the Big Time (2010) Read online

  "Is it a deal, Troy?" she asked.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  "SO," TROY SAID, EYEING her hand, "we don't do anything, but if my dad says he's going to start a lawsuit to try to get visitation rights, then you let me see him?"

  "That's right," his mom said. "Let him make the first move. Gramps is right. If he really wants to be your dad. If he's really sorry and he's going to be in it for the long haul, then he's not just going to go away, Troy."

  "Okay," Troy said, nodding his head and clasping her hand. "Deal."

  Gramps smacked his hands together and rubbed them as if he were trying to get warm. "Nice, now let's get serious about this breakfast. These eggs remind me of Waffle House back in Avondale, before it was a chain."

  Troy smiled and dug in. They ate for a bit, recounting the highlights of the championship game, Troy's touchdown passes, especially the final, ugly lob to Nathan, who had been wide open in the end zone on a trick play.

  "Gramps," Troy said, "how come you didn't stick around?"

  Gramps wiped his mouth and swished his hand through the air. "I saw you surrounded by all those cameras and all; I'm too old for a mess like that. I knew I'd see you this morning and congratulate you proper. You, my friend, played like a champion, and you are a champion. To the bone."

  Gramps raised his orange juice glass.

  Troy blushed and looked at his plate. "Thanks, Gramps."

  "Did you see the agents, Dad?" Troy's mom asked.

  "The who?" Gramps asked, his forehead rumpling beneath his bald dome.

  "Agents," Troy's mom said. "They practically swarmed us after the interviews."

  "I was gone by then," he said. "What did 'agents' want?"

  "To represent me, Gramps," Troy said, suddenly excited at the recollection of the men in suits handing him and his mom their cards. "One of them, some Nash guy, he said I could get between one and two million."

  "Two million what?" Gramps asked.

  "Dollars, Gramps," Troy said. "We could all be rich."

  Gramps's face fell. "Rich? I don't know about that. A couple of people I know who got rich don't do so well with it. It's overrated."

  Troy stared at Gramps.

  "Dad," Troy's mom said.

  "Of course, it's not always bad," Gramps said, swigging some coffee with a nod. "You can take some pretty nice vacations with two million dollars. Educational things like the rain forest or the Galapagos Islands. Maybe Antarctica."

  "How about a new pickup truck, Gramps?"

  "Oh, no. I'm fine. Nothing I need."

  "Well," Troy's mom said, "either way, we'll need an agent. Let's get today's game behind us, and tomorrow I'll start to set up some meetings so we can figure out who to go with. I want to try and keep your life as normal as possible, Troy. A good agent can even handle the media for us, be a buffer."

  "Buffer?"

  "A barrier," his mom said, "between you and the teams, you and the media, all the outside distractions. You still need to go to school, have your friends, play your football."

  "Well," Troy said, "football's over for now anyway."

  His mom raised an eyebrow. "Seth didn't tell you?"

  "Tell me what?"

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  "WE LEFT SO FAST last night," Troy's mom said. "I guess that was my fault. He wanted to tell you before he made a general announcement, so no one knows."

  "Tell me what, Mom?"

  "No, you'll have to wait until you see him," she said. "I know he wants to be the one to tell you."

  "Mom, you can't do this."

  "Nope," his mom said, making a locking motion on her lips and pretending to throw away the key.

  Troy jumped up and grabbed the phone on the wall. "I'll call him."

  "Don't," his mom said. "Since the game isn't until four today, he's sleeping in. You'll see him at the stadium."

  "Meantime," Gramps said, rising from the table, tugging free the necktie he'd hung on the back of the chair and looping it around his head, "we got church, so get yourself changed."

  "Do I have to go?" Troy asked. "I just won the championship."

  "All the more reason to go," Gramps said, winking. "You don't think that last pass ended up in Nathan's hands just because of you, do you?"

  They all laughed.

  Troy got changed and so did his mom.

  When they got home from church, Troy put on his Falcons gear, happy to be free from the stiff shirt with its collar and tie. Gramps headed home to watch the game on TV, something he did as religiously as going to church.

