by Tim Green
"'Cause we love the Jets."
"Yeah," Ty said, "but if these guys aren't going to play against the Lions, I'd hate to put them in my fantasy lineup. And if, like, Kerry Rhodes isn't playing, I don't want to use the Jets' defense. They're not that good on D without him."
Thane scowled and leaned forward, scooping up the paper.
"Hey," he said. "Where'd you get this?"
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
"NEWSPAPER," TY SAID.
Thane's frown grew into a smile as he looked at it. He leaned back.
"Yeah, sure," he said. "I'd go with our defense all the way. Rhodes? He'll play. He was the guy in there getting the electronic stim on his lower back."
"How come it says 'doubtful' for him then?" Ty said, eyeing the scrap of paper. "That's, like, a seventy-five percent chance he won't play."
"A lot of guys wouldn't," Thane said. "A back like that? Spasms? That's bad stuff, but he'll medicate it and go."
"Medicate? What do you mean?" Ty asked, thinking of the cough syrup his mom used to give him.
Thane gave him a crooked smile and said, "A shot. Novocain. Medicine. They'll numb it up."
"A shot in his back?" Ty said, shuddering.
"Rough way to make a living, huh?" Thane said.
"That's why you make sure you study hard. Be a doctor or something. Here, let me see that thing."
Thane went through the rest of the list, giving Ty exactly what he knew his uncle and Lucy wanted; then Thane paid the check and took him to the mall, where they caught a horror flick. Thane bought two big buckets of popcorn and sodas the size of small lampshades. When Ty got home, he hugged his brother and kissed him good night on the cheek.
"Fun, huh?" Thane said, patting Ty's leg.
"Awesome," Ty said. "Hey, good luck out in Detroit."
"Next week we're home and you're coming to the game, right?"
"Absolutely," Ty said. "And I'll see you Friday night again, too?"
"It's our night, my man," Thane said. "I'll see you then."
"Did you get it?"
Ty woke up to the smell of beer and pickled eggs and cigarettes. Like a dark cloud, Uncle Gus blocked out the thin yellow light that normally leaked into the laundry room from the kitchen. His stubby hands gripped Ty by the shirtsleeves, lifting him off the battered mattress on the floor.
The words stuck in Ty's throat, and Uncle Gus shook him.
"Did you get it? Jones? Is he hurt? What about the others? What about Rhodes?"
"I'll tell you," Ty said, coughing. "Can I get a drink?"
Uncle Gus squinted at him, then cursed under his breath, dropping Ty to the mattress and stumbling into the kitchen. Ty got out of bed and felt the cold linoleum beneath his feet. He tottered into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Uncle Gus shoved a glass of water at him, sloshing it all over Ty's pajamas. Ty took a drink, and Uncle Gus slapped another copy of the injury report down on the kitchen table, rattling the top to the sugar bowl.
"Tell me," he said.
Ty bent over the piece of paper and went down through the list, telling Uncle Gus everything that Thane had given him. When he finished, he looked up and saw Uncle Gus's yellow teeth glowing at him in the weak light from above the stove.
"That's good," he said, punching a number into his cell phone. "Lucy? It's me, Gus. Yeah, I got it. Yeah it's good. Really good."
Uncle Gus threw open the refrigerator door and snatched a can of beer from the top shelf, popping it open with a hiss. Ty backed into the laundry room. He lay down on his mattress in the narrow space between the washing machine and the wall, pulling the thin covers all the way up over his head and holding them tight over his ears so he didn't have to listen.
When they returned home from church on Sunday, Ty chopped wood until Aunt Virginia called him in for Sunday dinner at noon. He and Charlotte--who also wanted to see Thane--cleaned the dishes as fast as they could while Aunt Virginia went shopping and Uncle Gus settled down in his chair with a can of beer. Ty darted into the living room still drying his hands on a dish towel as the Lions kicked off to the Jets.
After two running plays, Thane caught a seventeen-yard pass across the middle and took a massive hit from a Lions defender. He held on to the ball, though, and the Jets drove down the field with Thomas Jones running strong and Thane catching another ten-yard pass to set up a field goal.
