The Perfect Secret

by Rob Buyea

  “Randi, I can’t believe you didn’t tell me about your new vault,” Mom said.

  “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “Well, you did. If you keep this up, that scholarship will definitely happen. We can win this thing next year.”

  I stiffened. That was Jane talking.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean that.” She grasped my hand.

  I exhaled. I hoped my winning didn’t suddenly encourage Jane. The funny thing was, with Jane, I had always been scared of failing. I never would’ve tried the harder vault. But with Mom, I wasn’t afraid anymore.

  My friends gave me more hugs and said goodbye. I thanked them for coming, and then Mom and I went back into the arena to watch some of the younger girls from my team who were getting ready to compete. We stopped and celebrated with dinner out and ice cream on our way home. I didn’t want the day to end, and once we finally made it home, it didn’t. I found a surprise waiting for me. The letter was addressed from school.

  Our destinies had changed course with the arrival of a letter just before the start of sixth grade, a letter informing us that Mrs. Woods would be filling in as our long-term substitute, a point that I had forgotten until I spotted this envelope.

  This time around the letter contained lots of boring general information, but there were two paragraphs at the end that did matter. The first paragraph thanked Mrs. Woods for her year of service, and the second introduced the permanent new hire for the sixth grade. In other words, Mrs. Woods was no longer teaching at Lake View Middle School.

  A while later our phone rang. It was Natalie, enacting the emergency phone tree. The letter was a big deal, but it wouldn’t ultimately change my life. The letter that would was still yet to come.

  NATALIE KURTSMAN

  ASPIRING LAWYER

  Kurtsman Law Offices

  BRIEF #4

  Late August: Phone Tree Emergency #1

  Mother and I spent the day inside an arena watching Randi soar to new heights in her gymnastics. She was nothing short of amazing. I do believe that if I had been any sort of serious athlete, I would’ve been envious of her, especially when she stood on that podium with all those medals draped around her neck and that large trophy in her hands. But such was not the case; I was far from being a serious athlete. Perhaps someday, but for now my prowess resided in my brain, and when I made it home later that evening, I discovered that it was time for me to put my skills to the test.

  The envelope was from school. It was reminiscent of the one that had come the previous summer. I asked Mother if I could open it, and she agreed. To the average student or community member, the contents of the letter would’ve seemed unimportant.

  “Not much here,” Mother said after reading it. (Case in point.)

  For me (not your average anything) this letter presented a serious problem, one that potentially marked the end of the road. I was not accustomed to failing, but we’d been racking our brains and still hadn’t come up with a way to get Mrs. Woods and Mrs. Magenta together in school. Now I’d learned that our efforts were all a waste of time because Mrs. Woods wasn’t even going to be at Lake View Middle School. This devastating news required immediate implementation of the emergency phone tree.

  I quietly slipped away to my bedroom, careful not to make Mother suspicious, and called Randi at once. “Did you get the letter!”

  “Hi, Natalie.”

  “Did you get the letter?” I repeated. I didn’t have time for greetings or small talk.

  “If you’re talking about the one from school, yes. I just read it.”

  “This is serious, Randi. How are we ever going to get Mrs. Woods and Mrs. Magenta together if we can’t do it at the Senior Center or at school?”

  “Natalie, we just got the news. Calm down and give yourself time to think. We’ll come up with something.”

  We kept telling ourselves that, but so far we had nothing. “We need to carry out the phone tree,” I said. “We need everyone focused on this so we can come up with a plan as soon as possible. You heard Gavin; we’re running out of time.”

  “I’ll call Trevor.”

  “Good….And, Randi, you were great today.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  After we hung up, I sat there looking down at the phone I held in my hand. I had another call to make, and it wasn’t to one of the Recruits.

  This thought had been swimming around in my head all summer; it surfaced only every so often. Whenever that happened, I always told myself it was a silly idea and pushed it back under. But things had changed this afternoon.

