Perfect Season (2 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

“IT'S TY AND THANE,”
Troy said as he watched his cousins get out of the Escalade. “I thought we were going to see them later.”

“What do you mean, ‘What do we do now?'? We ask them to sit with us. Don't be silly,” Troy's mom said.

“They know we moved in, but they don't know
where
, Mom,” Troy said. “And they don't know I'm going to Summit.”

“Ty will be fine,” Troy's mom said. “He's a sweet boy.”

Troy was flooded with dread as his cousins entered the diner.

First came Ty, thirteen and a football player, like Troy. Troy never knew Ty existed until they met at the Super Bowl in Miami, and he learned that Ty's mom was his dad's older sister. Troy really liked Ty. Even though his cousin was on the quiet side, he gave Troy a good feeling. Tate McGreer, Troy's best friend back in Atlanta—who was a girl—also said she got a good feeling from Ty, and that meant something since Tate was really good at reading people.

Troy actually suspected that Ty had a thing for Tate. Troy could only suspect because Ty never talked about Tate; he could barely talk
to
her when they'd been together. Troy knew from Tate, though, that Ty texted her pretty regularly.

People were recognizing Thane, Ty's brother. He was an all-pro wide receiver for the Jets. Most people called him Tiger. He was six foot two and 230 pounds, ran like the wind, and had hands sticky as a frog's tongue.

“Hey, it's Tiger Lewis!” one man shouted from the counter before his wife shushed him with a rolled-up newspaper.

A dad and a little kid on their way out asked Thane to sign the kid's Jets hat. Thane borrowed the wide-eyed waitress's pen and signed the bill of the cap with a smile.

Troy felt his mind whirling. He had no idea how to break the news about having to attend Summit after he and Ty had made elaborate plans with texts and on Facebook to become St. Stephen's next dynamic duo on the football field. Troy was going to be QB with Ty as his top receiver. Even as they moved their things into the house on Cedar Street, Troy kept thinking things would somehow work out.

“Ty is gonna kill me,” Troy said.

But before he could come up with a plan, Thane and Ty started coming over to their booth.

“Hey, you're here!” Thane removed his sunglasses and smiled. “We're looking forward to getting together tomorrow night. But, hey, welcome to New Jersey. Not as hot as Atlanta, right?”

“Pretty close,” Troy's mom said.

Troy and his mom stood up and they all exchanged hugs before Troy and Ty bumped fists.

“Join us,” Troy's mom said.

“I'll order,” Thane said. “Ty, you want a milk shake?”

Ty nodded to his brother and turned to Troy. “You guys all unpacked?”

“Pretty much. I just got my school schedule.”

Ty frowned. “Schedule? Registration isn't until next Friday. How'd you get your schedule?”

Troy glanced at his mom. She licked some ice cream from her fingers and pretended to look out at the cars passing on the street.

“Uh, at Summit.”

Ty's face wrinkled. “What are you talking about?”

“Well . . . man, this stinks, but I can't go to St. Stephen's.”

Ty's mouth hung open before he scoffed. “Stop goofing.”

“I wish I was.” Troy sighed. “It stinks. We just can't swing it.”

Ty laughed and looked from Troy to his mom. “You're kidding.”

They should have been kidding. Troy had signed a fifteen-million-dollar contract with the Jets. Five million dollars had been paid to Troy when he signed it. The plan had been for them to rent a huge home on the better side of town near Thane and Ty. That was before Troy's father lost every cent of the money in a crooked deal, then vanished.

It was Troy's mom's turn to dive in. “If everything goes well, though, Troy can play with you next year. You'll both be in high school then, anyway. It's just temporary, until we get things straightened out financially.”

Ty's face lit up. “Ms. White, you don't have to worry about that. My brother, he can—”

The dark look on Troy's mom's face silenced him.

“I mean . . . isn't there any way at all?”

Troy's mom shook her head.

Thane appeared with two milk shakes and sat down next to her. “Any way for what?”

“Troy's going to have to go to Summit for a year until we get some financial things worked out.” Troy's mom fired her words like a machine gun. “St. Stephen's will have to wait.”

Thane tilted his head with a puzzled expression. “But I can—”

Troy's mom held up a hand. “Don't. Please. I know if we
really
needed it that you'd be there for us, but that's not how we operate. It's not a bad lesson for Troy to learn. Things don't always work out the way you plan them, right?”

Thane got a sad, faraway look in his eyes. “That's right. They don't.”

Troy bet to himself that Thane was thinking of the parents he and Ty had lost in a car crash two years ago, and he wished his mom had used different words. They all sat in an awkward silence. Ty sucked down some of his shake before he brightened again.

“Hey,” he said, “I got an idea! I know how we can fix this.”

Troy stared at him, wanting to believe there was a way. “How?”

