by Tim Green
“Beautiful.” Troy wondered if he had only imagined asking the owner for help, or if he hadn’t been clear.
“Good, well . . .” The owner stood up and Troy knew the meeting was over, just like that. “Here, I thought you might like these.”
He handed Troy an envelope.
“Backstage passes and front-row seats.” The owner grinned at him and nodded at the picture on the wall behind his desk. “Helena. She’s playing at Yankee Stadium in two weeks.”
Troy’s mouth dropped. Helena was the owner’s wife and an international superstar. Her concert was being billed as the hottest ticket since Katy Perry had done her worldwide tour.
Troy didn’t know what to say, and real appreciation overwhelmed him. “Wow, are you sure?”
“Just promise you won’t sell them. I hate when people do that.” The owner kept smiling, but something dark passed across his face. “They’re for you to enjoy.”
“No, of course I won’t. Thank you again.”
“Well, I’ve got connections on the inside. There are four, so you can bring a couple of friends.” The owner winked, shook hands, and showed Troy to the door.
Troy walked down the stairs and outside into the bright sunlight. The door swung open behind him and he turned to see a large black man with graying hair. The man had the build of an NFL linebacker and he wore Jets shorts and a T-shirt. On either side of him were two other men Troy was pretty sure were scouts for the team. They looked at him curiously. Then their eyes brightened with recognition and they smiled and said hello before continuing out onto the field.
Troy headed across the grass to the far field where he saw Ty and the boy in the purple jersey throwing the football back and forth. Troy glanced over his shoulder and saw the two scouts pull out their stopwatches while the big guy got down in a stance in front of some cones. Troy kept going and stuck the tickets Mr. Cole gave him into the band of his shorts.
“Hey,” he said to Ty. “How’s it going?”
“Troy, this is Chuku. Chuku Moore.”
Troy tilted his head. “What?”
Chuku offered his hand. “Means ‘child of God,’ but you don’t have to pray to me or anything.”
Troy extended his hand to the boy with skin the color of coffee mixed with cream. Chuku had close-cut hair, a brilliant smile, and a mischievous but friendly gleam in his dark eyes. Troy noticed now that the jersey—a Ravens Ray Lewis jersey—had a signature running down the straight edge of the white number five.
“Ravens fan?” Troy said.
“Used to be.” Chuku nodded toward the man who was now sprinting through the cones in a blur. “Till they let my dad go.”
“That’s your dad?” Troy watched the man take off out of his stance and move quickly around and through the cones.
“He tore up his knee two seasons ago. Took him this long to rehab. He played twelve years for the Ravens.”
“And he’s trying out here?” Troy knew twelve years was about the maximum anyone played in the NFL, especially a linebacker with a hurt knee.
“He long-snaps, too.” Chuku stuck out his chin.
Troy wasn’t that impressed. Every NFL team had a long snapper who usually played another position only in an emergency. It meant Chuku’s dad was just about finished, but his special skill as a long snapper on the punt team might give his career a few last dying gasps.
As if Chuku sensed Troy’s lack of respect, he said, “He ran a 4.4 before he got hurt. Fast, huh?”
“Pretty fast.” Troy put some enthusiasm into his voice to be nice. “You play, too?”
Chuku snorted and chuckled. “Like Victor Cruz, only faster.”
A doubtful grin stretched Troy’s cheeks. “Well, with your dad and you, we may have the three fastest people in New Jersey on this field right now.”
Chuku’s eyes traveled up and down Troy’s frame. Half his mouth curled into a smile and he raised an eyebrow. “You?”
Hot annoyance flushed Troy’s face. “Not me. Ty.”
Chuku turned. “Chicken legs?”
Ty laughed and blushed and pulled his shorts up to his mid thighs to examine what did look like chicken legs. It bothered Troy even more that Ty was going along with the insult, unfazed. At the Super Bowl, when Ty’s team won the 7-on-7 championship trophy, Ty had outrun the very fastest kids from all four corners of the country, and Chuku’s lack of respect just didn’t float with Troy.
“He’s faster than you, I can tell you that.” Troy stuck out his chin.
