Football Genius with Bonus Material

by Tim Green

  Tate plugged her ears.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  “SIXTEEN YARDS, TWO FEET, three inches,” the judge said.

  The crowd went wild.

  Tate shook her hands in the air, but not to celebrate. She stomped back to Troy, scowling, and in a low hiss said, “I can’t believe he did that.”

  “You won,” Troy said.

  “Yeah,” she said, glaring at him, “the girl who threw to the moon. Everyone’s gonna know. Thank God my parents aren’t here. My dad will flip his lid.”

  Tate smiled at the judges, even though her face was red, and she accepted the big golden trophy along with the certificate to have lunch with Seth Halloway at Vickery’s on Crescent Street in downtown Atlanta.

  As the crowd began to leave, the two of them took their equipment as well as Nathan’s and went to sit on the curb to wait for Troy’s mom to pick them up on her way home from a special meeting she had at work.

  “Where do you think he went?” Tate asked, looking around.

  “He’ll show up,” Troy said.

  And in fact, as Troy’s mom pulled into the parking lot, Nathan stepped out of the bushes surrounding the park sign and slipped into the VW bug before either of them. Troy’s mom asked about the game, and Tate told her they would have won if Coach Renfro had put Troy in. Troy’s mom glanced over at him and patted his leg.

  “Tate won the punt, pass, and kick,” Troy said.

  “You did? Congratulations,” she said. “I know some of our players volunteered to have lunch with the winners. Who’s your lunch with?”

  His mom grinned at Tate in the rearview mirror. Nathan slouched down in his seat.

  “Mrs. White,” Tate said, “I need to ask you a favor. A big favor.”

  “What, honey?”

  Tate told her how excited she was about her lunch but how her parents couldn’t do it with her because of Bible study.

  “Nothing comes between my parents and the Lord,” she said.

  “Certainly nothing wrong with that,” Troy’s mom said.

  “And I got the player I love most,” she said. “Not just because he’s a great player, but because of all the nice things he does, you know, with sick kids and homeless people. Seth Halloway.”

  “Oh,” Troy’s mom said.

  “He’s my hero,” Tate said, “and I was thinking, well, would you take me to the lunch? It says you have to have an adult.”

  Troy’s mom glanced in the mirror. Her mouth was closed tight, and she blinked out at the road.

  “I’ll have to see about work,” she said.

  “It’s like work, Mom,” Troy said. “It’s great PR, all the players doing this.”

  “I know it is,” she said. “I actually put the sign up in the locker room and talked to some of the players about it. Maybe I can see if Seth could do it another time, when your parents are free.”

  It was silent for a moment before Troy quietly said, “Wouldn’t it be easier just to do it instead of having to ask Seth a favor?”

  His mom tucked her lower lip up under her teeth and put on her turn signal. They rounded a corner, and she nodded her head and said, “Okay, it’s like work. I can do it.”

  They all cheered for her, and she smiled.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  THE NEXT DAY, THE Falcons lost to the Saints in New Orleans. Troy watched the game with his gramp on the couch, leaning and groaning and covering his face with a pillow, knowing that he could have helped but that they wouldn’t let him. That whole week, desperation grew inside him like the kudzu vines that swarmed the roadsides of Atlanta. Jamie’s moronic “Falcons Suck” song and dance hardly bothered him. He had real problems to think about, because if the team didn’t win, McFadden would be gone, and so would his mom.

  The next weekend finally came, and at breakfast on Saturday, Troy asked his mom to drop him off with Nathan at the High Museum while she and Tate were at the lunch. His mom turned her head and looked at him from the corner of her eye.

  “The museum?” she said.

  “We’re studying the Egyptians in school, and Mrs. Arnott said they’ve got real mummies at the museum. That’s kind of cool, right?”

  His mom nodded slowly and said of course she’d take them. The phone rang shortly after that. It was Tate, asking his mom if she minded meeting her there. Tate said that even though he couldn’t miss the Bible study, her father wanted very much to meet Seth Halloway and that he would drop her off and then head right out to the church.