Uncle Gus scooped his cell phone off the little stand beside his chair. "Lucy? How about that?"
Uncle Gus listened, then furrowed his brow and said, "I know it's only three nothing, but the spread's two so we're already in the catbird seat, right?"
Uncle Gus listened some more, then frowned and closed his phone before looking up at Ty and asking, "What are you looking at?"
"Nothing," Ty said.
"That's right," Uncle Gus said. "Let's see how Rhodes plays before we get excited."
"Okay," Ty said.
Rhodes played well, leading the Jets' defense in shutting down the Lions almost completely. Thane caught a forty-two-yard touchdown pass on the next series, and Uncle Gus jumped up and hugged Ty, who jumped up and down with him.
"We're gonna be rich," Uncle Gus said. "This is so good."
It didn't stop there. The Jets continued to dominate the game. Thane had 172 yards receiving and added two more touchdowns. Thomas Jones ran for more than a hundred yards, and Rhodes and the defense only gave up two field goals.
One TV shot showed Thane on the sideline celebrating with Chad Pennington and Laveranues Coles. Thane had his helmet off and was wearing a green Jets cap backward on his head. He hugged Pennington, the quarterback, and pointed at him, shouting, "The man," and then they all laughed. The TV announcers talked on and on about Thane--they called him Tiger--and how he'd made as big an opening debut as they could remember for a rookie in his first NFL game.
Uncle Gus's cell phone rang late in the fourth quarter. He knocked over the six empty beer cans on his stand but grinned nevertheless when he put the phone to his ear. He nodded, stroked his big, thick mustache over and over, and said, "I know" almost a dozen times, then hung up and looked at Ty and Charlotte with glassy eyes.
"Five thousand dollars. You hear that? Charlotte, go get me another beer. We keep going like this and I'll show that rat agent of your brother's. I'll open that bar on my own!"
It sounded like a lot of money just to help someone win a couple fantasy games, but nothing surprised Ty anymore when it came to Uncle Gus.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ON MONDAY, TY WAITED until his teammates emptied out onto the practice field before he removed the plunger from the metal door of his locker. He didn't want anyone to hear the sucking pop it made when he yanked it free. With everyone around, he had pretended it didn't exist. On his way out, he tossed the plunger behind an old set of lockers near the door, then jogged across the wet field just as Coach V sounded his whistle.
Rain poured down in sheets, and the wind whipped spray through the metal face mask and into Ty's eyes. Five minutes into stretching, his practice uniform already clung to his skin, sending shivers through his bones. At the whistle, Ty lined up with the other receivers to run pass routes for the quarterbacks. Calvin West jumped in front of Ty, grinning through the wet. His blond hair hung like dark seaweed, plastered across his forehead.
Ty crouched down in his stance, digging his cleats into the soggy turf.
"Gonna punk you out, Toilet Boy," Calvin said under his breath, flexing his fingers as a giggle leaked from his throat.
Michael Poyer called out the cadence through the hissing rain and hiked the ball.
Ty took one short, quick power step. He exploded up into Calvin, striking him under the chin with his helmet and in the chest with his hands. He drove his feet. His fingers clawed into Calvin's armpits, digging up jersey and skin so that the tall blond tyrant let out a squeal. Ty kept going, driving him up the field until he tripped and flopped to his back. Calvin flapped his arms and legs like a hurt bird. Ty rose up off
of him and blasted him again.
"Hey!" Calvin cried out.
"Lewis!" Coach V screamed, blowing his whistle and running over. "We're running pass patterns!"
Ty looked innocently at the coach, unable to see his eyes behind the water-spotted mirror sunglasses.
"Sorry, Coach," Ty said, holding out his hands. "I thought you said we were blocking."
Coach V frowned and walked away, and Ty jogged to the back of the line.
The next time Ty's turn came up, Calvin let another defensive back work against him. Ty ran a perfect post route, catching the ball for a touchdown. He wondered if it could really be that easy. It wasn't. The next time, Calvin pushed in front of another player to face off with Ty. Calvin didn't say anything; he simply glared. Ty crouched down in his stance again. Instead of running a deep route straight down the field, Ty blasted Calvin, driving him right past the sideline and over the top of a bench.