  "How's the finger?" Troy's mom asked when she emerged from her bedroom with the clipboard she used for work.

  Troy looked at his injured finger, tried to move it, and winced.

  "Not good."

  His mom looked at her watch and said, "Might be time for another pain pill."

  "I know," Troy said, "but I was thinking, Mom. The pills work, but they make me kind of light-headed. I mean, with everything going so well--me getting my job back, the Falcons on this playoff run, and all these agents talking about me making a ton of money--I just don't know if I should take the chance of being foggy. What if the pain pill keeps me from being able to see the patterns?"

  His mom looked at him for a minute and pressed her lips together. "Well, what if the discomfort keeps you from being able to see the patterns?"

  "If the pain bothers me that much," Troy said, "and I can't get with it, then I can always take the pill then."

  His mom nodded. "Good idea. I hate to think of you suffering, though."

  "Part of the game, right?" Troy said, trying to smile.

  His mom sighed and nodded.

  They picked up Tate and Nathan on their way to the Georgia Dome. Mr. Langan had given permission for Troy's two best friends to be on the sideline with him during the game, so long as they didn't distract him.

  They got to park in the staff lot and go in through the same entrance as the players. Troy still couldn't get over the size of the men walking past. They were giants in all kinds of clothes--from sweats or jeans to suits and ties--with hands the size of hubcaps and heads like upside-down buckets. They all recognized Troy and gave him anything from a clap on the back to a wink and a thumbs-up. Most of them congratulated Troy on winning the junior league state championship. Troy blushed at the attention but had to admit to himself that he enjoyed it.

  Tate and Nathan silently accepted passes to the sideline from Troy's mom and strung them through the belt loops in their jeans. Both wore Falcons shirts and hats like Troy.

  Troy and his friends followed Troy's mom out onto the field. With more than two hours to go before game time, no one was in the dome except for the players from both the Falcons and the visiting Green Bay Packers. Aside from the hum of the lights suspended from the web of steel above, the place was strangely quiet. A handful of players already covered the field, stretching out and warming up in football pants and T-shirts. Troy's mom showed Nathan and Tate where they could sit and wait on the bench while Troy went into the locker room to meet with Seth and the coaches.

  When Troy walked into the meeting room just off the side of the locker room, he was disappointed to see that both Coach McFadden, the head coach, and Jim Mora, the defensive coordinator, were already sitting there beside Seth. Troy ached to ask Seth about the surprise his mother only hinted about but knew it would have to wait. Together, the four of them discussed the process for getting the correct calls to Seth during the game. It usually took Troy at least a couple of series of plays to see the patterns that told him the opponent's game plan. He would stand next to Coach Mora until that time came. The instant it did, he could describe the play, and the coach could signal the correct defensive call to Seth. Troy didn't want to even tell them about how badly his finger hurt, because there was nothing they could do about it anyway. He could only hope that it wouldn't keep him from using his gift.

  When the meeting broke up, Troy tried to get Seth's attention, but Coach Mora put an arm around th
e star linebacker, and the two of them headed back into the locker room. Troy put a hand on the door but hesitated. The door swung open, and Coach McFadden appeared, asking Troy if he wanted to walk out onto the field with him. Troy did, and it wasn't long before the two of them were wandering the turf, talking to the individual players. Most of the team was out on the field by now, and Coach McFadden seemed to have words of encouragement for even the backup players. It wasn't until the head coach began a conversation with Mr. Langan that Troy saw Seth jogging slowly up the sideline with a headset on, playing his music.

  Troy slipped away and intercepted Seth near the Falcons bench.

  "Hey, buddy," Seth said, slipping the earphones down around his neck and pausing the music.

  "You okay?" Troy asked, nodding at Seth's knees, which Troy knew had grown increasingly worse as the season progressed.

  Seth made a face, then said, "Part of it. I'll get warmed up and be okay. Got the left one drained and took a little cortisone. I'll get by. It's always tough later in the season. What about you, buddy? You feeling good? How's that finger? It looks like junk."