  Troy felt a little guilty tricking his mom in so many ways, but they were doing it for her own good. If they didn’t do something fast, she’d be out of a job before Halloween.

  After she dropped them at the museum, Troy grabbed Nathan by the arm and started to run inside.

  “What are you doing?” Nathan asked.

  “We gotta see the mummies,” Troy said. “So we can tell my mom we saw them.”

  They got directions from the guard and sprinted through the hallways until they came to the beginning of the Egyptian exhibit.

  “They’re kinda small,” Nathan said, staring through the glass.

  “Come on,” Troy said, taking a look, then dragging Nathan by the arm.

  Vickery’s was a good six blocks away. By the time they got there, his mom was already sitting on the brick terrace, alone with Seth Halloway.

  Huffing and puffing, Troy and Nathan wormed their way in through the hedge on the side of the terrace and pushed up tight against the wall. The bricks were spaced in a way that left a two-inch gap between the next one, so Troy could not only hear what was going on, he could see.

  Seth looked stiff, sitting there in a pale yellow polo shirt, his hair still wet, probably from a shower after the team’s light Saturday-morning practice. Troy’s mom didn’t look much more encouraging. Her nose was buried in the menu.

  She looked at her watch and said, “I’m sure she’ll be here any minute.”

  “You’d think.”

  Seth looked around, and Troy knew they were talking about Tate. After a time, Nathan whispered into Troy’s ear.

  “Why aren’t they doing anything?”

  Troy pressed his fingers into the gaps between the bricks and held on. He closed his eyes and put his forehead against the cool, rough surface, willing his mom to look up at Seth and just smile. That’s when her phone rang.

  His mom answered it and said, “Tate? Where are you?”

  Then she groaned and said she was sorry to hear that.

  “Well,” she said to Seth as she stood up, “she’s not coming. Stomach bug. That’s too bad—she was really excited.”

  Troy’s mom extended her hand for a handshake.

  Seth stood and shook her hand. Troy’s mom gave it two quick pumps and picked up her purse, fishing for her keys.

  Seth’s face turned red.

  “You know,” he said, “we’re here. You want to have lunch anyway?”

  Troy put his knuckle into his mouth and bit down.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  TROY’S MOM LOOKED UP, trying not to smile. When she nodded her head, Troy held out his palm and Nathan slapped him five.

  The boys listened to them talk, mostly about the Falcons. It wasn’t until the check came that the topic changed.

  Seth reached for the check and said, “Not to insult you, but I planned on buying lunch today anyway.”

  Troy’s mom tilted her head. “I didn’t mean to attack you like that,” she said.

  “I’m used to taking shots,” he said. “That’s how I make my living, remember?”

  “Not from your friends, though,” she said, her face turning color.

  “So we’re friends, huh?” Seth said, raising his eyebrows and wiping his mouth before setting his napkin on the table.

  “Why not?” she said.

  “Then we’ll do this again?”

  “Maybe,” she said. “If you call me, I’ll certainly check my schedule.”

  “Maybe? Wow. That hurts.�
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  “I’m not one of these floozies who throws herself at you because you’re a sports hero,” she said. “Actually, I think that’s somewhat of an oxymoron.”

  “I’m a moron now?” Seth said.

  “No, an oxy-moron,” she said with a chuckle. “Two things that are mutually exclusive—like how can someone involved in sports be a real hero? Get it?”

  “Insulting,” he said.

  “I don’t mean to be,” she said. “I just think real heroes are soldiers and firemen and police, or teachers. Oh, I sound horrible. I’m sorry.”

  “No, that’s all right,” Seth said. “I think you’re right.”

  “You do?”

  “My dad was a cop,” Seth said. “He got killed when I was three. There was a bank robbery.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she said in a quiet voice.

  Seth shrugged. “I never knew any different, really, not till later on. I guess that’s why I know how Troy feels. You get to a certain age and it starts to hurt, not having that father there.”

  Troy felt his face get hot. He started to squirm and he wished Nathan wasn’t listening. He tugged Nathan’s arm and wiggled his way out of the bushes. The two of them stayed crouched until they reached the sidewalk.

