Sanford gave the all-time parent non-answer answer. “We’ll see.” Then he turned to Shawn. “How about you, Shawn? You want to enter?”
Shawn shook his head. “Peter and Alex for sure. But me? Not so much.”
Sanford looked disappointed. “You seem to be having fun tonight.”
It is true, Shawn thought. I am having fun. But I am no SuperFan. Not even close.
“Well, you’re allowed to change your mind,” Sanford told him.
Shawn nodded. “Got it, Dad.”
If Peter or Alex entered, he’d do everything he could to help them. But tonight was a onetime thing. No way was he joining the WWE Universe.
No way.
CHAPTER THREE
The morning after the Raw show, Shawn slept until nine. Peter was still asleep when Shawn woke up, got dressed, and quietly left their room.
The Reynolds family lived in a small, white-frame ranch house with just two bedrooms, a living room, dining room, and kitchen. Compared to other kids he knew, the house wasn’t much, and Sanford did all the work on it himself. In fact, the day before Raw, Shawn had helped his dad repair his bedroom’s drop ceiling. Between Carla’s librarian job and Sanford’s work for the city recreation department, they couldn’t exactly afford a contractor.
When he came into the kitchen, Shawn wasn’t surprised to see his mom. She had Tuesdays off; it was the day she generally read a few of the new teen books that publishers sent by mail even before the books went on the library shelves. She always said that parents and librarians needed to read everything that their kids were reading.
Today, though, his dad was at the table, too. Weird. Usually Sanford had to be at work by nine. Was he sick? Shawn’s folks were just sitting there, cups of coffee and cell phones in front of them.
Shawn suddenly got a terrible feeling. The last time he’d walked into a scene like this, his grandfather in Chicago had passed away overnight. “Is everything okay?”
His father shifted, his eyes weary. “Everyone’s healthy. That’s the most important thing.”
That was another parent-type non-answer, and Shawn knew it. “Just tell me,” Shawn pleaded. “Tell me what happened!”
His father frowned; his mom put a comforting hand on his arm. “Go ahead, Sanford. It’s who you are,” she told him in the Southern drawl she’d never lost since her childhood in North Carolina.
It’s who you are . . .
“Okay, Shawn,” his dad agreed. “Then I want you to try to enjoy your vacation.” He pointed toward his cell phone. “You know how even though I’m not a full-time soldier anymore, I’m still part of the army?”
Shawn nodded, though he was starting to get a hollow feeling in his stomach. “That’s why you train for a weekend every month. It’s called the reserve, right?”
“Right,” Sanford declared. “We reservists are here if the army needs us.” He hesitated. “Well, they decided they needed my unit. We’re being deployed. To Afghanistan. I’m sorry.”
Deployed? To Afghanistan?
“When do you leave?”
“Friday.”
Oh no. Shawn always knew this was possible, but it had never happened before.
“We’ll talk more later,” Carla told Shawn. “I’m sure you have a lot of questions.”
His mother was right. Shawn had plenty of questions. “Will you have to write us letters by hand?”
His dad’s laugh was genuine. “It’s not like in old movies. I’ll be able to e-mail at the base. Maybe even Skype. You’ll get so much e-mail you’ll be sick of me.”
“I think that’s unlikely, Sanford,” his mother commented dryly as tears welled in her steel-gray eyes.
I can’t cry. That’s not what Dad needs now, he told himself.
Normally when Shawn was feeling down, he liked to play his guitar. But he didn’t want to wake Peter. So he told his folks that he was walking over to Alex’s and fled.
Ten minutes later, Shawn was with Alex in the Garcias’ lovely family room. Though Alex lived close by, his house was a lot bigger than Shawn’s place. Alex’s dad ran a printing business while his mom—an amazing cook—did party catering.
The Garcias were upset to learn that Sanford was being deployed. After promising to help Shawn’s mom any way that she could, Mrs. Garcia suggested that the best thing for Shawn to do was to keep things as normal as possible for Peter.
“I can help, too!” Alex turned to his mom. “But can we use the computer now? To find out the rules for SuperFan?”
“You haven’t looked them up?” Shawn was surprised.
