Perfect Season (18 page)

CHAPTER SEVENTY-ONE

SUMMIT FOOTBALL
WAS
THE
place to be a high school player.

They won again and, even though Troy had to suffer through another Jets loss that weekend, it couldn't dampen his spirits about football.

Seth had stopped asking Troy to predict plays in their games, and Troy's heart swelled with affection for his coach, friend, and father figure for not pushing him on the subject. Instead, Seth urged Troy to spend as much time as he possibly could with Coach Sindoni, studying the other teams' defenses and preparing game plans to defeat them. Troy loved it.

The only person Troy spent more time with than Coach Sindoni was Chuku. The Killer Kombo was official. In school, they walked the halls together in a league of their own, two eighth graders who were the stars of the varsity football team. Troy led the league in passing, and Chuku led the league in receiving. The two of them had big dreams, and they liked to dream them out loud, together.

“Man,” Chuku said one day in the lunch room, wrinkling his face, “I know you like this UCF team, but I'm thinking Alabama . . . maybe Texas.”

Troy could only laugh, partly from embarrassment at Chuku talking about such things in front of people, and partly from the thrill that it really
might
come true.

The whole town of Summit, in fact, was abuzz with football, the team, its coaches, and especially its very young star quarterback and wide receiver.

The football team was undefeated, 6–0, and other people besides Troy and his teammates were beginning to whisper about a perfect season, something Summit had never achieved in the school's entire history. The better Summit did, the easier Troy found it to forgive Thane. The one he felt bad for was Ty, relegated to a middle school team that played on Thursdays after school when almost no one could go and watch. Certainly there weren't any TV cameras, newspaper articles, or highlights on the eleven o'clock news.

On the Friday night of their big game against East Orange, Troy was thinking about Ty, surveying the crowd as he liked to do right before warm-ups, and wondering if he'd see his two cousins at tonight's game. Ty's text to Tate had again been vague, so when he saw them sitting with Tate and his mom, he smiled and waved to all four of them. Troy appreciated the way Thane had continued to treat him well during his Sunday afternoons with the Jets or on the charter flights when the games were away. Even though the Jets' season was seriously floundering, Thane gave no indication that he blamed Troy in any way. Troy wasn't quite sure that if he were in Thane's shoes he'd manage to be so friendly and forgiving.

Knowing Ty and Troy were in the stands gave Troy an added boost and his passes seemed to fly during warm-ups with some extra zip. That didn't bother Chuku. He liked it when Troy heated up his passes, and he was prancing around the field like a stallion ready to break out of the gate. Troy had a light sweat as he marched with the team up the steps alongside the bleachers and toward the locker room for Seth's pregame speech. He had to admit that the sight of the tall man in the suit didn't shock him, because it was normal for Troy to see the man whether the team played home or away, and he always stood out because of his towering height and his suit and tie.

What did shock Troy was the look on Mr. Biondi's face as he left the tall man's side and tapped Seth's arm. The tall man disappeared into the crowd as Mr. Biondi tugged Seth away from the team toward the side entrance to the school. Troy slowed his pace and hung back by the door to watch them talking before Coach Sindoni grabbed him and pulled him inside, closing the team room door and sealing in the smell of sweaty shoulder pads, body odor, and Icy Hot.

“Seth's out there,” Troy said to Coach Sindoni.

“I know, with the AD, probably something about the national anthem or the team introductions,” said the coach. “Don't worry about that nonsense, you've got a game and I've got some things I want to go over with you, last minute, on the greaseboard.”

Troy tried to concentrate on Coach Sindoni's words and the diagrams on the board, but something told him—maybe it was the look on Mr. Biondi's face—that things just weren't right. To confirm his thoughts, the clubhouse door banged open. Seth stamped inside and banged it shut.

“Bring it in!” The pressure built up behind Seth's face as if he was going to explode. “Everyone! Now! Quiet!”

The team crowded into the benches in front of the main greaseboard at the center of the room. Seth seemed to compose himself, but spasms plagued his face, twisting it from anger to disgust to despair and back again.