CHAPTER FIVE

TY GRINNED. “WE'RE IN
the Summit district. I can go there with you. We can play together this year, and then, when things get straightened out, we both go to St. Stephen's
next
year.”

Troy felt a surge of excitement. It was something he hadn't considered. He'd seen the buildings and campus at St. Stephen's on their website, redbrick buildings with white columns, noble old trees offering shade to wrought-iron benches on rolling grass lawns. The school had a football stadium to rival those in most small colleges. He never imagined Ty would trade all that for the broken-down Summit football program.

“Really?”

Ty looked at his older brother. Thane pulled his lips back from his clenched teeth and tilted his head. He cleared his throat.

“What?” Ty asked him.

Thane gave Troy's mom an embarrassed look. “I . . . uh, we sure can talk about it.”

“Okay,” Ty said, “let's talk.”

Thane flashed his little brother an annoyed look. “Later.”

“I think your brother is right, Ty.” Troy's mom finished her DQ sandwich and wiped her fingers on a napkin. “You can't just change where you're going to school to play football.”

Thane's face flushed. “Seriously, I'd really be happy to work something out with you, Tessa, so Troy could go to St. Stephen's, too. I know these guys have big plans.”

Up went the hand again. “It's nice, trust me, I appreciate the thought, but no. I can't. Absolutely not. So are you two still ready to have dinner with us tomorrow night? I make a mean plate of spaghetti and meatballs. Right, Troy?”

“She does.” Troy tried to sound enthusiastic.

“Our mom used to be this great cook,” Thane said, “and she'd get mad at me because spaghetti and meatballs was all I ever wanted to eat.”

“I love it, too,” Ty said. “Hey, can Troy go with us to the Jets tomorrow? He and I can throw the ball on the practice field.”

They finished their ice cream and milk shakes, making plans for Ty and Troy to get together the next day, and said good-bye. On the car ride home, Troy couldn't help himself.

“Mom, he
wants
to help us. I'm going to make a ton of money in the next three years.”

She sighed. “And when you do, and we have money to spend, we'll change schools. Troy, it's not easy being a single mom. I'm not complaining, but part of how I've done it is sticking to certain principles, and this is one of them. Now, if you want to spend time with Ty and Thane this summer, you've got to promise me this will be the end of begging to go to St. Stephen's. It's not going to happen. I worry about you. I know a lot of exciting things have happened, but you're still young.

“You have to stop trying to manipulate everyone and everything around you. Some things are just meant to be, and you playing for Summit this year is just one of them. Do you get it? Are we done now?” She ended with a low growl.

“Yes. We're done.”

That's what Troy said, but in his mind, he already had a plan of how he just might fix things
without
changing schools.

When they got home, he did some chores that his mom asked him to do, then took his iPhone and set off on a walk down the street. When he got away from the house, he dialed and waited for an answer.

“Hello?” said a man's voice.

“Hey. It's me, Troy.”

“Hey, what's up?”

“Well, you know how you said if I ever really needed you, all I have to do is call?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I need you.”

CHAPTER SIX

TROY'S EXPERIENCE TOLD HIM
that adults could be relied upon only up to a certain point. After that, they were as unpredictable as a fumble. You never knew which way they were going to bounce. He tried to push the phone call out of his mind and focus on his trip to the Jets facility. It was no small thing, being hired as a twelve—now thirteen—year-old kid by an NFL team. The Jets' owner hadn't done it without thoroughly testing Troy, and, at the time, Troy had been pretty puffed up about his talent and the way he was using it to help his favorite team in the entire world—the Atlanta Falcons—become world champions. So when he had to prove his worth, he'd done it with great pride. Predicting play after play while watching an old Jets game on tape, he'd passed the owner's test with flying colors.

Some people in the media said Troy was simply at the right place at the right time. They openly doubted his “football genius,” and claimed that the Falcons would have won the big game with or without him. The only opinion that mattered on that front, though, was the Jets' owner's, and he'd signed a contract with Troy and his parents making Troy a “consultant” for the team in the upcoming season.

Thanks to his mom's insistence, he had to work during the season only on game days. That meant traveling with the team when they were away. During the week—and throughout the team's four-week training camp—Troy would go to school, attend football practice, and do chores around the house just like any other kid.

 

The next morning, Troy's mom was already up and dressed in a business suit with breakfast on the table. She was excited because she had been called back for a final job interview. Troy sat down, bleary-eyed and scratching his head.

“Troy,” she said as she cleaned the frying pan, “I called Mr. Cole, just as a courtesy, to let him know you'll be at the facility later on with Thane and Ty, and he said he'd appreciate it if you stopped by his office for a couple of minutes so he could have a chance to talk with you.”

“Talk about what?” Troy couldn't explain exactly why, but the owner made him a bit uncomfortable.

“Whatever he wants. You're a big investment.”