“The Internet’s been down since last night! It’s the worst! I still can’t believe you were there. It was the best Raw ever! Rey Mysterio’s gonna mess up CM Punk when he comes back. Maybe if I’m the SuperFan, I’ll be there for it!” Alex was his usual mass of enthusiasm.
Mrs. Garcia gave Alex permission to log on, so Alex went to the computer while she sat with her laptop on the couch.
“Oh yeah!” Alex exclaimed. “We’re back online! Whoa! Check out the WWE website! It’s all SuperFan, all the time!”
Shawn peered over Alex’s shoulder. Alex wasn’t kidding. The WWE home page featured a continuous video replay of Mr. McMahon’s big announcement.
“What are the rules?” Shawn asked. “Can Peter enter?”
Alex clicked on a button and shook his head. “Nope. Gotta be between eleven and thirteen.”
Shawn frowned. Peter would be bummed. Well, maybe next year.
“There’s an online application a parent needs to submit. They want you to upload a video explaining why you should be chosen. They’re bringing four finalists to Atlanta for WrestleMania weekend in April.” Alex turned to Shawn. “It’s a total piece of cake! I should definitely win!”
“Can I see that?” Shawn asked.
“Sure! You aren’t thinking about entering, are you?”
Alex got up. Shawn leaned in toward the monitor to check out the rules. You needed to be strong, dedicated, and a person who cared about your community. If you were a finalist, you’d be assigned a mentor from WWE who would help you prepare for the finals.
“I’m so winning this,” Alex said confidently, not waiting for Shawn’s answer.
Shawn barely heard his friend. The first germ of an idea was starting to form.
Nowhere did it say that the SuperFan had to be a lifelong WWE fan. In fact, nowhere did it say you had to be part of the WWE Universe to enter. That didn’t mean you’d win, of course, but it didn’t stop you from entering.
Huh.
Shawn thought about how his father would soon be in Afghanistan. He was going because it was the right thing to do for his country. Maybe there was something Shawn could do because it was the right thing to do, too. Not for himself. For his dad.
CHAPTER FOUR
Alex tossed Shawn a white Flip video camera. “Film me. Keep an eye on the clock. This can’t be longer than a minute. Not one second longer!”
Shawn nodded. He and Alex had fooled around with the camera a ton of times, so he knew how to use it. “Don’t you want to write something out?”
“Nah. I’ll wing it. What I miss in prep, I’ll make up in enthusiasm. Check it out!” Shawn watched as Alex positioned himself on his bed directly in front of a Rey Mysterio poster—his whole room was a shrine to WWE. Then Alex gave Shawn a sign to start filming.
“Hi, WWE Universe,” Alex began. “I’m Alex Garcia, and no one loves the WWE like I do. No one! Look!”
Alex did a thirty-second guided tour of his room as Shawn followed and filmed. “Choose me as SuperFan, and I’ll make the WWE proud. Six-one-nine!” Alex finished with Rey Mysterio’s signature chant and then thrust his arms overhead in a victory pose.
“Good one,” Shawn told him as he stopped the recording. Then he made a decision: If he shot a video of his own, he didn’t have to enter SuperFan. But he’d have it just in case.
He tossed the Flip camera to his friend. “Now me,” he said quie
tly.
“What?!”
“I said, now me,” Shawn repeated.
Alex look at him, his jaw slack. Then he whooped. “Shawn’s gonna enter! I can’t believe it! Shawn’s gonna enter!”
Shawn sat on the bed, embarrassed. “I’m not sure if I will. But I might. It would mean a lot to my dad.”
“Then start talking before you change your mind!”
He pointed the Flip camera at Shawn, who had no idea what to say. “This could take a while, Alex. Like, till we get our driver’s licenses.”
“Shawn? Shut up and talk.”
Shawn nodded, then sat back on Alex’s bed and started to talk. Well, not exactly. He sat for three full seconds of silence before he began.