Chuku burst out into wild laughter. “You for real?”
“Are you?” Troy asked.
“How old are you, Chicken Little?” Somehow Chuku’s tone came out like a friendly joke, and that made Troy even madder.
Ty said, “Thirteen.”
“Well, I’m the same age even though people think I already drive, so I guess it won’t be illegal.” Chuku turned to Troy. “I bet you anything you got I beat my dawg here in a race.”
“Forty-yard dash?” Troy asked.
“Come on, guys. What’s the difference?” Ty said. “Let’s play catch.”
“No, no, no.” Troy held up a hand. “You don’t just say you’re faster than everyone else and get away with it. You’re not faster than my man.”
“How about you put your money where your mouth is?” Chuku’s smile, like his voice, remained friendly as he peeled off the signed Ray Lewis jersey and dropped it in a heap on the grass. The tank top he wore was skintight. Troy and Ty could see that Chuku’s muscles were like steel cables.
“You want my Jets T-shirt?” Troy asked.
“That’s no bet. You think I’m a chump?” Chuku laughed. “Bet something that matters. This thing is game-worn. This goes for three grand if you want to buy it. You got anything worth that much?”
Troy wanted to scream that he made five million dollars, but he didn’t have the money and he sure didn’t want to have to explain to this kid why not. Then he had an idea.
“I got these.” Troy whipped the tickets and backstage passes out of his shorts without even thinking. “And even a pencil neck from Baltimore knows they’re worth two of those Ray Lewis jerseys.”
Chuku studied the backstage passes and the tickets, unable to hide his surprise. “Helena? Where’d you get these?”
“Nothing for you to worry about.” Troy dropped the passes and tickets down on top of the purple jersey. “You just worry about how you’re gonna get another Ray Lewis jersey so you don’t have to tell your kids one day about the one you used to have. Let’s go.” Troy pointed to the goal line. “You two get on the line.”
“Troy,” Ty said, “I don’t think—”
Troy cut him off. “Just line up and run this big mouth’s butt into the ground. I always wanted a Ray Lewis game-worn jersey.”
“That’s right, line up, Chicken Little.” Chuku flicked his legs out into the air, stretching them before he got into a sprinter’s stance on the goal line. “The sky is fallin’.”
Ty shook his head, sighed, and got into his stance.
Troy marched to the forty-yard line and turned around. He raised a hand. “On your mark . . . get set . . . go!”
Ty and Chuku burst out of their stances and ran toward Troy like rockets riding the wind.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT WAS CLOSE, THAT’S all Troy could say.
“I tried.” Ty was breathing heavily. “He’s fast.”
“Told you.” Chuku was relaxed and casual. “Backstage. Dang. You guys want to throw the ball? My hands are as good as my feet, maybe better. Nah, maybe nothing’s better than my feet. Ha ha.”
“Yeah, let’s. Come on already.” Ty grabbed the football and tossed it to Troy.
On the other field, the scouts were running Chuku’s dad through another drill and timing him with their watches.
Troy’s head still spun from losing, but he set up in the middle of the field so he could call out routes for the two of them to run, as if everything were fine. He certainly w
asn’t going to act as if the whole thing bothered him. He sent Ty on a post route and connected with a bullet. From the corner of his eye, he watched for a reaction from Chuku, but the new kid either didn’t see or wasn’t impressed. Troy burned inside.
“Run a ten-yard comeback,” Troy said to Chuku, then barked out a cadence and pretended to take a snap.
Troy took a three-step drop and rifled the ball at Chuku’s head before he even got out of his break. The laces whistled and for an instant, Troy almost felt bad. Chuku planted a foot at ten yards and broke back. The ball was on him, but Chuku’s arms popped up like toast. The ball didn’t even make a sound, so soft were his hands. Chuku tucked the ball and broke back up field, running all the way to the end zone.
“Touchdown.” Chuku laughed to himself.
Troy ground his teeth.
From the other side of the field, Chuku’s father shouted through cupped hands, “Chuku! I’ll be out in a while! You good?”
“I’m good!” Chuku returned the shout and the three men disappeared back inside.
