Perfect Season

by Tim Green

“That I sue you.” Troy’s mom wore a dark brown business suit. She had pulled her hair back into a tight bun and added just a touch of lipstick—something she rarely did—and she looked like someone who’d sue you.

  “We’d like to avoid all that.” Bolt glanced at Mr. Cole, who showed no response either way.

  Troy’s mom turned her attention to the owner. “And you’re here to intimidate us?”

  Mr. Cole didn’t even blink. “I’m here because I like you. That doesn’t mean I’m going to make a bad business decision. That’s all this is, business.”

  Troy’s mom scowled at him. “My son is thirteen years old.”

  “I paid your son five million dollars, Tessa. That’s twice what Justin Bieber made when he was thirteen. Look, the papers are all in order. I didn’t have to be here, but I wanted to. I’d like to see this thing work, but it’s not. We need to beat New England Sunday, or we will be officially eliminated from any chance at the playoffs. That, along with those documents that put you on legal notice, will terminate this deal. Under the performance clause, you’ll owe the team two million dollars.”

  “I can’t—”

  Mr. Cole held up his hand. “I know you can’t pay me back, but if the money your husband—”

  It was Troy’s mom’s turn to interrupt. “That man is not my husband. He never was.”

  “I apologize . . . If the money Troy’s father lost to the FBI is returned—and that might happen, right, Ben?”

  The lawyer nodded. “I’ve seen it before. It is possible.”

  “Right,” the owner said. “So, if that happens, I do want my money back. You’ll have to pay the IRS, and you’ll still have a million dollars. I, on the other hand, have gotten nothing. This is not a bad deal for you. I’m agreeing not to execute a judgment against you unless the money comes back.”

  “Is this supposed to make you feel good?” Troy’s mom asked.

  “I’m trying to be nice, Ms. White.”

  “What happened to ‘Tessa’?” she asked.

  He stood up and addressed Troy. “I’d still like you to try to help us this weekend. I know something about last chances . . . Sometimes they pay off.”

  Troy bit his lower lip and shook his head slowly. He wasn’t going to get into it with the owner because he had no idea what had happened to his special ability. He knew only that it was gone and it wasn’t coming back. Instead of saying that, he thanked the owner quietly and watched him leave the room.

  “If you’ll just sign these?” Ben Bolt handed his mom a pen. “We didn’t want to have some stranger show up at your door.”

  Troy’s mom signed the papers in a fury. She slapped the pen down and stood to go.

  “Mr. Cole doesn’t normally take this kind of time,” Bolt said.

  “Yeah.” Troy’s mom motioned to Troy that they were leaving. “He’s a real peach.”

  Troy’s mom took him to school. They rode in silence. When her phone rang, he could tell by her voice that she was talking to Seth.

  “On our way to the school, why?” she said after talking for a minute.

  Troy’s mom glanced at him as she listened. “Sure. We can meet you in the parking lot.”

  “What is it?” Troy asked.

  “He wouldn’t say. Something. Some kind of news.”

  “Good or bad? What did he sound like?”

  His mom curled her lower lip beneath her teeth. “Honestly? I have no idea.”

  Troy could barely stand it. As the school came into sight, he couldn’t help staring at the barren fields and wooded property someone had staked out with orange flags. It made him so mad that people could do something so wrong—spreading lies about Seth and destroying the football program—for money.

  Seth stood outside his parked truck with a paper in his hands. Troy barely waited for his mom to stop her car before he jumped out.

  CHAPTER NINETY-TWO

  AS HIS FACE BURST into a smile, Seth practically shouted. “The judge came through, buddy! TRO! How’d you like to play a football game tonight?”

  Troy floated through school because it all seemed like a dream. All the students, not just the football team, were buzzing with excitement, so Troy was surprised to see Chuku sitting at their lunch table with his head in his hands.

  “Chuku, what’s up? We’re playing, man.” Troy sat down beside him and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Yeah, we’re playing.” Chuku had none of his usual spark. “But you ain’t the one being singled out.”

  Troy huffed. “Yeah, but Chuku, you can’t let that drag you down. You can’t let people undo the Killer Kombo just by spreading some stupid lies. Killer Kombo is deep, right?”