“Hi.” He gave a little wave. “My name is Shawn Reynolds, I’m from Columbia, Missouri, and this is my video for SuperFan. I’m not even sure I am going to enter. The truth is, I hated WWE until last night, when I went to a Raw show for my little brother’s birthday. The truth is, if my father wasn’t going to Afghanistan at the end of the week, I don’t think I would even think about entering. The truth is, he’s a huge WWE fan. I’m not. The truth is, until last night, I didn’t really know the difference between John Cena and Sheamus or CM Punk and Rey Mysterio. But I want to make my dad happy, even though the truth is I’m a pretty cruddy athlete. All I can say is that if you pick me, I’ll be just like a lot of other kids out there. Probably even most kids out there. We’re not the greatest, but we’re us.”
Shawn glanced at the clock. Fifteen seconds to go, but he had nothing more to say.
“That’s it,” he added. “Oh! If you don’t pick me, pick my friend Alex Garcia.”
“Great,” Alex declared as he shut down the camera. “Especially the last line. Let’s show this to my mom and then tell your dad what’s going on. He’ll be so psyched!”
“No!” Shawn’s reaction was immediate.
“No? Why not?”
“Because, I told you before, I’m not sure if I’m going to enter! And if I do, I want this to be the best surprise my dad has ever gotten.”
CHAPTER FIVE
“Morning, Shawnie. Time to get up.”
Shawn opened his eyes slowly to see his father sitting at the foot of his bed in his uniform. The sight brought the reality of the day crashing down.
It was three days later. Friday. The day his dad was leaving. The family would drive him to the army base outside St. Louis. From there, his dad would fly to Bagram Airfield near Kabul, Afghanistan. And from there? Shawn tried not to think about that part.
“Got it,” Shawn told his dad. He glanced at Peter’s empty bed. “Where’s Peter?”
“Helping your mom make breakfast. Which, as you know, is no help at all.” Peter’s lack of skill in the kitchen was another running family joke. No one could make less edible food and leave a worse mess. “Come on, champ. Up you go.”
His dad lifted him to his feet. At the Raw show in St. Louis, Sanford had bought Peter and Shawn some WWE gear. In honor of his father’s departure, Shawn had worn a John Cena T-shirt and boxers to sleep.
Sanford laughed appreciatively. “Nice look. Cena would be proud.”
Now is the time to decide. Now.
All week, Shawn had tried to choose whether to enter SuperFan or not. Would his father be impressed, or would he think it was a dumb ploy to make him feel better before he went to Afghanistan? Shawn didn’t know. With Alex’s help, though, he’d filled out an entry form and saved it to a flash drive. All Shawn would need to do was log on, cut and paste the information, upload the video, and have his dad sign off.
“Can we stop at the computer?” Shawn asked. “There’s something I want to check out.”
“After we eat,” Sanford said a bit sternly as they stepped into the hallway. Shawn knew that his dad hated electronics before breakfast.
“It kind of can’t wait. Please?”
His father raised his eyebrows. “It can’t wait?”
“It can’t wait.”
“Fair enough,” Sanford agreed. “Five minutes.”
The family computer was in the living room. It was far older than Alex’s, with a corded mouse. Shawn found it already booted up. Carla usually started her day by checking e-mail. Her American Library Association coffee cup sat by the mouse pad.
“I’ll miss that cup,” Sanford mused as Shawn slid into the battered black chair.
Shawn plugged in his flash drive and then clicked the video file. He’d named the file “Mickey Mouse” in case his parents found it by accident.
“We’re watching a cartoon?” Sanford asked.
“Not exactly,” Shawn responded.
A moment later, his entry video filled the screen, starting with the three silent seconds as he tried to figure out what to say. Then Shawn heard his own voice and saw the little wave he gave to the camera.
“Hi. My name is Shawn Reynolds, I’m from Columbia, Missouri, and this is my video for Super Fan. ”
“Oh my god, you entered!” Sanford exclaimed.
He watched his dad watching the whole thing until the clip ended and the screen went blank. Shawn closed the media player before he looked up. Oh no. Sanford was frowning.
“Is it okay?” Shawn asked, his voice small.