  Following Randi’s awards ceremony, she and her mom had stayed at the arena to watch some of Randi’s teammates compete, so Mother had volunteered to give Gavin a ride home. (Trevor and Scott had gone with Mark.) Gavin had very politely thanked Mother for the ride when we’d pulled into his driveway, and then he’d turned to me and said, “See you later, Kurtsman.”

  “Goodbye,” I’d responded.

  Mother had waited before leaving, to make certain he got inside. As I’d been watching Gavin walk toward his house, Mrs. Davids had suddenly stepped out onto their front porch and waved to us—a gesture of thanks. Gavin’s little sister had been under her arm. That was the first time I saw the woman who couldn’t read English. She was very pretty. And the little girl by her side was adorable. Gavin’s sister shot an arrow through my heart when she smiled and waved at me; all at once that silly idea that had been swimming around in my head jumped clear out of the water, yelling at me. It was no longer just a thought. This idea had morphed into a goal.

  I knew the phone number. I had looked it up earlier but hadn’t had the courage to call then. That little girl had changed everything. I hit the numbers and let the phone ring. Gavin’s mother answered.

  “Hello, Mrs. Davids. This is Natalie Kurtsman.”

  Kurtsman was in the dumps over the letter about Woods not being around. I agreed that the news stunk, but I was still psyched about the start of school ’cause that also meant the start of football. Being so close to the thing I’d been wanting for as long as I could remember had me feeling restless. I was having a hard time sleeping at night. Not even my audiobooks could do the trick.

  It was our final visit to the Senior Center before seventh grade kicked off. I was excited to see Coach and take any last-minute advice he had for me. He’d already shared so much wisdom, but I wasn’t going to be surprised if he’d saved something important for that afternoon. If my team coaches turned out to be half as smart as him, then I’d be on my way to the Hall of Fame after my rookie season.

  Course, I wasn’t the only one feeling excited. Scott was so pumped about his role as stats man that he was determined to learn as much as he could about the game. To tell you the truth, when I first heard about the idea, I didn’t think it stood a chance. But Scott’s brain was incredible at absorbing information, and between his research and his sessions with Coach, he’d turned into a mini-encyclopedia of football plays. Just like for every other visit we’d had over the summer, he came ready to talk about some new plays. But we only had a few minutes to talk shop ’cause Trevor and Mark were done with their project, and the afternoon’s big event was the unveiling of their newly renovated TV lounge.

  Scott didn’t waste those precious minutes. He jumped right in with Coach. When that kid had his mind set on doing something, he was unstoppable. He didn’t even take time to talk to his grandpa first.

  “Coach, I want to go over—”

  “Junior, never mind plays,” Coach said, holding up his hand. “It’s not how many you have in the arsenal that matters but how well you can get the boys to run the ones you do have. You understand?”

  I did.

  Scott nodded. “Better to be great at a few than poor at a lot,” he said.

  “That’s right!” Coach hollered. “You�
��re ready. You’re both ready.” He gave his assistant a nod.

  “Sit down, boys,” Grandpa said, taking over. “Coach and I would like to give you something before this football season starts.” He pulled a bag from behind the chair and passed it to Coach.

  “Junior, every stats man needs one of these,” Coach said, handing Scott a deluxe clipboard. It was the kind that opens so you can store your notebook and pens inside. It sure was fancy.

  “And a hat,” Grandpa added, sticking a brand-new Lake View Middle School cap on Scott’s head. It was yellow, with a black emblem of our Warriors mascot on the front. I’d have to help him adjust it so it didn’t look dorky, but that could wait till later. I wasn’t gonna ruin the moment.

  Just saying thank you wasn’t enough for Scott. He gave his grandpa a hug, and then he hugged Coach like it was Christmas morning. That was a play that caught Coach off guard and had me and Grandpa laughing.

  “Gavin,” Grandpa said, handing me a shoebox. “This is for you.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  I held the box on my lap and opened it. I didn’t see anything at first ’cause tissue paper covered up whatever was in there. I moved the paper, and then I found it. I lifted out the hand towel. I knew exactly what it was for.