  Chuku’s mouth curled at the corners. He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Killer Kombo. That’s you and me. We don’t need no one else. No chump newspaper writer or anyone else can stop Killer Kombo.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about.” Troy slapped him on the back.

  Chuku dug into his lunch and began talking now, nonstop. It was as though Troy had uncorked a bottle of noise and Chuku had to make up for lost time with some serious chatter.

  When Troy saw him between classes in the hallway, Chuku spoke so fast and so incessantly that Troy wondered how he could even catch his breath. “They can’t stop us. They can’t stop Killer Kombo. Not on the field. Not off the field. Right, Troy? Right, dawg? They can’t stop us . . .”

  Troy didn’t feel his feet hit the earth until he arrived at the locker room to dress for the game. The smell of old sweat and new mixed with the hint of plastic from the padding in his helmet brought him to the here and now. Teammates around him hooted with glee and barked out tough talk about what they’d do to the visiting team from Glen Cove. Troy didn’t know why, but all the chatter reminded him of a handful of stones banging around in the bottom of a metal trash can.

  When he went out with his team to warm up, Troy just couldn’t get his mind to focus on his throws.

  “Come on, dawg,” Chuku said after even his extraordinary leap in the air didn’t get him close enough to catch a post route Troy had overthrown. “Don’t you get distracted now. Killer Kombo is a com-bo. Right now it’s just a com. Come on, dawg, give me some bo.”

  Troy shook his head, frustrated, but continued to make one mistake after another before Seth pulled him aside.

  “What’s up?” Seth asked. “You look like a junior league backup.”

  Troy opened his mouth, but the words about bankruptcy and performance clauses and Atlanta log-jammed in his throat. “Nothing.”

  “Something. Your timing is off. Your throws look like wounded turkeys. You’re hanging your head. So tell me. What is wrong? Because I can’t have you like this if we’re going to win this game.”

  “What’s wrong?” Troy suddenly felt consumed with anger. “What isn’t wrong? Tell me that. What isn’t? This restraining order thing? Great. Good. But I’m not stupid, Seth. That judge is going to rule against us next week and it’ll be over after tonight. Up and down, back and forth. It makes me feel like puking.”

  Seth looked around before laying his arms across Troy’s shoulder pads and bringing his face so close to Troy’s that his nose touched the metal cage of Troy’s face mask. “Listen, forget all that. Let me worry about all that. I got a great lawyer and there’s still a chance. You just play.”

  Troy shook his head. Seth didn’t know that Troy felt terrible about causing Chuku so much grief by blabbing about the jerseys. Seth didn’t know about the Jets and Troy’s contract trouble, either. His mom insisted that Seth had enough to worry about without piling that onto his shoulders.

  “That’s what you keep saying, but things keep going in the wrong direction,” Troy said.

  “Are we about to play a football game?” Seth lifted his eyebrows.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not the wrong direction.”

  “I’m talking about off the field.”

  “But we’re not off the field right n
ow, are we? We’re on the field. Troy, I need you sharp.” Seth’s voice bubbled with enthusiasm. “Don’t let these people ruin it for you. Don’t let them win. You can’t. Are you with me?”

  Seth’s voice was like an updraft. It lifted Troy above his funk, like an airplane rising above the clouds.

  “Are you?” Seth shook him.

  “Yes.” He really felt it.

  “Good, let’s get us some Glen Cove Wildcats.”

  CHAPTER NINETY-THREE

  GLEN COVE WERE AS vicious as they were well coached. Their defense was simple, but they played it well, using man-to-man coverage and bringing the heat on Troy by blitzing on almost every play. By the end of the first quarter, Summit had a 14–10 lead, but on both touchdown throws, Troy had been smashed to the turf by the middle linebacker coming right up through the middle of the line.

  “You okay?” Seth had real concern in his eyes as Troy jogged to the sideline after the second touchdown pass.

  “I’m fine.” Troy didn’t hide his annoyance. He wasn’t a bird’s egg. He was a football player.

  “Okay, just asking, Troy. Great throw.” Seth turned his attention back to the field.

