Perfect Season Page 8

  At the sound of the whistle Troy and Chuku gave each other a fist bump, then ran to their spots. Two quarterbacks from last year also headed for Coach Sindoni. Grant Reed—the jerk with the Kindergarten Corner joke—was one. The other was a junior—Billy Tomkins, who wore his straight blond hair just past his shoulders. The two older players ignored Troy, throwing the ball between themselves to warm up. Maybe because he was thinking more about showing them up than what he was doing, Troy’s first pass to Coach Sindoni went into the turf, where it skittered and bounced away.

  The older quarterbacks snickered. Coach Sindoni went to chase down the ball and Grant Reed hissed at Troy, “You stink, you little fruitcake. Go home to your mama before someone pounds your head in.”

  “What’s that, Reed?” Coach Sindoni hollered as he returned to his spot.

  “Told him to keep his elbow up, Coach.” Reed grinned at Billy Tomkins.

  “I’ll do the coaching,” Coach Sindoni snarled.

  Tomkins looked at Troy and dragged a thumb across his own throat, signaling that Troy was as good as dead. Troy set his teeth and fired another pass at Coach Sindoni, a perfect spiral.

  “Nice,” the coach said.

  When the coach looked away, Troy flipped his fingers under his chin at the two older boys. He knew better than to act afraid, no matter what he felt inside, and this wasn’t a joke in the locker room anymore. This was football. The two older players rewarded him by making baby noises, goo-goo and ga-ga, every time Coach Sindoni got out of earshot. Troy ignored that because it was just stupid, but he got the feeling that Tomkins—the bigger and stronger of the two, even though he was a year younger than Reed—wasn’t really into the whole thing. He was simply going along with Reed’s meanness.

  After a while, the receivers joined them and they began to run some basic pass patterns. Chuku jumped right out at everyone, literally. If the ball was too high, he could launch himself through the air to get to it, and the ball seemed to just stick to his fingers as if they were made of something other than flesh and blood.

  Reed had a strong arm and he threw every pass to show it off. When a tall, skinny receiver with freckles named Spencer Gentry—a sophomore—did a short crossing route and Reed fired a bullet two yards behind him, Spencer barely got a hand on it. The deflected ball skittered across the turf.

  “Catch the darn thing, will you?” Reed barked. “You get your hands on it, you catch it.”

  Spencer hung his head as he jogged to the back of the line.

  Troy stepped up to take the next turn and whispered to Reed under his breath, “If you want him to catch it, throw it to him.”

  Troy took the snap, dropped back, and laid a touch pass into Chuku, who had run the same short crossing route.

  “Careful, or I’ll smash your face in whether you’re the coach’s little pet or not,” Reed whispered back.

  “You’d be the coach’s pet if you knew how to win a game.” Troy spoke loud enough for the others to hear.

  “You think the rest of us care because you were on TV?” Reed sneered and raised his voice, too.

  Chuku marched right over to where the quarterbacks stood. “Don’t have to worry about anyone putting you on TV. They wouldn’t know which end was your face and which was your butt.”

  Some of the players laughed and Chuku grinned all around, but Reed didn’t take his hateful eyes off Troy.

  “You’re a little circus freak, you know that?” Reed growled.

  “Loser.” Troy snarled right back.

  “Hey!” Sindoni shouted. “You two got something to say?”

  “What’s going on?” Seth stepped into the drill with a tight jawline and a frown.

  “These two can’t seem to get along.” Coach Sindoni pointed to Troy and Reed.

  Seth stared at Troy and Reed for a moment with a look of disgust. “Troy, take a lap. Go!”

  Troy’s mouth fell open. “But—”

  “Okay, take two.” Seth folded his arms across his chest.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  TROY DROPPED HIS HEAD and took off running. By the time he’d finished, the entire team was together, running plays, offense against the defense. Reed was running the offense with the first team, which Seth had named based on seniority. Troy gritted his teeth. It felt as if steam was pouring out of his ears.