"Lewis!" Coach V screamed again. "What are you doing?"
Calvin lay moaning on the ground, grabbing at his back with his legs slung over the seat of the overturned bench. Ty got up and walked away.
"He was pressing me, Coach," Ty said. "I couldn't get him off me, so I figured I should block him. Like in a game."
"In a game?" Coach V said, twisting his face.
"Yeah, that's what you said," Ty said. "If we can't get off a press and the ball gets thrown, make sure we block downfield. We can spring the other receivers for a touchdown that way. That's what you said, right?"
"This is a passing drill," Coach V said, pushing past Ty, kneeling beside Calvin, and helping him up. "Run the pattern."
Calvin sniffled, rubbing his back where it had hit the bench. Ty nodded and turned away before he let himself break out into a grin. Calvin stayed away from Ty during the skeleton pass drill called seven-on-seven and he lined up on the other side of the field when it came to team self-scrimmage as well. But Ty remembered his brother's advice about stalking and being relentless.
On the first play, a run, Ty crossed the entire field on a full sprint and plunged the forehead of his helmet into Calvin's ear hole, dropping him in his muddy tracks as if he'd been hit by a bus. Instead of walking away, Ty reared back and dove on top of him again, pummeling Calvin with all the force he could bring to bear and knocking the wind out of him in a great gasping gust.
Calvin's eyes got big, and his mouth worked open and closed like a gurgling frog. He clutched his neck and rolled his head side to side. Finally, his breath came back in a terrific sob. Calvin's eyes filled with tears. He rolled on his side and threw up what looked to Ty like the remains of a bologna sandwich but smelled of Doritos.
Coach V and his assistant picked Calvin up under the arms and half dragged, half carried him off the field, to the bench, where they sat him down. Coach V patted Calvin's back, then marched out onto the field and blew the whistle, yelling at them to get back in the huddle and stop staring like a bunch of Girl Scouts at a cookie sale.
In the huddle, Ty noticed his teammates glancing at him from behind the bars of their masks. No one said anything, but when he stepped into his place, the players on either side made plenty of room. Poyer winked at him and called an 819 boot pass. That meant Ty would run a nine, just a straight sprint, right to the end zone.
"I'll be open," Ty said.
"I know," the quarterback said.
The cornerback in front of Ty tried to jam him at the line. Ty feinted left, then right, then came back to the left and sped up the field by himself. The pass flew into the air, apparently too far for Ty to get it. He found that other gear and kicked it in with a burst of liquid speed. He stretched and leaned and plucked the ball from the air. His teammates cheered. When he returned to the huddle, everyone clapped him on the back.
That was only the beginning. The rest of that chilly wet afternoon, Ty put on a clinic of running and catching. He couldn't see Coach V's eyes, but Ty had to imagine that they sparkled with joy.
The success of the offense left the team in a festive mood, even during wind sprints. As they jogged to the locker room, no fewer than a dozen players patted Ty on the back. He nearly forgot about Calvin West.
He remembered clearly, though, when Coach V appeared at the entrance to the locker room with a scowl on his face. His sunglasses hung limp from his hands, and his hair dripped rain down his face. His eyes showed no expression, but the tone of his voice sounded serious and angry when he said, "Lewis. In my office. Now."
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
TY PASSED THROUGH HIS half-naked teammates and the smell of sweat and mud. His cleats clacked on the tile floor, a lonely sound that echoed off the shower walls. A locker creaked and quietly closed. Through the glass window, Ty could see into the office. Coach V sat with his arms folded, his back to the locker room. The bald spot in the middle of his otherwise thick black hair glowed red. Ty looked back to see everyone staring at him. He offered up a brave smile and turned the corner into Coach V's office.
"Shut the door," Coach V said.
Ty's hand trembled as he reached for the wooden door. He closed it softly until he heard a click.
Coach V stood, leaning toward Ty, hovering over him. His hands tightened into fists, and he banged one of them against the file cabinet. Ty winced at the crash.