  The Summit defense got the ball back four plays later. After a long punt, Troy snapped on his chinstrap, got the call from Coach Sindoni, and jogged back onto the field. Chance Bryant played both ways, starting at right end on their defense and left tackle on offense. As he limped into the huddle, Troy asked him what was wrong.

  Chance clenched his teeth. “I’m good. Pulled my hammy a little, but I’m fine.”

  Troy knew, like everyone else, that Chance wouldn’t come off the field if he broke his leg, let alone pulled a muscle in it. Troy couldn’t help smiling. He loved having someone that big, strong, and tough protecting his blind side. He called the play—a drop-back pass with Chuku as the primary receiver—and took his team to the line. Troy surveyed the defense. They were blitzing their cornerback off the right-hand side. The pressure would come at a price. But without the cornerback in coverage, the safety would have to cover Chuku Moore deep all alone.

  Troy grinned and looked over at Chuku. Troy tapped the top of his helmet and made a throat-slash gesture. That told Chuku to forget the play that was called and just run deep for the end zone. Troy would do the rest. Chuku’s teeth flashed out at him through the face mask. He was on board.

  Troy barked out the cadence over the roar of the crowd. They knew that every time Troy touched the ball, a touchdown was possible and he intended to give them just that. An eleven-point lead this early in the game might just punch a hole into the balloon of Glen Cove’s spirits.

  Troy took the snap and faked a handoff to Jentry Hood. He dropped five steps and saw the blitz coming. Chuku was already closing in on the safety. Troy chortled to himself. The blitzing cornerback would never get to Troy in time. Chuku was past the safety now. Troy cocked his hips and arm, the cornerback a good five yards away.

  That’s when something hit him from behind.

  CHAPTER NINETY-FOUR

  “HEY.” TROY TRIED TO sit up. “Wow.”

  Strong hands held him down.

  “Just wait a minute,” Ms. McLean said. She squeezed his fingers. “You feel that?”

  “Sure.”

  She squeezed his toes. “Can you move your feet?”

  Troy moved his feet.

  “Does your neck hurt?”

  “No,” Troy said. “My head a little. I’m fine.”

  “Well, you’re not fine,” the trainer said. “You just took a huge shot from the blind side.”

  Panic filled Troy, but he choked it down. “I am fine. I got dinged. That’s it.”

  “Dawg, you okay?” Chuku pushed through the faces.

  “Get back in the huddle, Chuku.” Seth’s command didn’t allow for argument.

  Ms. McLean shone a light in Troy’s eyes. “Come on, let’s get him up.”

  Seth and Coach Sindoni helped him to his feet. He put one foot in front of the other and staggered just a bit.

  “Whoa.” The trainer grabbed his arm.

  “Please, I’m fine.” Troy tried to shrug her off, but she had his arm and wasn’t letting go. He walked off, intent on keeping his head held high. The crowd broke out in a polite patter of applause from both sides of the field. It made Troy want to puke.

  They led him to the bench. Behind him, a whistle blew and the game resumed. He looked over his shoulder and saw Grant Reed take a snap and hand the ball off to Jentry Hood, who ran for a first down. Troy’s mom appeared, wide-eyed and firing questions at Ms. McLean.

  The trainer tried to calm her. “He’s okay. A little dizzy maybe. I’m just being cautious.”

  “Does he have a concussion?” Troy’s mom’s voice had the shrill quality of an auto accident victim.

  “Mom, stop.” Troy looked directly at her. “I’m fine. Don’t do this.”

  Troy spoke with enough force to stop her in her tracks. She blinked and looked at the trainer.

  “I think he’s going to be all right,” Ms. McLean said.

  “He’s not going back in?” Troy’s mom raised her voice. “You don’t mean that?”

  “Please, Ms. White, let me and the doctor evaluate him.”

  Thankfully, his mom stepped back behind the bench. Troy took a seat and a doctor arrived. Together, he and Ms. McLean began to poke, prod, and question him. The doctor shone a light in his eyes. Troy did his best, aware of his mom hovering over his shoulder, and also trying to follow the progress of the game. Grant Reed dropped back and threw a pass. The ball arched up over the heads of Troy’s teammates standing on the sidelines before it came down again deep in the secondary.