Troy wondered how long Chuku would be weighing them down, but as time wore on, two things happened. First, Troy’s respect for Chuku Moore grew like Jack’s beanstalk. Second, try as he might, Troy couldn’t help liking the kid and his friendly, nonchalant manner. To Troy life seemed like a fight against the tide, while Chuku seemed to be going with the current, carefree and easy, just enjoying it all.
Finally Chuku’s dad emerged from the facility alone. “Chuku! Come on, boy!”
Chuku ran over to Troy, smiling. “Nice to meet you guys.”
“You’re a pretty good receiver,” Troy said.
“Pretty good?” Chuku’s smile widened. “I was just fooling around out here. A. J. Green’s got nothing on Chuku Moore.”
Chuku shook Troy’s hand, then Ty’s, before grabbing his jersey and the tickets and scooting off toward his dad, who had already turned and was trudging toward the gate.
Father and son disappeared before Ty asked, “You think his dad is gonna get signed by the team?”
“I have no idea.” Troy tossed the ball in the air and caught it.
“Can you imagine if he did move here?” Ty wiped the sweat from his forehead. “And then, after you get everything worked out, the three of us at St. Stephen’s in a couple of years? Man, we could do some damage. Win a couple of state championships. All three of us five-star recruits. We could go visit all the big schools together. Maybe make ourselves a package deal?”
Troy winced at the sound of St. Stephen’s. “Yeah, well, who knows. It’s no big deal. We got each other. We don’t need that kid.”
“Yeah, but you know better than anyone that teams can double-cover one guy with deep speed, but not two. It doesn’t take a genius to know that.” Ty paused. “Sorry about your tickets.”
“I’m sorry for you.” Troy patted Ty’s back. “Who do you think I was bringing with me to that concert?”
“Really? Man. Well, I ran as fast as I could and he beat me by a full stride. I’ve never seen anyone that fast.”
Thane appeared at the doorway to the facility and shouted much the same as Chuku’s dad had done. “Let’s go, guys!”
They joined Thane and walked through the offices toward the front. When they left the lobby, a Mercedes SUV pulled up in the circle. The window rolled down and Mr. Cole leaned toward them.
“Troy, you bringing these guys with you to the concert?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
TROY DIDN’T MISS A beat. “Sure.”
“Great, I’m off to Europe for a few days, but I’ll be back in time to see you all there.” Mr. Cole waved and the Mercedes sped off.
Troy swallowed. He wouldn’t be bringing anyone to the concert, but the lie came off his tongue slick as spit. He couldn’t even help it. It bothered him no end that he was like that. It reminded him of his father, smooth and slippery and sliding through the cracks in life. That was no way to be. Now he had an even bigger problem.
“That was as friendly as I’ve ever seen him.” Thane stared at the SUV. “What concert?”
“Mr. Cole gave me some tickets and backstage passes for the Helena concert at Yankee Stadium,” Troy said.
“But he lost them on a bet.” Ty acted as if Thane were one of them.
Troy winced. “I’ll get them back.”
“Oh. Wow. Well, okay.” That was all Thane said about it, but Troy could see the concern on his face.
They got into Thane’s Escalade and headed to Troy’s place for dinner. On the way, Thane treated them to more Dairy Queen, then picked up two loaves of fresh Italian bread and a cheesecake at a local bakery.
“Don’t want to show up empty-handed,” Thane said.
Even in the evening light, Troy’s rental house seemed shabby, and when they pulled up behind the VW Bug in the gleaming new Escalade, Troy thought of the new Mustang he told Ty about wanting to get for his mom. The little bug of a car and his big talk made Troy feel ashamed.
Troy forced a chuckle and shook his head. “I know you guys aren’t used to digs like this, but it’s only temporary.”
Ty smiled. “You don’t have to use a broken Porta-Potty for a bathroom, do you?”
Troy’s mouth fell open.
Thane laughed. “Our uncle Gus had Ty shacked up in a place that makes this house look like the Ritz.”
That raised Troy’s spirits a bit, but it was still a dump.
Inside, the smell of tomato sauce and sound of sausage snapping in a sea of onions led them right to the kitchen.