  "I took a pain pill this morning," Troy said, flexing his finger stiffly.

  "Well, look brave," Seth said, angling his head toward the field. A cameraman with a handheld camera and an assistant holding the cable were moving their way with the camera pointed at Troy. "You're on."

  "I thought the media wasn't allowed inside the yellow rope," Troy said.

  "That's the FOX game camera. The NFL lets one network cameraman inside the yellow, and that's him," Seth said. "You want me to make him go away?"

  Troy had nothing against being on TV, so he shook his head. The cameraman came right up to him and Seth, moving the lens back and forth just inches from their faces. The thought of being on TV brought back the nervousness he'd felt on Larry King Live, and Troy could only stand there as stiff as a ruler.

  "Troy?" the cameraman asked. "You two going to put one on the Packers today?"

  Troy forced a smile and gave a thumbs-up.

  "Seth," the cameraman said, "how's it feel knowing what the other team is going to do before they do?"

  "Well," Seth said, slinging an arm around Troy's shoulder, "I wouldn't say it's before they know, but it's not too long after. You still gotta make the play, though, right? It's not chess; it's still football."

  "Great," the cameraman said with a nod, moving on toward some other players.

  "I felt so goofy," Troy said, watching them go.

  "You'll get used to it," Seth said, flicking a finger at the brim of Troy's hat so it tipped back on his head.

  "Seth, my mom said you've got something to tell me? She said the season might not be over? I mean, we won the championship. There's nothing after that, right?"

  Seth broke out into a huge grin. "That's what I thought." He nodded over at where Tate and Nathan sat on the bench. "Come on, let me tell the three of you together. You're all going to be a part of it."

  "It's something good, my mom said." Troy's palms were actually sweating with anticipation.

  "No," Seth said, "it's something great."

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE DOORS TO THE dome had been opened, and fans had begun to trickle in, their excited talk washing over the hum of the lights. Troy knew that the entire city of Atlanta had been electrified by the Falcons late-season run at the playoffs, led by their favorite star, Seth Halloway.

  Troy followed Seth over to the bench, where the star linebacker greeted Nathan and Tate.

  "So," Seth said, "I've got some good news for all three of you. It's something I wasn't even aware of, being a latecomer to this junior league coaching thing. The other night, one of the state league officials let me know about this thing they call the Border War."

  "Border War?" Troy said.

  "Georgia versus Florida," Seth said. "It's a tradition. This Saturday, when the SEC has their championship game in the Georgia Dome, they host an all-star game between the best junior league players from Georgia and Florida. It's on the morning of the big game. The coaches from both colleges watch from the sidelines, too. Good way to get on their radar screen for early recruiting."

  "We play against kids from Florida?" Nathan asked. "The Duluth Tigers?"

  "Not the Tigers," Seth said. "It's an all-star team. All the best junior league players in Georgia get put on the same team to go against the best kids in Florida."

  "And we're on the team?" Tate asked.

  "If you want to be," Seth said. "I'm the coach, and since we won the championship, they told me I could bring my four best players. That's you three, plus Rusty Howell."

  Troy was the heart of the championship team and could throw as well as anyone his age. Nathan was one of the biggest twelve-year-olds on the planet and had anchored the Duluth Tigers' line. Tate had already won the regional punt, pass, and kick competition with her powerful leg. Rusty was Troy's top receiver and the fastest kid any of them knew.

  "Of course we want to," Troy said. "This is great!"

  "Who else is on the team?" Nathan asked.

  Seth said, "Valdosta got to name three players since they were second in the state. The other top ten each got to name two players, and then there are about a dozen others from all over. And, get this, everyone who plays gets a scholarship."

  "Scholarship?" Tate asked.

  "Five thousand dollars," Seth said, nodding, "and ten thousand if we win it. It's good for any college you end up going to. We'll be having practices during your Thanksgiving vacation, though. So, you guys in?"

  "Of course!"

  "Yes!"

  "For sure!"

  "Okay," Seth said, "I told you it was great news. Our first practice is Tuesday night. Now, I gotta get going here. I don't want you guys to be the only champs around town."