“Okay. Here's the deal.” Seth's voice quavered. “When you work hard, when you succeed—I mean, we've got a perfect season going here—people will always be gunning for you. And if they can't beat you, they cheat you . . .”

Seth looked around. No one spoke. No one moved.

“Right,” Seth said. “You guys have no idea what I'm talking about. I wasn't sure I even wanted to tell you, but I'm going to. I'm going to tell you because it might mean that everything we've done is for nothing, but most of all, I'm going to tell you to make you mad.”

Seth's eyes traveled over every face. “We have done nothing wrong, but someone says we have. Guys, the AD just told me that we're under investigation by the league for rules violations, recruiting or something. I can't even imagine where they got that crazy idea, but the league is talking about suspending us and making us forfeit our games.”

No one spoke.

“I know,” Seth said. “What can you say? Nothing. But guys, whether this game counts on our record or not, it
might
be our last, so let's make it good . . . Let's make sure people know that Summit football is for real. Summit football is the best. Let's go prove that against East Orange. I WANT YOU TO PUNISH THEM!”

The team rose with a single roar and flooded toward the door.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO

AS THE CLOCK WOUND
down for another victory Seth stood with Troy at the edge of the field while the second-string offense slogged across midfield.

“Nice win,” Seth said.

“I hope it counts.” Troy couldn't keep the misery out of his voice.

“I hope so, too. I don't even know what we supposedly did wrong. They won't tell Mr. Biondi. We're probably going to have to get some lawyers involved, and that's never good.”

“Some perfect season . . .” Troy ground his teeth.

“Yeah, well . . .” Seth looked down at him. “Hey, I don't want to bring up another sore subject, but I was wondering about . . . you know . . . could you read their plays tonight?”

Troy kept his eyes out on the field. “No. I couldn't.”

“You tried?” Seth asked. “I know we haven't even talked about it.”

“I didn't
try
, but I didn't feel it, either. It's like I've tried to forget about it. You know, to focus on playing.”

“No matter.” Seth slapped him on the back and walked over to Coach Sindoni to congratulate him.

When Seth gathered the team in their end zone after the game, his voice cracked as he told them all how proud he was.

“You played like champions tonight, boys.” Seth's voice was hoarse from yelling and his words were raspy with emotion. “This thing with the league is not fair, and I will do everything I can to get it fixed. I promise that. But it's also a good lesson, guys. That's life. You can't count on things being fair, so when someone cheats you or mistreats you, you have to remember to keep your head up and just plow forward. Don't let them stop you. Never quit. That's what winners do, they never quit.”

Troy was exhausted from the game. Only two of the smaller, local papers had reporters there. People were used to Summit being a good team now, and the novelty of Troy working for the Jets—especially because he was a flop—had worn off. Troy spoke to the reporters after he changed. The coaching staff was going out to the Blue Water Grill for some nachos. Seth had invited Troy and his mom to join them, along with Tate.

When he finished answering the handful of reporters' questions, Troy accepted hugs from his mom and Tate and they all got into his mom's VW Bug. Seth was nowhere to be seen, but the team room door was closed and all the coaches' cars were there, so Troy knew the coaches were having a meeting. Most of the other cars were already gone when they pulled out of the lot and headed for Blue Water.

“Did you hear what's going on?” Troy asked her.

She pinched her lips together and nodded. “Mr. Biondi was in the stands and told us. Everyone knows. The league is saying they have some information that could make the team forfeit some games, maybe all of them. Supposedly they have to verify the facts, but Mr. Biondi says he has a bad feeling.”

“I bet it was that Grant Reed.” Troy clenched his teeth. “That jerk.”

“Grant Reed?” Tate tilted her head. “Why?”

Troy sighed. “One night during the summer workouts Seth was kidding with Chuku about earning his signing bonus. I know Reed heard him. He probably blabbed about it.”

“Yeah, but why would he do that?” Tate asked. “Grant Reed is your top defensive player. He's been puffed up like a peacock.”

“Because he's a jerk.” It was all Troy could think of.

His mom shook her head. “Mr. Biondi says it isn't. He said it's an adult. He thinks someone in the school.”

“That just doesn't make sense,” Troy said.