Thane sniffed. “Smells good.”
Troy’s mom turned to face them, smiling. “And you all are looking at the new PR manager for McArdle & Swain.”
“Huh?” Thane looked confused.
“It’s a law firm. I got the job!”
“That’s great, Mom,” Troy said.
“Congratulations! Let’s celebrate.” Thane showed her the cheesecake.
“Very nice. Thank you. Sit right down, boys. There’s a pitcher of iced tea on the table.” Troy’s mom pointed with a wooden spoon.
Troy and Ty sat down, but Thane stayed by the stove and asked if he could help.
Ty leaned toward Troy and whispered, “‘Get back the Helena tickets?’ How are you gonna do that?”
Troy pointed at his mom and shook his head not to discuss it. Under his breath he said, “Later.”
He had a forkful of spaghetti halfway to his mouth when they heard the purr of an engine and the crackle of gravel and tires in the driveway. Footsteps on the front porch were followed by a knock on the screen door. Whoever it was didn’t bother waiting for an answer. The door squeaked open and the footsteps continued into the house and through the front hall. Before Troy could turn his head around, his mom’s mouth went slack. Her eyes widened in shock and she covered her mouth as she struggled to rise from her chair.
“Oh, my gosh.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
TROY’S HEAD SWUNG AROUND, even as his mom dashed from her place to meet Seth Halloway halfway across the kitchen floor. She hugged him and he picked her up and swung her in a big circle.
“Seth!” Troy beamed and stood up, too.
Seth grabbed him and pulled him and his mom into a hug. “Thought I’d surprise you both!”
“Oh, my gosh.” Troy’s mom glowed and she brushed some fallen hair from her face. “Seth, you remember Troy’s cousins—our cousins—Thane and Ty.”
Seth shook hands with the two brothers he’d met in Miami the previous winter during Super Bowl week. “Hey, guys.”
“Sit down. Eat.” Troy’s mom was already reaching for the cupboard.
“I didn’t mean to barge in on you, but I figured the surprise was worth the risk,” Seth said.
“So, what happened?” Troy’s mom gave Seth a plate and sat back down. “I thought you were fly-fishing in Montana before you went back to help out at Furman.”
Seth cut a meatball in half, stuck a piece in his mouth, and chewed. “W
ell, I was fishing, then I got a call about another job.”
“Another job?” Troy’s mom raised a single eyebrow.
Seth swallowed and took a drink. “You know the thing at Furman was only as a volunteer anyway?”
“I think you mentioned it,” Troy’s mom said, “but you have to start someplace.”
“Yeah, but then I heard about this other thing. It’s not that I need the money. I’m set, you know that, but it is nice to get paid. Makes you feel like you’re worth something, even if it’s a couple of thousand dollars.”
“What ‘other thing’? Stop with the suspense already, will you?” Troy’s mom nudged Seth’s shoulder.
Seth glanced at Troy. “Word is, there may be a job right here, in Summit.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TROY’S MOM LAUGHED OUT loud. “What? What job?”
“At . . . Troy’s school.” Seth spoke carefully. “Well, the high school.”
Troy looked down at his hands. He hadn’t been certain Seth was even listening to him when he called him up the other night.
“He’s in junior high,” Troy’s mom said.
“But he could play in high school, right?” Seth said. “We go pretty good together, don’t you think? The Georgia Junior League state title?”
“I don’t know.” Troy’s mom began to sputter. “I’ve never heard of an eighth grader playing in high school.”
“I have.” Seth twirled a bundle of spaghetti onto his fork. “He has to pass a physical test and you need a doctor to sign off, but a high school coach can bring a kid up to varsity from junior high if he’s good enough. Ha. And we all know Troy’s good enough.”
Seth jammed the spaghetti into his mouth and looked around the table to see if anyone disagreed. A current of excitement pulsed through Troy’s body at the mention of playing on varsity.
“How much have you grown the last few months?” Seth asked him after swallowing.
“Four or five inches. I’m five ten.” Troy sat up straight.
“Big enough.” Seth went back to eating.
Troy’s mom looked at Troy and spoke slowly. “Was all this . . . your idea?”
