Football Champ (5 page)

AS HE FOUGHT HIS WAY
up through the pile of bodies, Troy heard the explosion of cheers. He batted another arm off his face mask, stepped on someone’s leg, and tripped forward out of the pile like a zombie breaking free from his grave.

There, in the end zone, atop the shoulders of the entire team, Tate sat with one hand holding up the ball and the other pointing a single finger to the sky. The scoreboard confirmed it for him. Somehow, from somewhere, Tate had caught his pass in the end zone for the two-point conversion. The Duluth fans poured over the fence, swarming the end zone. The Tigers were in the championship!

As Troy ran for the melee, Seth scooped him up, holding him by the waist, hollering and spinning him in a
circle as he sliced into the middle of the Tigers players and fans. When they reached Tate, Nathan was already there, holding her up. Troy flung his arms around them both, hugging them and screaming with joy as they, and the players and coaches beneath them, collapsed into a pile of laughing, bellowing winners.

After a minute of mayhem, Seth’s shouting could be heard by everyone and the team assembled in an orderly line behind Tate to cross the field and shake hands with the dejected Dragons. Afterward, Seth gathered the team by the Tigers bench, with the parents and fans staying back at a respectful distance. Troy and his teammates had to strain to hear Seth’s voice, it was so hoarse and raspy from shouting.

“We won the North,” Seth said, referring to one of the two regions in the state, “and that’s an incredible accomplishment for a team that barely made the playoffs. But you believed, and now we go to the state championship. You believed and you had heart, and we’re not done yet!”

The team cheered.

Seth held up his hands and the players gradually grew quiet.

“Next week, we’re going to win it all,” Seth said. “That’s how I want you to think. We’re going to enjoy a day off—I should say
you guys
will enjoy a day off; I’ve got to play a game against Seattle—and then we’re going to prepare like no other team has ever prepared.
We’re going to come up with a plan to beat the pants off whoever they send at us, however good they are, however big they are, however fast, however strong. We are the Tigers and we
will
be champions!”

WHEN THE CROWD FINALLY
dispersed, Troy climbed into Seth’s big yellow H2 along with his mom. His mind spun with the thought of being the quarterback of a state championship team. It would set him apart from his peers and put him on the track he ached for: the road to the NFL, not as a football genius, but as a real player. If Troy could win next week’s game, high school coaches, college coaches, the media, other players, and fans would rally around him in the years to come, giving him every advantage he could hope for. He would be marked as a champion.

The thought of that made Troy worry, though, because it was at moments like this throughout his life—just when everything seemed to be going great—that things turned sour instead.

Troy knew Seth was headed to Wright’s Gourmet for their favorite sandwiches, but on the way, he pulled into a newly constructed shopping center where half the glass storefronts were still plastered with real estate ads. Only a handful of cars rested in the smooth parking lot, and most of them were at the far end, in front of a Fantastic Fitness Center marked by its big red neon sign. In the middle of the shopping center was a large steakhouse that appeared to open only for dinner.

“What’s this?” Troy asked, eyeing the fogged glass of the storefront on the near end of the brick shopping center.

“A little unorthodox medical treatment,” Seth said. “A vitamin shot and an adjustment. It won’t take long.”

Troy scrunched up his face.

His mom said, “A lot of the players get things like acupuncture and vitamin shots and back adjustments.”

“Players and old people looking for the fountain of youth,” Seth said, getting out of the truck.

“Well,” Troy said, “if I’m going to play in the NFL one day, maybe I should check it out.”

“Come in if you want,” Seth said.

Troy’s mom said, “I hate to drive this thing, but I’m going to run across the street to the Kroger and get some orange juice. I’ll meet you guys back here.”

“Why do you hate it?” Seth asked, his voice still hoarse, as she scooted over into the driver’s seat.

She shrugged and said, “It’s a gas guzzler.”

Seth scratched his head and said, “Well, I need some new wheels anyway. Maybe a hybrid truck.”

Troy’s mom tilted her head and smiled lovingly at Seth. Seth put a hand on her cheek and when Troy’s mom leaned over and kissed Seth, Troy blushed and looked away, climbing out of the truck and waiting on the curb with his eyes on the ground.

Seth hopped out and patted him on the back. Troy’s mom rumbled away, high up in the H2, and Troy followed Seth through the dark glass door whose fancy gold letters read
MERCURY MEDICAL GROUP
. Inside a small waiting room, two bulky black leather chairs rested on a thick gray rug with a brass lamp between them. Large prints of modern art paintings hung in chrome frames from the white walls. Troy sniffed at the new smell of the carpet, then folded his arms across his chest and shivered.