His mom gave him a list of things she wanted him to do around the house before he went with Thane and Ty. “Lunch is in the fridge. If you finish everything, you can read until Thane comes to get you, but no Xbox. Now I've got to go try to nail down that job. Wish me luck.”

“Luck,” Troy said.

He watched her go and listened to the VW Bug crawl down the gravel driveway and whine up the street. He sighed and cleaned his plate before attacking the list of jobs. He finished with time enough to read, and that's what he did, out under the tree in back while he ate his ham and cheese in a folding lounge chair. He liked their backyard, and the way that beyond the fence a dense wood whispered to him. It reminded him of home in Atlanta, only the wood behind his house there was a pine wood. This one was oak, maple, and ash, and he knew that when winter came, there would be no cover, only a web of branches between them, some power lines, and the back of a shopping mall.

Troy got lost in
Seconds Away
, thinking the main character, Mickey Bolitar, was pretty cool. When someone kicked his foot, Troy jumped. The book tumbled to the grass.

“What!” He looked up into a face so familiar, and yet so different it sent a shiver right through him.

CHAPTER SEVEN

TROY'S FATHER SMILED AND
showed a new gold tooth. His spiked hair was reddish-orange instead of brown, and he had a beard. With a gold loop hung from one ear he looked like a cheesy pirate. “How's my boy?”

“Dad? What are you doing here?”

“Where else should I be?” His father scooped up the football from the grass and tossed it into the air before catching it.

Troy shrugged, his mind going from point to point on the globe. “Cuba. New Zealand. India? I don't know. Don't they want to kill you?”

“They want to kill Drew Edinger, not Sam Christian. That's me now. Funny you mention New Zealand.” His father caught the football again and chuckled. “That's where my passport is from. How are you?”

Everything that had happened and everything that was happening boiled up inside Troy in an instant. He held his breath and felt his face turn color, then let it out with a hiss that ended in a bark of disbelieving laughter.

“How am I?” Troy sang the words with “I” ending on a low note and shook his head.

His father stared. “People say a boy starts to get sassy when his father's away.”

Troy stared right back. “You mean for the first twelve years, or just these past months when the FBI and the Mafia have been after you?”

“Remember scuba diving in the Georgia Aquarium? How many kids get to do that? The whale shark? That manta ray? Riding around in a Porsche Carrera? You weren't complaining then.”

Troy's mouth hung open.

“See?” His father stood a bit taller.

“No, I don't see,” Troy said. “I can't even go to St. Stephen's, and the public school I have to go to has a dog poop football team. That's
if
they have football at all.”

“Problems are just obstacles.” His father smiled. “You can go over them, under them, around them, or through them.”

Troy didn't return the smile and his father's face got more serious. “Look, Troy, I know I've had my issues, but I know how to stay out in front of things. Trouble is something I'm good with, so . . . what do you think? Can I help?”

“Sure. Got a spare five million dollars?” Troy watched his father wince as the arrow hit home, but it didn't make him feel any better. In fact he felt worse, and his voice grew tired. “Why are you here?”

“I know things have gotten tangled up, but I care, Troy. I care about you.”

Despite everything, Troy felt his heart swell with hope and . . . he guessed it was
love
, and that made him mad. “And you have a plan, don't you?”

His father laughed. “What are you talking about?”

The words gushed out of Troy's mouth. “If you know what's going on with me and the Jets, you can bet on the games, win some money.”

His father huffed. He dipped his face down and touched his own chest. “Me? I . . . How did you know?”

“It's like football.” Troy didn't try to keep the disgust out of his voice. “Sometimes the pieces just come together and I know exactly what's going on. At least you didn't try to deny it.”

“Well.” His father found his smile again. “I can't see how a little inside information would hurt anyone.”

Troy suddenly wanted his father to leave. “Do you know what Mom would do if she knew you were here?”

“Call the police?” His father put the football under one arm and held out the other hand for Troy to shake. “Got it. I'm going anyway. No need to worry about me. Good luck, son. You don't have to love me back, but I love
you
.”

Part of Troy wanted to shake his father's hand, but he couldn't. Not after what the man had done and what he wanted to do now. When his father took his hand back, Troy wanted to cry out, but his father had already turned and was halfway across the lawn before Troy's thoughts were anything but a jumble.

When the man reached the corner of the house, he turned to look at Troy and flashed his grin.

“Catch!” He fired the football at Troy.

Troy's hands snatched the whistling ball from the air. He caught it, but it stung.

“You know what?” His father's voice carried across the lawn as confident as ever. “One day you're going to need me, Troy. And one day I'm going to be there for you when no one else will.”

The words stunned Troy. They were so similar to what Seth Halloway had once said to him. Troy gripped the ball, bit into his lower lip, and blinked.

In that same instant, his father was gone.