  They all wished him good luck, and Seth put his headphones back on before continuing his jog around the field. The three of them talked excitedly about the Border War and playing against Florida's all-stars right there in the Georgia Dome. When Tate and Nathan started to talk about the scholarship money, Troy kept quiet and could only think about the money he was already making as the Falcons football genius and how it sometimes didn't seem real.

  As the dome began to fill up, people also filtered out onto the sidelines. A long bright yellow rope ran from one post to another, marking the area on the sideline where only the players, coaches, and team employees were allowed to go. Outside, media and VIP guests of the team were allowed to watch the warm-ups and to speak to the players who wandered near.

  When the three of them ambled up the sideline to watch the Falcons' receivers practice one-handed catches, Troy was surprised to hear his name being called from somewhere behind the yellow rope. He took a quick glance and recognized the face of a man with spiked blond hair who wore dark sunglasses with flashy rims and what looked like a bicycle chain made of gold with a platinum thousand-dollar bill dangling from it.

  "That's G Money," Troy said without thinking.

  Nathan and Tate stopped and stared.

  "Cool," Nathan said. "Gangsta rap. I just got his new CD; it's, like, his fourth one to go platinum."

  "What's he doing here?" Tate asked.

  "He's big-time," Nathan said.

  "What about all the rumors that he's still part of that gang from Chicago?" Tate asked. "Look at that other guy. Is that a jaguar tattooed on his neck?"

  Troy saw the enormous man who stood just behind G Money. He was as big as the NFL linemen, with a bald pink head and rimless, rectangular eyeglass frames. His small right ear was a tattered mess, but Troy barely noticed it past the rolls of fat on his neck and the deadly stare of his cold blue eyes. On his face he wore a thick, furry beard, rounded like a cartoon character's and giving no sign of the mouth behind it.

  "Aw," Nathan said, swatting at the air, "you watch too much TV. That's all an act."

  "I don't know," Tate said under her breath. "That guy's scary."

  "Seth took me by G Money
's house in Cotton Wood once," Troy said. "It's the biggest mansion in that place, a huge white thing with columns as tall as telephone poles."

  "Hey," Tate said, pointing not toward G Money but to the man standing on the opposite side of him from the big guy.

  "Troy!" the man called, waving his hand for Troy to come over.

  "Oh my God," Troy said, the blood rushing to his brain.

  "That's my dad."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  TROY APPROACHED THE YELLOW rope, his heart swelling with pride. Gramps and his mom said if his father truly wanted a relationship, he wouldn't give up; and showing up on the Falcons' sideline certainly wasn't giving up. It wasn't a lawsuit, but to Troy it looked good enough to count for that "first move" his mom had spoken about.

  "Let me introduce you and your friends," Troy's dad said, dipping under the rope and tugging G Money along with him, leaving the scary guy behind.

  A security guard in a yellow Windbreaker hollered and headed their way. Troy's dad wore a trim double-breasted suit with a shiny blue tie. His hair had been styled with gel, and on one of his wrists he wore a slim gold watch that glittered with diamonds. He looked slick.

  "Sir," the security guard said, "I'm sorry but--"

  "Relax," Troy's dad said smoothly. "I'm with G Money. I'm his lawyer. This is my son, the football genius everyone's talking about. His mom's the PR director. We're good."

  The security guard looked at G Money's smile and blinked at the shiny gold grille on his teeth. He nodded his head and backed away.

  "Dad, she's not the PR director," Troy said under his breath.

  His dad waved a hand as if he were shooing flies and said, "Your buddies from last night, right? Kids, this is G Money. I'm his personal lawyer. I do all his deals, right, G?"

  "You're my homey, Drew," G said, bumping fists. "And I heard about you, little man, helping my team. I grew up about three blocks from this stadium. Love the Falcons, so you rock."

  Troy bumped fists with the famous rapper, using his left hand because of his hurt finger. Jimmy Cribbs, the team photographer, appeared from nowhere and said, "Mr. Money, how about a picture with you and Troy? A music genius and a football genius, both huge Falcons fans."