“Why’s it so cold in here?” he asked Seth.

Seth pointed to a big vent up by the ceiling and said, “The AC unit for the whole building is right over us. It has to pump hard to get all the way to the other end for Fantastic Fitness, so the doc’s place is always cold. It’s nice in the summer, though.”

Seth opened a heavy wooden door, went down a short hall, gave one knock, and went right into a large office where a man, surrounded by piles of papers and magazines, worked at a computer. Beneath his lab coat, he wore a bright green cardigan sweater over a
white T-shirt. His tan skin had an orange tint to it. Three faded leg bones on his desk held down papers that rustled in the air blowing from a second AC vent directly above him.

Next to the desk, a skeleton hung from a chrome metal stand. Two detailed diagrams of the human body were plastered onto the wall behind it. On the far end of the room, an exam table stood amid an island of green marble, and shelves and counters of black granite lined the walls. The man, tall and thin with spidery brown hair on his arms and poking up from the collar of his white T-shirt, rounded the desk and extended a hand to Seth.

“Good to see you,” he said, nodding so that long strands of bleached blond hair had to be swept back from his eyes—eyes so cold and blue that Troy felt like they could look right through him.

“Troy,” Seth said, “this is Doc Gumble.”

Troy shook the doctor’s cold, damp hand.

“Hey, little fella. Uh,” Gumble said, looking from Troy to Seth, “he’s going to wait in the front, right?”

Seth frowned and looked at Troy. “He was interested in how this whole thing is done. I’m good with it if you are.”

“Honestly? I think it’s better if he waits out front,” Gumble said, looking at Troy with cold, knowing eyes that made Troy happy to leave. “It’s better. Really.”

“Well, I’ll be right out, buddy,” Seth said, winking at
Troy. “You know, doctor’s orders and all that.”

Troy nodded and stepped outside. He was halfway down the hall when he heard two quick snaps that made him spin around. Worry froze him in his tracks and he returned, pushing his ear to the office door. The sickening sound made Troy wonder if the doctor hadn’t broken Seth’s neck. With his heart hammering, he turned the doorknob and opened it just a pinch. He rested his forehead on the door, angling it so that his eye was even with the crack, and held his breath.

Seth lay on the table with his head in both of Gumble’s hands. The doctor was snapping it a second time, first one way, then the other, and Seth’s vertebrae crackled like a bundle of dry sticks. Seth groaned, and Troy contorted his face. His stomach heaved and he turned away.

Without a sound, Troy closed the office door and hurried outside. He scanned the area for his mom and saw her pulling into the lot when he noticed a small silver car in front of the steakhouse. It hadn’t been there before. In the front seat was a man whose face Troy couldn’t quite make out because of the glare.

Troy’s mom pulled up and beeped the horn, and by the time Troy circled the H2, the car had pulled out of its spot, heading for the exit. As it passed, it slowed, and the passenger window rolled down. The driver leaned across the seat and snapped a picture of Troy, then kept going.

Troy’s mouth fell open and he blinked as the silver car screeched out of the parking lot. When the camera came away from the man’s face, Troy recognized the driver.

Brent Peele.

Troy’s mom rolled her window down and asked, “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” Troy said, wishing it were true.

WHEN SETH CAME OUT,
he and Troy climbed into the H2. Troy opened his mouth to tell his mom and Seth about Peele, but it seemed too strange. It seemed like he’d dreamed the whole thing. Maybe his imagination was running away with him. Maybe one of the hits he’d taken during the game had left him confused. Maybe he was dehydrated or something. The doubt kept him quiet.

At Wright’s Gourmet, Troy got his favorite: a Rebel Rueben with a piece of chocolate cake and a root beer to wash it down. He pushed the thought of Brent Peele out of his mind, and the three of them talked and laughed about the Tigers’ victory. Troy’s mom asked who they’d have to face for the state championship.

“The winner of the Valdosta Vipers and the Forest
Park Titans game,” Troy said, looking up at the clock on the wall. “They’re playing right now, right, Seth?”

“Yup,” Seth said, taking a swig of his own root beer. “Valdosta’s the favorite. They’ve won the state title three out of the last five years. But whoever it is, we’re not going to have the advantage of them thinking they know our plays.”

“But you said we can win this,” Troy said. “That we can be the champs.”

Seth offered him a grim smile and said, “Anyone can beat anyone, right? That’s why you play. It’s just that our defense, well, you saw what Dunwoody did to them.”