  The Glen Cove crowd suddenly went wild. Troy arched his neck to see a defender sprinting down the sideline with the football. Interception, and a touchdown.

  Troy’s instincts told him that if he didn’t get back in the game they were going to lose and the whole thing would be over.

  Troy bounced up off the bench.

  “Oh, no,” Troy’s mom said. “He’s not going back in. You need to make sure he’s okay.”

  The doctor rumpled his brow and nodded. “That’s the safest course. We can do a full evaluation tomorrow morning, first thing. That way, if he’s fine, he’ll be able to play next week.”

  “Next week!” Troy shook his head. “No. I have to go in now! Mom, you can’t.”

  Seth appeared, looking worried. “How is he?”

  “I’m fine,” Troy said. “Tell her, Seth. She’s saying I can’t play. She can’t do that. Tell her.”

  “I can and I am.” Troy’s mom folded her arms. “You might have a concussion. We’re talking about your life here, Troy. Your well-being. I’m your mom.”

  “I’m fine, Mom! They said so.” Troy looked to Seth and knew by his expression that he’d get no help.

  “Doctor, will you explain this to my son?” Troy’s mom said.

  The doctor put a hand on Troy’s shoulder. “This way we’ll know for sure. It’s the safest way. If you test out fine, you’ll be ready for next week.”

  “Next week?” Troy’s voice rose to a panic. “There might not be a next week! We’ve got a perfect season going. We need to win these next two games to get into the state playoffs. That’s if we’re even allowed to play. It’s not just this game. It’s our season.”

  “Troy.” Troy’s mom growled. “Look at me. You’re done for the night. That’s final!”

  CHAPTER NINETY-FIVE

  TROY’S MOM GAVE SETH a concrete look, then walked back up into the stands.

  Seth patted Troy’s shoulder pad and told him it would all work out before he returned to the coach’s box on the sideline.

  The doctor left and Ms. McLean was called away to deal with an offensive lineman who needed her to retape his sprained ankle.

  Troy slumped down on the bench and turned his attention to the game. They’d taken his helmet away so he wouldn’t even try to go back in. It was painful to watch. Gr
ant Reed was a lousy quarterback and their defense seemed half a step away from stopping Glen Cove’s offense on every drive. As the game went on, Chuku and all the rest of Troy’s teammates came over to him to express their concern. Chuku didn’t mention the Killer Kombo, but Troy could read the doubt in his teammates’ eyes and the fear that without him, the whole thing was about to crumble. By the time the whistle blew signaling halftime, Summit was down, 31–21.

  Troy marched with the rest of the players into the team room just inside the school. The Glen Cove players filed into the visitors’ locker room a few doors down, hooting and slapping high fives and banging on the metal door as they entered the building.

  Troy found Seth and pulled him close. “You can’t keep Grant Reed as quarterback.”

  “Troy, you’re not going back in.” Seth gave his head a violent shake. “It’s not an option. Your mom makes that decision, not me. Please, don’t even talk about it. Are you okay?”

  “I’m . . . yes, I’m fine. This is ridiculous. If you can’t put me in, you’ve got to put Tomkins in. You see that, right? Reed is terrible.”

  “I know you’re sideways about him talking to the paper, but he’s better than Tomkins, Troy.” Seth kept his voice low so only Troy could hear him. “If I put Tomkins in, Reed will fold and I won’t be able to switch them back. I’ve got to try Reed in the third quarter and hope he can get something going.”

  “This is my mom being crazy.”

  “Look, it’s done. Hopefully you’ll be okayed for next week—if there is a next week.” Seth’s eyes lost their focus for a second. “I’ve got to talk to the team.”

  Seth turned to go, then stopped and put his face close again. “Troy, I know this is crazy, but . . . what do you think about predicting their plays? Have you tried?”

  Troy froze and shook his head slowly. “No. I can’t . . . it’s gone.”

  “But you didn’t try in the first half, right?”

  Behind Seth, the team was all assembled on the benches in front of the big board. The ball boys were passing out bottles of Gatorade and bananas.