  “A quarterback can have a great arm, Valentine, but he also needs to be able to grip the ball on those bad-weather days,” Coach said.

  “What is it?” Scott asked.

  “My quarterback towel,” I said. “I tuck it inside my pants so that it hangs down in front of me like this”—I showed him—“and then I can wipe and dry my hands before taking the snap,” I explained.

  “Oh,” Scott said. “What’s EW?”

  I looked to where he was pointing and saw the letters EW embroidered at the bottom of my towel. “I don’t know. What’s EW, Coach?”

  No response. Coach’s eyes had glossed over.

  “Maybe it stands for ‘Everyday Winner,’ ” Grandpa said, patting me on the shoulder.

  I nodded. That was a nice try, but probably not the real answer. “Thank you,” I said again.

  “You boys are welcome,” Grandpa said. “Coach and I are looking forward to coming to your games.”

  “We’ll make you proud,” Scott said. “Wait till you see Gavin scoring touchdowns with the plays we’ve been going over—”

  “I hate to break up your party,” Magenta interrupted, “but it’s time to gather in the lounge for Trevor and Mark’s big reveal.”

  “See what we got,” Scott said, showing off his presents.

  “Very nice,” she replied. But the second Magenta saw what I was holding, she gasped. Shaky fingers covered her lips. She glanced at her father, but Coach’s eyes were still glossed over. Then she looked back at me with glassy eyes and gave me the softest smile. “You’ve got to get to the lounge now,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’ll stay here with Coach.”

  I rubbed the letters on my towel.

  “Let’s go, boys,” Grandpa said, placing one hand on my shoulder and the other on Scott’s, nudging us forward. “Mrs. Magenta will keep an eye on Coach. He’ll be okay.”

  I followed Grandpa and Scott out of the room. I wasn’t worrying about Coach. It was Magenta who had me confused. What was the story with my towel? ’Cause I was pretty sure EW didn’t stand for “Everyday Winner.”

  We still weren’t done with everything in the lounge, but we were finally ready to share our improvements with everyone at the Senior Center. When you only get a few hours here and there, a project like ours can take a while—especially when things happened that you weren’t counting on. Like when we were all set to mount the speakers and found out we needed to predrill holes for the screws, but we didn’t have any drill bits. That forced us to make a trip to the hardware store with Mrs. Ruggelli. There were a few of those headaches along the way, but we didn’t let it stop us. Mrs. Ruggelli was so impressed with what Mark and I had accomplished that she got a sign made—COMMUNITY THEATER—to hang on the wall outside the room.

  “You boys make a great team,” she said. “You’ve transformed this dinky TV lounge into a theater. The residents are going to love what you’ve done.”

  She was right. You should’ve heard the old folks when they came in to check the place out for the first time.

  “Well, by golly, that’s a TV that I can see!” one old guy exclaimed.

  “Is that what that man’s voice has always sounded like? I could never hear it before,” someone else said.

  “Did he change his hair color?” the woman wearing the lime-colored nightgown asked.

  “No,” Eddie answered. “His hair has always been white. I’ve seen pictures of him in the tabloids. The old TV made it look pink, that’s all.”

  Mark looked over at me and we laughed.

  After we had everyone settled, I gave them the rundown on things. I showed them how the remotes worked and explained the surround sound to them. I realized this could be confusing, especially to older people, so we had typed up directions and had them posted on the walls and even stuck on the backs of the remotes. When I got done talking, Mark turned the volume up as a demonstration, and then everyone got really excited. “Whoa!” they squealed, and giggled.

  Next we showed them the cards we’d laminated that listed all of the TV stations, similar to what you see in hotel rooms. That seemed like a silly thing, but the oldies thought it was great. And last, we showed them the movies we had stored in their new cabinet. Boy, did their eyes light up then. We explained these were DVDs, not tapes anymore, and pointed to the DVD player.

