the radar and keep to myself. I’ve never been into team sports. Never been cool enough to be part of the in crowd. As an urban explorer, though, I’m like a rock star. I’ve hacked more buildings in this city than almost anyone else. I look for old tunnels or abandoned buildings that nobody else can get into. Then I post some pictures from the inside. I’ve got a great slideshow of conquests now. The Orpheus Theater was one of the toughest sites in town. It had no easy entrances and some serious security guards. Now it was slated to be destroyed in a couple of weeks. I wanted to claim this one for my own before it went.
Don’t get me wrong when I talk about breaking and entering. I’m not a criminal. I do this for fun. For bragging rights. I take nothing but pictures, leave nothing but footprints. Asha says that I act like a cross between a Boy Scout and a young offender. I pulled her into urban exploration a little while ago. She totally got into it. Which was a bit of a surprise to me. She’s from a pretty strict family and comes across as really straight. But I’m not complaining.