"Do you know what you did?" Coach V yelled, his face turning purple. "Calvin West is hurt. Injured. Out for I don't know how long! What you did was bull! I won't have it! I won't accept it!"
Coach V banged the file cabinet again. Beyond him, through the glass, dozens of frightened faces stared. Coach V spun around, saw them too, and dropped the blinds, cutting off half the light in the office. Ty felt trapped. The walls seemed to close in. Coach V stopped huffing. He grew quiet and sat on the edge of his desk.
When his shoulders began to shake with a chuckle, Ty thought the coach was losing his mind. His mouth turned up at the corners and that scared Ty even more.
"Now, you want to know what I really think?" Coach V said in a whisper, leaning forward and touching Ty on the shoulder. "I think you did good. I think you did great. I saw what he was doing to you, but I wanted to see what you were made of. What you did today, that's what it takes. Toughness, meanness. You can't just run fast. You gotta have some of that nasty inside you or you get eaten alive in this game. You've got it."
Ty took a deep breath and let it out in a ragged puff. "Why did you yell?"
Coach V glanced over his shoulder at the blinds. Keeping his voice low, he said, "Knocking him over the bench? I can't openly condone that. I'd lose my job. I had to yell at you or I'd have the parents and the principal down my throat. I gotta make it look good. But I'm telling you, man-to-man, what you did, he deserved. You're gonna be a good one, Lewis. Maybe a great one. Now get out of here, and look upset when you leave. This stays between me and you, but if that jerk starts up with you again, you do just what you did."
"You think he'll start again?" Ty asked.
Coach V puckered his lips. "Not openly, but he'll do something. Something sneaky. I'm not worried about out on the practice field, but don't you let him trick you into a fight in school. He's, like, a black belt in Tae Kwon Do or something. And you'll get kicked off the team if you fight, and I need you. You watch your back."
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
THE NEXT DAY, CHARLOTTE found Ty in the corner of the lunchroom, at a table by himself, facing the rest of the cafeteria.
"Want company?" she asked, sitting down and opening up her Garfield lunch box.
"Sure," Ty said. "Why do you still have that lunch box?"
"You think my parents would buy me anything new?"
Ty nodded with understanding.
"Why are you here in the corner?" she asked, picking the salami out of her sandwich and dangling in front of her mouth before slurping it down.
"I don't want Calvin West sneaking up on me," Ty said.
"I heard about that," she said. "Michael Poyer was talking to someone about you dissing him and h
im wanting paybacks."
"Coach V told me to watch my back," Ty said, chewing on his peanut butter sandwich as he scanned the lunchroom.
"I got your back," Charlotte said.
Ty looked at her and saw that she was serious.
"You're a girl," he said.
"I'm a year older than him," she said, sitting up straight and drawing her shoulders back.
"Okay," Ty said, not wanting to argue and sorry that he might have insulted her. "Thanks."
Their conversation turned to Thane and his new house and the neat things they thought they'd find in the rooms earmarked for them. After a few minutes, Ty grew quiet.
"What's wrong?" Charlotte asked.
"I just don't want to be a mooch," he said. "You don't think I'm talking like a mooch, do you?"
"You're just excited," she said. "Me too. It's not like we asked for the stuff, but if he wants to do it, all we're doing is being grateful. He wants us to be excited. He's like that, your brother. You are so lucky."
Ty thought about his parents, but he forced a smile and agreed with Charlotte that he was lucky and that Thane was the best. Charlotte looked at her watch and said she'd better go. She had music and the class was on the far side of the school. She patted Ty's shoulder and told him she'd see him after his practice. Ty watched her go, then scanned the lunchroom before darting to the exit and hurrying down the hall.
He climbed a crowded staircase toward his locker on the second floor. He needed to pick up his science book and folder for his next class. The buzz of conversation stopped when he reached the top landing. The crowd parted, and the traffic on the stairs behind him came to a stop. Calvin West and his three biggest buddies blocked the doorway leading out of the stairwell.
Calvin stepped into the empty space between them, holding his hands in loose fists, up and ready. The stairs behind Ty and the landing below quickly emptied, but beyond that, the packed-in group of faces stared up with wild-eyed excitement.
