Perfect Season

by Tim Green

  Troy let the question hang. He had them all. It was delicious. “Malice, that’s why. Money. Greed. Malice. It’s called Maple Creek. It’s a development company that he’s getting paid by. It’s a payoff to ruin the football program so the school tears down the stadium and Maple Creek gets to build its shopping center. It’s all there, in the town records, and when you look at Maple Creek’s records, you’ll see the payoff.”

  The league director’s red face had gone purple, and he appealed to the judge. “That’s not evidence. That’s not proof.”

  The judge turned to Ellen, but he was talking to Troy. “You do need to show proof, Ms. Eagen.”

  Ellen looked at Troy.

  Troy pointed again, this time right at the tall man’s face. “There’s your proof. Look at him. Look at his face.”

  The tall man had lost all color. Alarm bells rang in his eyes.

  He scowled at Troy and marched toward the door. “I don’t have to be here. If you have questions for me, talk to my lawyer.”

  The door banged behind him.

  The judge stared at the door, blinking. “Oh, trust me. I will . . . I will.”

  Then the judge turned his attention to the league director and his lawyers. “Well, gentlemen? In light of that display, I’m inclined to allow Ms. Eagen and her client some time to look into these records. Or maybe you’d like to concede, given the scandal that seems likely to result and your undeniable connection to it?”

  Ratachecz lost all his color and he leaned into a little huddle with his lawyers, whispering before clearing his throat. “I think we’ll drop the suspension, your honor. Given the . . . unusual demeanor of Mr. Sommes.”

  “Excellent.” The judge continued to scowl at the league’s director. “I also think it would be appropriate, Mr. Ratachecz, for the league to apologize to Chuku Moore and his father. While Mr. Halloway is used to the rough-and-tumble ways of the media, Chuku is a young man who got dragged into this mess by your misplaced . . . enthusiasm, should I say?”

  Ratachecz swallowed, then looked at Chuku and his dad. “The league apologizes to you, Mr. Moore, and to you, too, Chuku.”

  Chuku’s smile returned and he nodded without ill will, even though his dad couldn’t seem to erase his own look of disgust.

  “Well done.” The judge smiled, raised his gavel, and banged it down. “Court rules in favor of the plaintiff.”

  The judge then turned to Seth. “Good luck with your perfect season. I hope you win Friday night.”

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND NINE

  THEY STOOD, ALL OF them, in a little huddle outside the judge’s chambers. Troy leaned close to Tate to whisper. “Did that all just happen?”

  She smiled and pinched him. “It’s no dream.”

  Even Chuku and his dad stood silent and dazed.

  Seth suddenly laughed like a crazy man.

  The rest of them looked at him with wonder.

  He stopped. “I’m sorry. I just can’t shake the feeling. I was on the kickoff-return team my rookie year. We were playing the Raiders and the kick went short. I scooped it up and started to run. They hit me so fast from so many different directions I had no idea what was happening. Thank God I was near the sideline because I got knocked out of bounds and the ball went flying out of my hands and my teammates helped me up and I had no idea where I even was.”

  Troy shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

  “That’s what I feel like right now,” Seth said. “It’s exactly the same. I don’t even know what really just happened.” He laughed again and said, “Well, not exactly. This time it feels great!”

  Troy’s mom put her arms around him and Seth. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TEN

  IN THE LOCKER ROOM on Friday night little fits of nervous laughter erupted here and there, only to be swallowed up by the quiet rip and tear of tape being wrapped and torn, wrapped and torn, as players bound their joints against injury. Troy tied his cleats, then tied them again, only tighter. Nerves tangled his breath so that his lungs stuttered as they filled and emptied. He pulled shoulder pads over his head and laced them tight as well.

  Chuku bounced and bobbed next to him, the music from his iPhone leaking into the stuffy, sweat-heavy air. He held out a fist for Troy to bump, then grinned ear to ear. Troy knew that’s how Chuku rolled. He was back to himself. Bold. Bring the swagger. Killer Kombo.

  Grant Reed looked over to Troy and gave him a thumbs-up.

  Chance Bryant suddenly bellowed and smashed the meat of his fist into his own locker. “We’re gonna crush these guys!”

  The whole team followed their captain’s cue. The noise grew and grew, until it was a steady roar that could be stopped only by Seth’s whistle. Its shriek brought an eerie silence to the locker room again, and Troy became more aware of the sweaty leather stench of pads, gloves, and cleats.

  Seth stood on the bench near the door. “All right. This is it. This is what we’ve been working for. Captains, lead them out.”