Troy’s mom crunched a BBQ chip and asked, “Why don’t you do the same thing Troy does with the Falcons?”

Seth nodded his head and said, “I know. I’d like to, but the problem is that I don’t have anyone who can learn the kind of signals you’d need to send in and make the calls at the line of scrimmage an instant before the other team snaps the ball. The offense that Coach Renfro put together is actually pretty good. The kids have enough good plays that I can just tinker with it a little and it’s no big deal. But he didn’t know anything about defense, and we just don’t have time to teach all the kids a whole new system.”

“What if Troy played defense?” his mom asked. “Could he learn it all?”

Seth twirled his soda bottle, thinking a moment before he nodded, looked up, and said, “Yes, I bet he could. Not only that, he’d know where the ball was going, so even if he couldn’t get the rest of the defense in the right spot, we’d be a lot better off with him in there.”

“So?” his mom said.

“He’s never played defense,” Seth said softly. “It’s not something you just do. Most teams protect their quarterbacks, even in a junior league. If you have a good one, you can’t afford to get him hurt. And I’m walking, or limping, proof that if you play defense, you’re gonna get hurt.”

“I could do it,” Troy said. “Play safety or cornerback or something. I know all about pass coverage.”

“I know you know it,” Seth said. “And you’re a good enough athlete that you could do it. But if we’re gonna have you do it, we gotta get started.”

“You don’t mean right now?” Troy’s mom said.

“Yes,” Seth said, wiping his hands and standing up. “I do.”

“Look at him, Seth,” his mom said, extending her open hand at Troy. “He’s tired and sore. He hasn’t even had a shower.”

“Yeah,” Seth said, collecting the round baskets their food came in, dumping their trash, and grinning at Troy’s mom, “it’s a rough way to make a living. I wouldn’t advise it for anyone.”

Troy spent what was left of the afternoon with Seth, going through some simple drills on the spacious back lawn of Seth’s gray stone mansion in the Cotton Wood Country Club. Troy’s mom helped their efforts by playing receiver, running the routes Seth drew on his palm so Troy could practice his coverage. In the moments Seth let him stop to catch his breath, Troy couldn’t help dreaming that one day he’d have his own stone mansion in Cotton Wood. He’d buy a place for his mom, too. He could just imagine the smile on her face when he handed her the keys.

“Not bad,” Seth finally said, tucking the football they’d been using into a mesh bag filled with others, “but the biggest thing is going to be stopping the run.”

Seth circled the large stone swimming pool and disappeared behind some bushes under the deck overlooking the pool and lawn. When he reappeared, he was dragging a huge blue tackling dummy.

“We gotta get you tackling low and hard and wrapping up with your arms,” Seth said. “That’s the key. It won’t do us any good to get you to where the ball’s going if you can’t make the tackle.”

“If Tate can do it,” Troy said, getting into a ready stance on the lawn, “then I sure can.”

“Hey,” his mom said, “don’t say that just because she’s a girl.”

“Yeah,” Seth said, grunting with the dummy, “you’ll get us all in trouble.”

“I just mean she’s pretty skinny,” Troy said.

“It’s not about size,” Seth said, peeking out from behind the big blue bag. “You saw that today.”

“I’ll let you two bang around,” Troy’s mom said, wiping her brow. “I’m going to get a cold drink.”

“Today it was about brains,” Troy said, grinning at Seth as his mom walked away.

“But this will be about heart,” Seth said, stepping aside after settling the dummy, whose sand-weighted base kept it upright, in the middle of the lawn. “Come on. I probably should have done this first, to see if the whole thing is worth even trying.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Troy took a running start and unloaded on the dummy with all his might. Seth just shook his head. Troy hit it over and over, but Seth merely grunted and kept shaking his head.

Troy rubbed his shoulder and finally asked, “What?”

“You gotta hit it better than that,” Seth said, “and wrap your arms around the dummy when you tackle. You hit like that and they’ll run right through you like you’re a wet paper bag.”

Troy’s stomach knotted tight. He felt his face go hot. He backed up and went at it again.

“Man,” Seth said, still shaking his head.

“What?” Troy demanded, getting up and brushing off the grass.

“This ain’t offense,” Seth said. “You’re on defense now.
Hit
the thing, will you?”

“I
am
,” Troy said, fuming.

“Really hit it,” Seth said, barking at Troy with the gruff edge to his voice he used when he coached the Tigers. “Not like some tap dancer. Come
on
. Get mad.”

Being compared to a tap dancer made Troy see red. He coiled his body and launched himself at the dummy with all the fury he possessed.