“I'm just telling you how it is, Troy. Try to be calm,” his mom said. “That isn't even the worst part about the whole thing.”

“Not the worst part?” Troy tilted his head. “They're talking about us having to forfeit games, games we've already won, and that's not the worst part? What are you talking about?”

His mom held on to the steering wheel as if it was a bucking bronco. She waited until she pulled up to a red light before she looked over at him. “He said the school board is talking to the league about getting rid of Seth.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-THREE

TROY'S MOM PULLED INTO
the Blue Water Grill parking lot and shut off the motor. She didn't get out.

“But . . . we're
winning
,” Troy said.

“And in most places, that would matter.” Her laugh was bitter. “Not here. I don't know why. Something's going on. Something we don't know about.”

“It's more than just winning,” Troy said. “Seth tells our team nonstop about doing good in school and being nice to people—I think some of the players are really doing it. They believe in him. They look up to him.”

“Whoever is behind this doesn't care about any of that. I know, it's twisted, but they don't, whoever they are. Come on, let's get a table.” Troy's mom got out of the car.

Troy followed her inside. A hostess took them to a table big enough for twelve by the window. Troy's mom accepted a menu and began to look it over. “Maybe I'll get some steamed clams.”

“Mom, what are you doing?” Troy asked.

She peeked over the menu. “Getting something to eat. I worked all day, skipped lunch, and hurried to the game.”

“You're acting like it's no big deal.”

She set the menu down. “You can't predict what's going to happen with something like this, and you can't control it. When some people get a little power, they go crazy.”

“They need to be stopped!” Troy pounded a fist on the table, jangling the silverware. “It's garbage!”

“Right, but things happen. This is a high school football team. Exciting to you and me, but most people don't really care. People are busy. Life goes on.” His mom ducked back behind the menu, leaving Troy to fume.

When Seth arrived with the other coaches, Troy felt a sense of relief. Seth didn't look as if he was going to let anything slide. He wore a deep scowl, sat down, and slapped the table.

“Can you believe this?” he asked Troy's mom.

She put the menu down and sipped her ice water. “I was just telling Troy that, yes, I do believe it.”

“I can't,” Seth said. “These guys can't. You look so calm.”

“There's nothing we can do,” she said. “Do you guys want to order?”

“Nothing? What do you mean, ‘nothing we can do'?” Seth asked.

“It's a sports league committee,” she said. “They answer to no one. It's their game. They've been playing it long before we got here, and my bet is that they'll be playing it a long time after we're gone.”

“I've played a few games,” Seth said. “I'm not going to just sit around and take it, that much I promise.”

“And you'll do what?” Troy's mom asked.

The waitress came and took their order. When she left, Seth said, “I called Thane's agent on the way over here. He's in Manhattan. Morty Wolkoff. He's got this woman lawyer, Ellen Eagen—she used to be a federal prosecutor—and she'd going to take my case. I'm not messing around. They want to investigate my team, me? They better watch every move they make, because if this is about lawyers, I'll outspend them ten to one.”

Troy's mom shook her head. The rest of the coaches said nothing.

“What, Tessa?” Seth asked.

“I hope you're not making it worse, that's all,” she said.

“I got reporters asking me if I broke any rules. I got people talking about lies and rumors like it's the truth,” Seth said. “I've got to protect myself, and I'm not going down without a fight.”

They ordered food and tried to talk about the game, but no one could break through the dark cloud that had settled in.

Troy turned to Tate as the waitress cleared their plates. “You're pretty quiet. What are you thinking about? Your soccer game tomorrow?”

“No.” Tate came out of her trance. “I was thinking about a bunch of things, who's behind this, why they're doing it, and what they've got—you know, evidence.”

“They have no evidence.” Troy spoke low so only Tate could hear. “Seth didn't do anything wrong.”

Tate looked around, making sure the adults were all talking to each other. “I know he didn't, but what about those jerseys you got from Seth to give to Chuku?”

“Tate,” Troy whispered, “no one knows about that but you, me, and Chuku.”

Tate shook her head and kept her voice low, too. “There's one other person, Troy. You know it. Stop trying to pretend it didn't happen.”