  Troy got up near the front of the line, a double column snaking across the parking lot, down the concrete steps, through the fence, and out around the field, where they waited beneath the goal posts.

  Rain lashed the field so that tufts of moisture rose up from the turf like smoke beneath the white stadium lights. In the stands, the Summit fans braved the weather in bright-colored parkas, rain gear, and a smattering of umbrellas strong enough not to be flipped inside out by the wind.

  Summit took the field with a war cry. Warm-ups were crisp, despite the rain. Troy felt a fire burning inside him. Chuku seemed to fly through the air. It was a thing of beauty, like Cirque du Soleil, part circus, part gymnastics, part Russian ballet, and all the while that brilliant smile flashing right out through the bars of his face mask. Troy’s other receivers, Levi and Spencer, and his running back, Jentry, dropped only a few, but Troy knew the weather would wear on their hands and the ball as the game went on.

  They assembled in the team room for Seth’s pregame speech. It was brief.

  “This is yours,” Seth said. “It belongs to you . . . a perfect season, and the gateway to the state playoffs. Now . . . GO GET IT!”

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND ELEVEN

  TROY AND HIS TEAMMATES played their hearts out, but Montclair was undefeated as well, and they had a defense built on speed. That, and the conditions, took a big bite out of the Summit passing game. Troy had been right about the weather. By the time the fourth quarter rolled around, every other pass was being dropped, and Troy’s team trailed by three, with only 1:22 remaining in the game. They had no time-outs left because they’d used them to stop the clock while Montclair still had the ball. Troy and the offense would take over on their own forty-seven-yard line. Seth gathered the offense in a huddle on the sideline.

  “Fifty-three yards, guys.” The rain had plastered Seth’s hair to his head, but his eyes burned with a fire that couldn’t be extinguished. “Fifty-three yards between you and a perfect season.”

  Seth looked around and bared his teeth like a wolf on the prowl. “Think about all the things against you guys. The other teams—heh—think about the people off the field, the lawyers, the judges, the politicians, and now this.”

  Seth raised his eyes and blinked at the pouring rain. “It couldn’t get much tougher than this, but I know you guys. I’ve seen you work, and I’ve seen you keep going, no matter what falls in front of you. So this is it. Don’t you quit! Don’t you dare quit! You go get me a touchdown right here, right now, and it’s a night you’ll remember for the rest of your lives.”

  Seth put a dripping fist into the air. The team held up their own fists.

  “Perfect season, on three,” Seth shouted. “One, two, three . . .”

  “PERFECT SEASON!”

  Troy and the offense raced out onto the field, a battle cry tearing up their throats. Troy already knew the play from Coach Sindoni. He called it out and broke the huddle. Across the line, the Montclair defenders t
rembled like caged tigers aching to be let loose. Troy took the snap and dropped back. The offensive line bowed and broke, and Troy stood strong, waiting until the last instant before firing the ball and then being hammered into the turf.

  The crowd cheered and Troy knew Chuku had caught his pass. He struggled to his feet, and Jentry Hood ran down the field toward the place where Chuku had been tackled at the thirty-five. The chains were reset and the clock began to run: 1:14, 1:13, 1:12 . . .

  Troy waved his hands at Coach Sindoni, who signaled another play. Troy got everyone set, shouting instructions through the rain and wind. He got under center, took the snap, and rolled to his right. The rush came fast and the cornerback blitzed off the edge. Troy dodged him and fired downfield to Spencer, but the ball—wet now and slick—flew wildly from Troy’s hand and sailed too high over Spencer’s head.

  At least the incomplete pass stopped the clock at :56.

  Coach Sindoni signaled another pass play. Troy gritted his teeth and called the play, knowing every pass would be a crapshoot. They went to the line. He took the snap, faked a run, and dropped straight back. The only receiver open was Levi on a twelve-yard crossing route. Troy fired. Levi caught it but was tackled immediately, so the clock kept running.

  Troy scrambled to the line, took the snap, and fired the ball into the turf, stopping the clock at :39. His next pass was dropped. On third down, before Troy could even set his feet, the defensive tackle was on him, slinging him down. Troy popped up off the turf, knowing that the clock would now continue to run.

  It was fourth down.

  They had fifteen yards to go for a first down, and twenty-three for the touchdown. The clock read :28 and it was running down. Troy waved his hand frantically and watched the flutter of Coach Sindoni’s hands as he signaled the play, Alaska. Troy shouted at the top of his lungs and got everyone lined up. The clock read :17. All four receivers would run straight for the first down and stop. It was up to Troy to choose the uncovered man.