  He stood watching the first team run plays against a defense holding padded shields since there was no real blocking or tackling going on. Troy knew the coaches were just trying to get the team to learn a few new plays and line up in the right places. After three plays, Coach Sindoni swapped Reed out for Tomkins. Troy twisted his lips and bit into the side of his mouth.

  When Seth appeared beside him, Troy ignored him, staring straight ahead and pretending to watch.

  “Relax,” Seth whispered. “Trust me. It’ll all work out.”

  “You said I could start.” Troy’s voice quavered with anger.

  Seth turned to him. “Do you trust me?”

  Troy ground his teeth, but nodded.

  “Then relax. I didn’t say when you’d start. You don’t just come in and take over when there’s a senior quarterback who started last year, no matter how bad the team is. You gotta ease into it, especially because you’re so young. They’re gonna be tough enough on you for that alone. I know what you can do, but you’ve got to show your stuff to everyone else. Let it happen. Don’t be in such a rush. I know what I’m doing.”

  Troy felt a bit calmer. He did trust Seth. He had a hundred questions, but the tone of Seth’s voice kept him from speaking. He remembered a similar situation when Seth had been coaching the Georgia Junior League All-Star team. He didn’t start Troy then, either. Instead, he waited until it was clear to everyone that Troy was the best player at the position. He’d get his chance. He’d just have to wait, something he hated but could do.

  Seth wandered away, barking out instructions occasionally but for the most part letting the other coaches take care of business with their individual players.

  After about ten plays, Seth shouted, “Okay, get some backups in!”

  The coaches started making substitutions. Troy, Chuku, two more receivers—Spencer and Levi Kempka—and some other kids Troy didn’t know got to join the huddle. Troy called the play Coach Sindoni gave him and went to the line. Troy took the snap, dropped back, and threw a perfect strike to Chuku down the sideline. The offense hooted and hollered, loving the fact that they finally scored on the defense. Troy showed very little emotion, instead calling the offense back into the huddle. The next play, Troy threw a touch pass to Levi over the middle for a twenty-yard gain. The third play was a deep out to Spencer, thrown on a flat line, and caught by Chuku, who planted the toes of both feet inside the white line before going out of bounds. The two older quarterbacks had run the same plays but come nowhere near Troy’s accuracy throwing the ball.

  Finally, Troy went back to Chuku on a comeback, perfectly timed, and something they couldn’t have done without days of hard work at the Jets practice field with Ty. The defender overran Chuku, who darted into the end zone. In half the number of plays, Troy had scored twice when the older players hadn’t scored at all. Seth blew his whistle and shouted for the team to take a water break. On the far side of the field was a water horse, a section of pipe with holes every couple of feet so a dozen players could drink at the same time. Troy jogged over with the rest of the team and took his drink.

  When he finished, Troy walked right by Reed. As he passed, Reed whapped him in the back of the head. Troy staggered and nearly fell over. He spun around, red-faced. The rest of the players stared at him to see what he’d do. Reed had three inches on him and about fifty pounds. The veins in his muscular forearms swelled above his fists and the barbed-wire tattoo twitched.

  “Come on,” Reed snarled. “What you gonna do about it?”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  TROY GLARED FOR A few seconds, unblinking.

  “Hey!” Chuku stepped up with his grin. �
��How about a little brotherly love here? I know you all ain’t brothers, but in Baltimore we’d call each other brothers anyway and it’s not a race thing, either. I got plenty of white brothers.”

  Chuku patted Grant Reed on the back as if the two of them were old friends and Reed had no idea what to do.

  Troy used the opening to turn and walk away.

  He felt the disappointment in the players around him. They were looking for a showdown, but Troy knew better. He wasn’t stupid. Getting into a fistfight with Reed could get him hurt and in trouble.

  “That’s right, run, you little wimp.”

  Troy’s ears burned.

  “Don’t mind him, Troy,” Chuku warned. “He’s mixing up his bark and his bite is all.”

  Troy stopped and turned, keeping his head high. “Last I checked, this isn’t a fight club. It’s a football team, and I bet some of these guys are tired of getting their butts kicked every Friday night. That’s where I come in, because you gotta have a good quarterback to win.”