  “We better get back to the museum,” Troy said.

  “Yeah,” Nathan said, nodding. “Good idea.”

  “It went good,” Troy said after they’d traveled a block in silence.

  “It seemed like they got along,” Nathan said.

  “At least enough so that she won’t mind helping him, right?” Troy said.

  They didn’t stand in front of the museum for more than a few minutes before Troy’s mom pulled up in her green bug.

  “Where’s Tate?” Troy asked.

  “She got sick,” his mom said.

  “So how was it? Lunch?” Troy asked.

  His mom didn’t even look at him. She just said “Fine,” and she had this dreamy look as she drove along, keeping her eyes on the road. Troy looked back at Nathan and winked.

  At home Troy changed into his football uniform. The Tigers game didn’t begin until five in the afternoon, and it was all the way out in Roswell. Troy didn’t play, but it didn’t bother him the way it usually did because he was thinking about the plan and how his mom was sure to go along with it, now that things were good with her and Seth. It didn’t even bother him when Jamie ran a quarterback sneak into the end zone for an easy one-yard touchdown and then showed Troy the ball when he got to the bench as if he’d completed a fifty-yard pass.

  It was late by the time he and his mom got home from the game. The sun had gone down behind a thick bank of clouds. His mom warmed up some lasagna and then made ice-cream sundaes with hot fudge and walnuts. Troy waited until the kitchen was cleaned up and they were just sitting at the table with a couple bottles of soda. It felt like the perfect time.

  “He’s a good guy, that Seth, huh?” Troy said, peering at her with one eye from around the edge of the pale green bottle.

  “Yes. He seems to be,” his mom said, setting her own bottle down and staring at him.

  “What?” Troy asked.

  “Just thinking,” she said, turning the bottle around and around without moving it from its place on the checkered tablecloth.

  “Me too,” Troy said.

  “Yeah?” she said. “About what?”

  Troy tried to keep the excitement out of his voice. It was hard.

  “Mom,” he said, “you have to listen to this. I’ve got a plan.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  SHE LOOKED PUZZLED, BUT Troy couldn’t worry about that. He plunged ahead, laying out his plan to use a cell phone to talk to her on the sideline so she could signal to Seth what the offense was about to do. He was speaking fast, desperate to get it all out so she’d see the beauty of it, so she couldn’t say no.

  “Troy?” she said, tilting her head. “Is that what it was really about?”

  “What?” he said, doing his best to look dumb.

  “You know what,” she said, her voice getting softer. “You know.”

  “Not really,” he said.

  “Really, you do,” she said.

  Troy felt like he was on a hook and she was just reeling him in. He stared hard at the soda bottle, gripping it with both hands. Outside the window, the blue jay scolded something from its treetop.

  “Do you know how embarrassed I am right now?” she asked him, her voice eerily calm.

  “Why?” he asked.

  She looked at him for a long time before she spoke. A crooked smile spread across her face.

  “Because my son, my only son, is trying to trick me into doing something he knows could make me lose my job,” she said. Her hands were out on the table now, clenched into fists and trembling. “Do you know I actually hinted that I’d go out with him again?”

  “That would be good, right?” Troy said, his voice fading.

  She pounded a fist on the table, rattling the cover of the sugar bowl and tipping over the salt.

  “I am not a toy,” she said.

  “No one said that, Mom,” Troy said, his eyes welling up with tears.

  “You just won’t let this stupid football thing go, will you?” she asked, roaring now. “Not until you’ve ruined everything. No, don’t you cry. I’m the one crying here!”

  Troy sprang up out of his chair and ran for his room, slamming the door and throwing himself on his bed. He strangled his pillow, then punched it, over and over, cursing under his breath. It was dark by the time his blood cooled.

  He silently opened his door and walked softly out into the living room. He could hear his mom’s voice talking to someone out on the front porch. Through the window, he saw her sitting there next to Gramp’s scarecrow, her legs curled up underneath her. She was talking on her cell phone. Troy crept close to the door, resting his face against the frame, listening through the screen. It didn’t take long to figure out she was talking to Gramp, telling him what happened. Troy winced as he listened.