  Troy looked out over the defense as they, too, scrambled into their positions. He knew what they were going to do without even thinking—man-to-man coverage with a single free safety. The two outside linebackers would come hard on a blitz. The clock read :11. He took the snap and dropped back. The blitzing linebackers streaked upfield and the right tackle missed his block.

  The linebacker blazed straight for Troy.

  CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND TWELVE

  TIME SLOWED DOWN FOR Troy, as it sometimes did.

  Maybe this time it had something to do with the game clock, running out of time, down to :00, so that time took on a new dimension.

  While everything around him seemed to be moving in slow motion, his mind ran at a different, higher speed. He had a floating sensation, as if he got to watch things from above. He ducked under the linebacker and spun in the opposite direction, running clear of the pocket and buying some precious moments. Looking out over the defenders in coverage and his own receivers, he saw a pattern emerge. At the rate and direction of the bodies in front of him, he knew an opening would appear like the long hallway in a maze of rooms, not a passing lane, but one to run in.

  Troy took off, straight up the middle of the field.

  From the sideline, he actually heard the shouts of grief from the coaches on the sideline, and the collective gasp of the people in the stands.

  It was all or nothing.

  Troy would either score or the game would end. A smile broke onto his face as the first defender realized he was coming, spun, and fell in the tangle of his own legs. Troy hurdled him like a yard shrub. Shouts erupted from the defenders, alerting each other like a troop of baboons chasing down easy prey.

  They reversed field and converged on Troy. He dodged one and ducked another. Chuku flashed past, taking out one defender with a bone-crunching block. The white flat band of the goal line gleamed up at him, just five yards away, when he pulled up short. The last defender flew through the air, launched like a deadly missile, grazing Troy’s shoulder pads but flying past. Troy pumped his legs and dove, just as two more defenders caught him from behind. As he fell, he stretched out his arms with the ball clamped firmly in his hands.

  He crashed to the turf. The air left his frame. Time jarred back into place and everything—the cheers, the boos, the hollering, and the torrential rain—all boiled around him, slamming back into place at full speed.

  Gulping and gasping, he rolled over and looked up.

  The ref stood above him, looking down, his face a puzzle.

  Troy gulped.

  The ref gathered himself and his hands shot up together toward the inky sky.

  Touchdown.

  Troy rose up and swallowed the storm of hugs and slaps and cheering. Chuku’s bright grin lit up the night and his eyes sparkled as their metal face masks kissed. Chance roared with laughter and pounded Troy’s back. Grant Reed howled like a wolf gone mad as he took Troy’s hand in his own to shake and raise. Somehow Seth appeared in the middle of it all, roaring with delight. Everyone fell back so that Seth could wrap his arms around Troy’s waist and raise him to the sky.

  “Troy! Troy! Troy! We did it! We did it! We did it!” Seth spun Troy around, bellowing right in his face.

  Troy laughed and cried and shook with joy.

  It was . . . perfect.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  TIM GREEN, for many years a star defensive end with the Atlanta Falcons, is a man of many talents. He’s the author of such gripping books for adults as the New York Times bestselling The Dark Side of the Game and American Outrage. Tim graduated covaledictorian from Syracuse University and was a first-round draft pick. He later earned his law degree with honors, and he has also worked as an NFL commentator for FOX Sports and NPR.

  His first book for young readers, Football Genius, inspired in part by his players and his own kids, became a New York Times bestseller and was followed by Football Hero, Football Champ, The Big Time, and Deep Zone. He drew on his experiences playing and coaching Little League for Rivals and Pinch Hit and two more New York Times bestsellers: Baseball Great and Best of the Best.

  Bestselling author Jon Scieszka called Tim Green’s Unstoppable, a book about a boy’s struggle with cancer that debuted at #2 on the New York Times bestseller list, “Absolutely heroic. And something every guy should read.”

  Tim Green lives with his wife, Illyssa, and their five children in upstate New York.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  ALSO BY TIM GREEN

  FOOTBALL GENIUS NOVELS

  Football Genius

  Football Hero

  Football Champ

  The Big Time

  Deep Zone

  Perfect Season

  BASEBALL GREAT NOVELS

  Baseball Great

  Rivals

  Best of the Best

  AND DON’T MISS

  Pinch Hit

  Force Out

  Unstoppable

  BACK AD

  CREDITS

  Cover art © 2013 by Cliff Nielsen

  Cover design by Cara E. Petrus

  COPYRIGHT

  Perfect Season: A Football Genius Novel

  Copyright © 2013 by Tim Green

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  www.harpercollinschildrens.com

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  ISBN 978-0-06-220869-9

  EPUB Edition JULY 2013 ISBN 9780062208712

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