SuperFan (11 page)

Shawn pumped his fist in the air as he started down the hallway, trying to show his mother confidence he didn't quite feel.

There were enough kids milling around outside the Dome to make Shawn's stomach do a loop-the-loop.

While his family and Alex were taken to a VIP seating area, Rodrigo escorted Shawn to his own locker room to dress and prepare for the finals. His new outfit was gold: gold shorts, a gold and black top, and gold and black running shoes. All good. But one part of his competition outfit was missing. His mask.

“Will I see Rey before I go up?” Shawn asked.

Rodrigo nodded. “Absolutely. He says he's got something for you.”

Shawn smiled happily. Rey hadn't forgotten!

Rodrigo stepped out to make a phone call, and Shawn went to the three-quarter-length mirror near the showers to check out his outfit from every angle. He loved how his first name was spelled out in block letters across the rear of his shirt:
S-H-A-W-N
.

“Hey! They've got the wrong name! It should say
W-E-E-N-I-E
!”

Oh no. Spike. Somehow he'd gotten into the locker room.

Spike marched over and got in Shawn's face. His all-black outfit looked scary. “I've got a great idea, Weenie. Why don't we settle this SuperFan thing before we even go upstairs? You and me. One fall. Loser leaves town. Right here, right now!”

“Right here,” Spike repeated. “Right now. Loser leaves town. One fall. You in, Weenie?”

Shawn took a quick look around, hoping that someone—anyone!—would come to his rescue. There was no one. He knew that even if he didn't agree to Spike's ridiculous suggestion that they wrestle “right here, right now. Loser leaves town,” Spike could hurt him in a way that would render the finals meaningless.

How had the WWE let this guy into the competition, anyway?

“You in, Weenie? Right here, right now? Loser leaves town?”

“I think you need to have someone else write your lines,” Shawn fired back courageously. “You keep repeating yourself.”

Maybe it was the wrong approach, making Spike mad, but Shawn was glad that he was finally standing up for himself. Then he thought about what he had seen that morning, with Spike being chewed out by his own father. How much of Spike was Spike, and how much was a reaction to a father who would treat him that way?

Shawn decided to find out. Gently.

“You know, Spike. I think you're a great competitor.”

“I'm
the
great competitor. You're the weenie.”

Spike was obviously not flattered. Shawn pressed on, though. “You're in the finals. You must be under a lot of . . . a lot of pressure.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I saw you with your father. He really wants you to win. I don't know if that makes it easier or harder.”

“Well,” Spike mimicked, “it's a lot more than I can say for your dad. He didn't even bother to come!”

Shawn exploded with fury. No one busted on his dad and got away with it. “That's because he's over in Afghanistan!”

Spike was silent. Thoughtful even. “I didn't know.”

“You didn't know?” Shawn asked, marginally less angry. “Come on. You had to know! It was all over my video.”

“My dad wouldn't let me watch. He wanted me to be focused and promote myself.” Shawn rubbed his chin. “Your dad's in Afghanistan, huh? That's gotta be rough.”

It was almost like Spike was being human. Almost. Then his opponent hardened.

“Well, Weenie, it's been nice chatting and all that. But my dad's gonna lose his cookies if I don't win, and I don't wanna be around for that. Ready to go, right now? Let's do it!”

Spike made a quick move toward Shawn, and Shawn put up his hands. He couldn't fight Spike off, but maybe he could buy some time. Just as Shawn felt Spike's fingers lock on his shoulders, a deep adult voice boomed.

“Spike Murcer! What are you doing?”

It was Rey.

Spike whirled, all innocence. “I was just wishing Shawn good luck.”

In five quick strides, Rey joined them. He wore a wrestling outfit in the same colors as Shawn's competition clothes, plus a mask. “Spike Murcer, I don't believe it for a minute. Get your sorry self out of my face. Go!”

There was no hesitation. Spike turned and ran out of the locker room.

“What was that about?” Rey demanded.

“He wanted to wrestle me right here for the title.”

Rey shook his head sadly. “It's because of that loco father of his.”

“You saw them this morning?”

“Everyone saw. And heard. I feel for the kid, I really do.” Then Rey smiled. “But not so much that I don't want you to win. How do you feel?”

Shawn stepped out from between the mirrors. “Scared.”

“Scared?” Rey scoffed. “Of Spike? Spike should be scared of you!”

“There are all those kids out there! And people are watching on television!” Shawn slumped on one of the locker room benches.

Rey nodded knowingly. “Ah. I got it. Stage fright. Why didn't you say something?”

“I didn't want you to think I was a weenie.” Shawn could barely look at Rey.

“Come on.” Rey helped Shawn up. “And no, I haven't forgotten about your mask.”

Together, they left the locker room and took an escalator to the main level of the arena. The closer they came to the Superstars' entrance, the easier it was to hear the buzz of the crowd.

“That sound make you nervous?” Rey asked.

“Um . . . yes. Why are you doing this? It makes me want to barf!” If Spike had shown up right then and asked him to wrestle for the SuperFan title, Shawn would have thrown himself down and tapped out.

“That's the idea.” Rey's voice was grim. “Feel sick.”

“I know what you're feeling. You've got all these hopes riding on you. You feel sure you can't be as good as people want you to be. You get stage fright? Fine, Shawn. Feel it! It's not gonna kill you! Feel it!!” Rey was practically shouting now.

“I am feeling it!” Shawn yelled.

“Feel it more!”

“I can't feel it more!”

“It's not gonna kill you,” Rey pressed. “Feel it more!”

“I can't!”

“Good,” Rey said softly. “Now feel it less.”