  Reed closed the gap between them, grabbing a fistful of Troy’s shirt, his eyes scanning the other side of the field to make sure the coaches weren’t looking. “You pencil-necked little wimp, you think you’re better than me?”

  Troy stared right back at him. “I know I am, and so do you . . .”

  There was a low, growling noise behind Troy. “Hey. Let him go.”

  Troy turned and saw Chance Bryant baring his teeth.

  “Yeah.” Big Nick Lee, the starting center on the offensive line, stepped up. “Let him go. You’re not afraid of him, are you?”

  “Afraid of what?” Reed shoved Troy away from him, dusting his hands.

  “Afraid he’ll take your job?” Nick Lee said.

  “Are you kidding?” Reed said. “This little baby?”

  “Good.” Chance Bryant rumbled like a belch of thunder. “Then leave him alone. If he is our quarterback, you don’t touch him. No one does. You know that. No one touches our quarterback, whether it’s you . . . or him.”

  Troy tried not to grin, but so much delight bubbled up inside him, it had to come out somewhere.

  Chuku leaned close, sharing his smile. “Looks like you got a pair of guardian angels, brother.”

  “Who’s the second?” Troy asked.

  “Do you not realize how close that caveman was to being laid out by the good-looking part of the Killer Kombo?” Chuku made a flourishing motion with his hand before he touched his own chest.

  On the far side of the field, Seth’s whistle blew, ending the drama.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  THE VERY NEXT EVENING, Seth’s new team had its second practice, and the obvious separation of abilities between Troy and the two older quarterbacks only grew.

  Troy and Chuku each seemed to know what the other was thinking, and they completed every pass. Spencer and Levi, too, quickly developed good rhythms with Troy.

  “Okay.” Coach Sindoni knelt down in the second-string huddle with a greaseboard. “You guys look like you’re ready for something a little more advanced. I call this ‘Sticks and Stones,’ because it’ll break the defense’s bones.”

  The coach drew up a play that had Spencer and Chuku run deep crossing routes with Levi and the other outside receiver running comebacks. Troy repeated the name of the play and gave them a snap count. He broke the huddle and approached the center. Troy read the defense in front of him—the defense they hoped to break.

  Troy called the cadence and took the snap. His corps of young receivers took off down the field. Troy pump-faked to Chuku, drawing the free safety to one side, then launched a strike to Spencer that left him in the end zone with the ball held high.

  Troy hooted and he and his receivers all bumped fists on their way back to the huddle. Troy couldn’t help overhearing Seth as he walked up to Coach Sindoni. “We’re awfully young.”

  “And we’re awfully good, too,” Coach Sindoni replied with a grin.

  Even though the night went well, Seth lined them up after practice and made them run cross-fields until Big Nick Lee puked. Seth frowned at the mess on his sideline but said nothing. Instead, he blew his whistle to call them all in. The night had begun to cool and bugs whizzed through the glow of the stadium lights above them. The players surrounded Seth on one knee, panting and sweating hard.

  Seth asked, “You guys know why I made you run so hard? Big Nick Lee, you okay?”

  Nick Lee wiped puke from the corner of his mouth, nodded, and grinned.

  The team only huffed and puffed, trying to catch their collective breath.

  Seth snorted. “I had you guys run hard to show you how doggone out of shape you are. You’ve been doing things here the wrong way for a long time. We can turn this thing around—we will turn this thing around—but it’s gonna take a lot of hard work. You can’t be a champion if you don’t work like a champion. And champions? Well, they run until they puke. That’s just part of it, right, Nick?”

  Everyone chuckled at Big Nick Lee.

  “Bring it in for a break.” Seth held up a fist for everyone to reach for. “‘Work like champions’ on three. One, two, three—”

  “Work like champions!” the team shouted. Then they began to disperse like weary soldiers after a long battle.

  As they walked off the field, Seth leaned close to Troy and spoke in a whisper. “See? You can get just as much work done on second team as you can on the first. It’ll all work out. You did great.”

  “Thanks,” Troy said. He saw Grant Reed walking in front of them and wished Seth had only spoken the words a little louder so that jerk could have heard.