  “Put one in,” someone yelled from the back.

  “What do you want?” I asked.

  “Anything,” several voices answered.

  I looked at Mark and shrugged. He grabbed one of the old John Wayne flicks we’d gotten on sale and popped it in. The oldies loved it.

  “Guys, this is awesome,” Randi said, coming over to us. “I can’t believe you knew how to do all this.”

  “We still need to get a popcorn machine,” Mark complained, “but don’t tell Scott. I’m not sure he could handle that.”

  “I don’t think you need to worry about Scott,” Randi said, pointing.

  The kid was sitting crisscross applesauce like a kindergartner in the middle of the floor, completely fascinated by the black-and-white western. I scanned the room. The oldies were in heaven. I spotted Gavin standing against the far wall, and he gave me a thumbs-up.

  “Look how happy they are,” Natalie whispered. “If we could just find a way to do that for Mrs. Woods and Mrs. Magenta…”

  “We will,” I said. Don’t ask me where that positive attitude came from, because I sure didn’t have it when talking about my parents or my brother, but I wanted to say something to make Natalie feel better. I didn’t like seeing her sad.

  She looked at me. “I hope so.”

  Leaving that afternoon, Mark and I felt really good about what we had pulled off. Mrs. Ruggelli was right; we did make a great team. It was like Mr. Allen had said in his speech at the beginning of sixth grade last year, “If you want to do well in school and in life, you’ve got to surround yourself with the right people. In other words, choose your friends wisely.” Back then that had been stupid principal talk and nothing more, but I couldn’t stop thinking about his words now. I’d chosen wisely, but Brian hadn’t. What was he doing hanging out with Chris? And why did I even care?

  I was up before the sun on the day that football started. I knew a lot about the game now, but not much about how sign-ups and practice worked, so I called Gavin and got a ride with him. I didn’t want to go alone. Mom had the same advice for me she always did. “Stay out of trouble and be a good boy.” I gave her a quick hug, grabbed my deluxe clipboard, and ran out the door.

  There was already a bunch of kids in the gym when
Gavin and I walked in. Trevor and Mark must’ve gotten there right before us, because they were at the end of the line. We joined them.

  Mark’s eyes almost popped out of his head when he saw me. “Dude, you’re playing football?”

  “No. I’m here because I’m going to be the team’s stats man,” I explained. “It was Coach’s idea.”

  “Cool,” Trevor said.

  Gavin pulled the brim of my Warriors cap down, but I saw all the guys smiling after I fixed it. This was going to be the best season ever.

  “Name?” the big coach said when it was my turn at the registration table.

  “Scott Mason,” I said. “What’s your name?”

  The big man studied me. “A jokester, huh? We’ll see if you’re laughing when I get done with you.” He wasn’t smiling. “I’m Coach Holmes, and that’s Coach Frazier,” he said, pointing to the man operating the scale. “What grade are you in, Scott Mason?”

  “Seventh.”

  “Got your forms?”

  I opened my deluxe clipboard and pulled out the necessary permission and information papers. This present that Coach and Grandpa had given me was already working out great.

  “Hop on the scale,” Coach Holmes said. Coach Frazier recorded my weight, and Coach Holmes snickered. “What position you trying out for, lightweight?”

  “Stats man,” I answered.

  “What?”

  “I’d like to be the team’s stats man,” I said. “I’ll keep track of all the plays we run and help you and Coach Frazier analyze the information. I’m very good at that.”

  “Ha!” Coach Holmes slapped the table. “You hear that, Frazier? Kid wants to help us analyze the stats. Ha!”

  Coach Frazier laughed along with him. I stood there waiting, because I was going to be the stats man, and that was it. Coach Holmes wiped his face and turned back to me. “We could use a water boy,” he said. “And with muscles like yours, I’d say that’s the perfect job for you. See those bottles over there? Go fill them up in the locker room and get them out to the field in time for practice.”