  “Yes, he’s very likable, Dad,” she said, “but how much of it is real?”

  Silence.

  “I’m not underestimating myself, Dad,” she said, lowering her voice to a whisper. “No one wants a woman with a twelve-year-old kid. They just don’t. I faced that a long time ago.”

  Troy staggered back, a heavy knot twisting in his gut. His face went numb. His whole body went numb. His mom’s voice was just a garble to him now, noise without words.

  On his next step, he stumbled and bumped into the lamp. He grabbed for it, but too late to keep it from crashing to the floor. The screen door swung open and his mom stood there with a look of horror on her face.

  “I gotta go, Dad,” she said, snapping shut the phone. “Troy, I didn’t mean that.”

  Troy just stared at her. The sound of the crickets outside was broken by the faraway groan of an oncoming train. They stood that way, just looking at each other.

  Finally, she said, “I’m sorry I said that. I didn’t mean for you to hear.”

  Nearer and nearer came the sound of the train, until Troy could hear the clack of the wheels.

  “It’s okay,” Troy said, finding his voice. “I know what I am. That’s why I want this so bad. I want to do something. I want to be something. I thought this was my chance.”

  The little jar of seashells his mom kept on the coffee table began to rattle and shake. Down in back of the house, the train rushed by in a vortex of speed and blaring sound, dying slowly away as it rounded the bend by the Hooch.

  “I’m sorry I said no,” his mom said. “You’re right. Maybe this is your chance, and I want to help you take it.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  THE CROWD IN THE Georgia Dome rumbled to life as the team took the field. Troy clenched Seth’s cell phone in his hand and sat down between Nathan and Tate. Seth had gotten them tickets on the fifty-yard line. Troy searched the sideline for his mom and, as if she sensed him looking, she turned arou
nd and waved, pointing to her cell phone. Troy fumbled with Seth’s phone and it slipped from his hands. Tate scooped it up and handed it to him, pinching it between her finger and thumb.

  “It’s all wet,” she said, wrinkling her nose.

  Troy wiped his sweaty palms on his pants and felt his face heat up. He dialed his mom and she picked up right away, looking at him as she did.

  “All set?” she asked.

  “I think so,” Troy said. “You set with the signals?”

  “Troy, between you and Seth I think I spent every free minute I had this week going over those things,” she said. “I was doing them in my sleep last night.”

  Troy laughed at that.

  “Call me when you know something, okay?” she said. “Good luck.”

  Troy felt like he was in a dream. The noise washed over him. The crowd cheered the Falcons and booed the visiting Oakland Raiders. He saw Seth come out onto the field and meet up with his mom on the sideline. She pointed at Troy. Seth gave him the thumbs-up. Troy raised his hand, then let it drop. Nathan leaned over him to buy a box of popcorn and a soda and had to shake Troy three times before Troy realized he was asking him if he wanted some. Troy said no thanks. The game began and Troy felt his insides go cold. The Raiders had the ball.

  Troy gripped the edge of his seat, narrowed his eyes, and leaned forward. The Raiders ran the ball, then threw a pass. Two more runs. Two passes. Another run. Troy saw his mom look up at him from the sideline, and his stomach flipped. He felt his breakfast of scrambled eggs and ketchup boiling up into his throat and he choked it back.

  Seth’s words came back to him. If you can’t do it under pressure, it’s just a stunt.

  “Relax,” Tate said, offering him a bottle of soda. “You want a drink?”

  “How ’bout popcorn?” Nathan said, stuffing a fistful into his mouth and spilling some onto the seats.

  The Raiders completed a long pass on third down and got into field-goal range. The defense held them for three plays, then the Raiders lined up to try a field goal. The crowd sent up a wave of jeers. Troy pressed his hands against his ears, drowning out the noise, and concentrated. The Raiders’ kicker missed and the cheers roared through Troy’s hands. The Falcons’ defense jogged to the sideline. Seth took off his helmet and looked up at Troy. Troy shifted his eyes.