“It is okay?” His father repeated his words. “Is it okay? My eldest son enters SuperFan. On his entry video he doesn’t lie and say he’s this big WWE fan. He says he doesn’t know the difference between Cena and Sheamus. But he enters, anyway. For me.”
Sanford Reynolds was a tough guy. Shawn remembered how three years ago, they’d been in the family car when a careless driver smacked them on the driver’s side. His dad’s arm had been broken. His dad hadn’t cried.
But now? As he gazed at his dad, he saw tears rolling down his father’s cheeks. His dad took a camouflage bandanna from his back pocket—he was the only dad Shawn knew who habitually carried a handkerchief—and dabbed at his eyes. Then he forced a sad smile.
“At the right time, Shawn? At the right place? Don’t be afraid to cry,” Sanford advised. “It doesn’t make you less of a man. It makes you more of one.”
Shawn nodded. Then his father opened his arms wide, and Shawn got the biggest hug of his young life. “I love you, Shawnie,” his dad said in a deep voice.
“I love you, Dad. Please come home safe.”
At the right time, Shawn? At the right place? Don’t be afraid to cry. It doesn’t make you less of a man. It makes you more of one.
This was the right time. The right place. Shawn let the tears come.
“Wave to your dad!” Carla instructed the boys. They stood with several other military families in the main parking area of the National Guard base ten miles west of St. Louis.
“Dad’s waving back!” Peter exclaimed.
Shawn saw his father turn around to pick them out in the crowd and give a single wave. Then he shouldered his duffel bag and walked on toward a cluster of low-slung brown buildings. Shawn felt proud and empty at the same time.
The moment Sanford was out of sight, his mother turned businesslike. “Your father wouldn’t want us to stand here moping. Let’s go home.” She started toward their old Pontiac.
Shawn raised his chin at Peter, signaling that this was the time. After breakfast, when Sanford proudly shared the news that Shawn was entering the SuperFan contest, his mom and dad had shared a private moment on the front porch. That was when Shawn took Peter aside and planned what to say to their mom after their dad was gone.
“Just a sec, Mom,” Peter called.
Carla stopped. “Yes?”
Shawn fidgeted a little. “We just wanted to say, well, that this is really hard. So Peter and I promise we’re not going to make it harder.”
“We’re not going to argue,” Peter promised.
“And we’ve made up a chores sheet,” Shawn went on.
“We’ll do our homework without being asked. With a clarion!” Peter got in the last word.
&nb
sp; “Peter?” Carla raised her eyebrows. “A clarion is a trumpet. The word you want is alacrity.”
“Yeah. That, too.” Peter agreed. “And if Shawn wins SuperFan? I’ll cheer with alacrity! And blow a clarion!”
Carla smiled sadly at her sons. “Thank you, boys. Your father would be proud of you both.”
She put out her arms. For the second time that morning, Shawn felt himself embraced in a worldclass hug. He told himself that while it was easy to say he’d do his chores and wouldn’t fight with his brother, he had to do more than just say those things. He’d have to do them.
I will do them for my mom, the same way I entered SuperFan for my dad, he told himself. I won’t let either of them down.
CHAPTER SIX
“What’s your homework?” Carla asked. She was at the computer, making changes on the library’s website of recommended books for boys.
Shawn squirmed. It was two weeks to the day after they’d dropped his dad off at the National Guard base, and he’d just been assigned an oral book report on a novel of his choice. It was a double whammy assignment. First, he was a very slow reader. Second, the idea of standing in front of his class and talking filled him with fear.
“I’ve got to find a book for an oral report.”
Carla saved her work and faced Shawn. “When’s it due?”
“In three weeks.”
Carla smiled at her son sympathetically. “You hate oral reports. I know that.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want help finding a book?” she asked.
“No. Unless you’d like to read it and give the report for me!” Shawn joked.
With Sanford away, the Reynolds house had settled into something of a routine. Carla would get the boys off to school and then go to work.
A lot of times, Mrs. Garcia would invite the boys over on Monday or Friday night, so they could watch Raw and SmackDown and Carla could go to the movies with friends or do volunteer work at their church. Shawn found watching the Superstars and Divas comforting. It was like a silent connection with his father.
SuperFan Page 2