It was the strangest thing. Shawn had heard all kinds of things about stage fright. How he should picture his audience in their underwear. How he should go to a happy place in his mind. How he should pretend he was dreaming. None of it worked. None of it, that is, until Rey Mysterio told him not to fight it, but to feel it.

Rey looked at him closely. “How you doing?”

“I'm . . . better.” Shawn looked up at his mentor with thanks in his eyes.

“Good. Then put this on. Wait. Let me do it.” Rey found Shawn's mask in his pocket and positioned it on Shawn's head. “You look awesome, my man. I can't wait for them to see you.”

He was straightening his mask when Spike and Punk reached them.

“Nice mask, Weenie. Too ugly to be seen in public?” Spike was his usual charming self.

Shawn smiled. He was not going to get psyched out.

“Boys and girls of Atlanta: Are you ready for the Ultimate SuperFan Challenge?”

The crowd cheered the public address by the announcer.

Finally, the moment had come. Shawn didn't know whether he'd win or lose, but he knew he'd do the very best he could. Without cheating. And hopefully without stage fright.

Would that be enough to take him to victory? He'd find out very, very soon.

As soon as the crowd saw Shawn in the mask that Rey had given him, they started chanting. “Shawn, Shawn, Shawn, Shawn!”

“Show them you hear 'em,” Rey advised. “They want your love.”

Shawn waved to the crowd all the way to the ring. He saw his family and Alex sitting with Jayden and DeJuan and their families. All were on their feet cheering. Peter was standing on his chair.

Just before Shawn climbed in the ring, he thought of Taylor and the other kids at the hospital watching on streaming video. He turned to the nearest TV camera, mouthed “Hi, Taylor!” and gave a little wave.

In the ring, Rey and Shawn were directed to one corner. Spike and CM Punk went to the other. Spike's father was already shouting rude instructions at his son from ringside.

Mr. McMahon himself handled the announcing duties for the finale. “Welcome to the Ultimate SuperFan Challenge! We have two worthy competitors on hand. One will be our winner. The other, the runner-up, who will step into the role of SuperFan if the winner should be unable to continue for any reason. And now, let's welcome a very special guest!”

The Superstars' entrance lit up and the audience roared as “The Time Is Now” played. Then John Cena, wearing street clothes but carrying the championship and a mic, ran through the smoke and planted himself in the entryway. After a prolonged ovation, he climbed in the ring.

“I'll keep this short and sweet,” Cena announced. “Just like I'm going to do to Sheamus tomorrow!”

The crowd erupted again. The rivalry between Sheamus and Cena had all the intensity of the feud between Rey and CM Punk.

“One of these two young men will be your SuperFan. He will earn a college scholarship. He will represent the future of the WWE Universe. And he will carry in my championship!”

Shawn stood with his hands on the ropes and swallowed hard. He felt the familiar clutch of fright at the notion that he might enter this Dome tomorrow with Cena.

“Feel it,” he muttered to himself. “Feel it.”

Cena stepped away so Mr. McMahon could explain the rules for the final event. The first part would be a test of strength—a tug-of-war. Then would come a test of endurance, where each contestant would stand on a narrow platform wide enough for just one foot. The first contestant to fall would lose. The third part would be a test about
Tom Sawyer
. The tiebreaker, if needed, would be a quiz about WWE knowledge.

Shawn hoped it wouldn't get that far.

“Would the finalists and their mentors come to the center, please?”

The “Shawn, Shawn!” chant began again as the competitors and their Superstar mentors joined Cena and Mr. McMahon in the ring. Cena looked right at Spike. “I'm watching you.”

“Maybe you need to watch me, instead,” Punk countered.

Without any warning, Punk leaped past Cena, grabbed Rey by the shoulders, and rolled him toward the far corner. Rey was stunned by the sudden attack but countered quickly with fast forearms to Punk's chest and jaw. As Cena and Mr. McMahon ushered the boys to safety, Punk bodyslammed Rey to the mat.

Shawn felt sure that Cena and Mr. McMahon would break up the impromptu battle, but they had clearly decided to let the Superstars do their thing.

“Come on, Rey!” Shawn bellowed at his mentor. “Wrestle smart!”

Rey bounced up, climbed to the top rope, sprang off it, and came down squarely on Punk's chest. He moved in for the pin, even though there was no referee. Instead, the crowd counted. “One! Two!”

Punk kicked out. Then he flipped Rey on his stomach, grabbed Rey's ankles, and pulled. The stress on Rey's back and tender ankle was tremendous. Shawn saw how Rey was struggling.

“Tap out!” Shawn screamed, not wanting Rey to get hurt again.

But Rey didn't tap out. Not right away, anyway. He struggled to escape. But it was no use. Finally he tapped the mat, indicating that he was submitting.

Punk let go . . . and kicked Rey's bad ankle.

Rey bellowed in agony. Punk strutted away after exchanging a high-five with Spike.

Shawn rushed to help Rey. But there was nothing he could do except watch as his mentor squirmed with pain on the canvas.

The paramedics insisted on taking Rey to the hospital. Mr. McMahon allowed Shawn to accompany him as far as the Superstars' entrance.

“I know I can't be here for you,” Rey told Shawn. “But my work is done. It's in your hands now. Show them what you can do!”

Shawn couldn't speak. The idea of competing without Rey in his corner was frightening.

John Cena had come down the Superstars' entrance path near Shawn and Rey. “You ready, Shawn?”

“How can I do this without Rey?” Shawn managed.

“Because Spike's going to have to do it without Punk,” Cena reported. “Mr. McMahon sent him back to the hotel.”