  Chuku fell in alongside them, all smiles. “How was that?”

  Seth put a hand on Chuku’s shoulder. “Very nice, my friend. You earned your signing bonus tonight.”

  Chuku laughed at the joke, and only Troy noticed when Grant Reed glanced back at them with a mean smile that told Troy he had heard what Seth said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHUKU’S SIGNED JULIO JONES and Matt Ryan game jerseys arrived the next day at Troy’s house. With Tate looking over his shoulder, Troy tore open the box and pulled out the Julio jersey before he noticed that the chunky UPS man was holding out a pen, waiting for him to sign for the package. Troy took it and scribbled his name on the paper attached to the clipboard.

  The UPS man’s gray handlebar mustache twitched as he spoke. “That’s some jersey. Signed and everything, huh.”

  “Game-worn. Matt Ryan, too.” Troy held up the second jersey, proud of his work. “You know Seth Halloway, the Falcons’ linebacker?”

  “Yeah, he’s the coach here now. I saw that in the paper.”

  “He got these from the team. Everyone in Atlanta loves Seth.”

  “You’re a lucky guy.” The UPS man nodded at the jerseys. “The real thing.”

  “Yeah, they are the real deal.” Troy admired it. “Not for me, though I wish they were. No, these belong to my man Chuku Moore, payment in full.”

  “Well,” the UPS man said as he put the pen into the shirt pocket of his brown uniform and turned to go, “it’s a good day to be Chuku Moore, then, right?”

  Troy thanked the driver and went inside. The truck ground its gears and trundled off down the street.

  “Why did you say that?” Tate asked.

  “What?”

  “‘Payment in full.’ I don’t know, Troy.” Tate shook her head. “That didn’t sound good.”

  Troy snorted. “Payment from me to Chuku.”

  “I know that,” Tate said, “and you know that, but that guy doesn’t.”

  “You know, Tate.” Troy growled a bit. “Sometimes you just overthink things. You think that guy even knows who Chuku Moore is?”

  “Not now he doesn’t,” she said. “But if what you want to happen really happens—I mean, you guys turning this football team around—everyone in this town is going to know Chuku Moore.”

  Troy bit the inside of his lip to keep from saying something mean. After
all, Tate had her father to worry about. Still, it made him mad.

  It made him mad because he knew Tate was right.

  He’d been stupid.

  CHAPTER FORTY

  THAT EVENING THEY DIDN’T have practice. It was a good thing because it was the night of the Helena concert. Tate had tried to convince Troy to take Ty instead of her, but Troy just wasn’t going to do that. He hadn’t even spoken to his cousin since the day at the beach.

  “You guys are going to have to talk. The whole thing is tearing Ty up. You guys are family, Troy.” Tate held up her phone as if Ty were on the other end of the line.

  It annoyed Troy, the amount of texting back and forth Tate did with Ty. In a way he felt that Ty didn’t deserve to be friends with Tate all the time if he wasn’t even going to the same school as the rest of them. Wasn’t Ty a traitor? He opened his mouth to say so but realized it would sound pretty dumb.

  Instead, he shrugged. “I don’t think he cares all that much. If he did, his brother could get him in, trust me. Besides, none of that matters to my mom. No way is she going to let me go without you, Tate. You know that. You’re not just my best friend, you’re our guest.”

  That ended it, but Troy knew Tate would try again to get him together with Ty. That’s just how she was.

  Chuku and his dad picked up Troy and Tate in the big white Mercedes. Chuku turned around in the front seat and flashed the tickets and backstage passes like a winning poker hand. Troy handed over the signed jerseys and Chuku handed him and Tate two of the tickets and passes Mr. Cole had given to Troy in the first place. It was a relief for Troy to have them back in his own hands.

  Chuku tugged the Julio Jones jersey on over his T-shirt and jeans and stuffed the Matt Ryan jersey under the front seat. “Awesome. I don’t know if I should tell you this, but I was going to invite you anyway.”

  “What?” Troy’s stomach squirmed because he thought of what he’d said to the delivery man.