SuperFan (13 page)

As Taylor got his shirt signed by the two Superstars, Rodrigo kept an eye on the time. “Shawn, we gotta get you upstairs. Taylor, you too.”

Taylor nodded. His dad thanked the Superstars.

“Hey,” Rey told him. “Taylor is the real Superstar here. Go have a blast.”

WrestleMania XXVII.

The Georgia Dome was jammed. Shawn thought that the few thousand kids yesterday had made a lot of noise, but that was nothing compared to seventy-five thousand happy, chanting, and cheering members of the WWE Universe.

Shawn literally had the best seat in the house. He was at the announcers' table between Michael Cole and Jerry Lawler. Behind him was the SuperFan contestants' seating section, where his family and Alex were sitting with DeJuan, Jayden, and their families. Room had been made for Taylor and his group there, too. Spike and his dad had fortunately chosen to sit elsewhere.

“Welcome, members of the WWE Universe,” the public address system boomed as spotlights hit the Superstars' entrance. That entrance was nothing short of amazing, and it was made even more amazing because Shawn had watched the construction work being done: forty feet high, with scores of laser lights forming a multicolored lattice. Above the entrance were twenty-five image-projection screens stretching nearly to the top of the Dome.

“With a United States Marine color guard and an honorary color guard of famous Atlantans, please rise for our national anthem, performed by another famous Atlantan, John Mayer!”

Seventy-five thousand people placed their hands over their hearts. The announcer called out the names of the honorary color guard, including former NFL star Deion Sanders, comedian Jeff Foxworthy, and Ryan Seacrest, the host of
American Idol
. The guard stopped halfway down the Superstars' walkway; Mayer took his place in front of the marines and started to sing.

Shawn sneaked a glance at his mom and saw her wipe away a tear. He knew what she had to be thinking. If only Sanford could be here for this. If only.

The anthem ended. It was time for the main event: the wrestling!

WrestleMania opened with not one, but two Money in the Bank Ladder Matches, where eight Superstars competed at once. The winners needed to climb a ladder and retrieve a special briefcase. That briefcase gave them the right to challenge for the championship at a time and place of their own choosing.

In the first match, Randy Orton threw John Morrison off the top and snatched the briefcase from his hands to gain the victory. In the second, Wade Barrett used the ladder to beat The Miz into submission and claim the briefcase.

Then Shawn Michaels was announced as the special guest referee for a Falls Count Anywhere Match between Jack Swagger and Triple H. Shawn was thrilled when his namesake stopped by the announcers' table to shake hands. In the contest, Swagger pinned Triple H right in front of the announcers' table.

A three-way tag-team contest followed between a huge-guys team of Mark Henry, Big Show, and The Great Khali and a high-flying team of R-Truth, Evan Bourne, and Daniel Bryan. No one gave the high-fliers much of a chance, but Bourne sent the crowd into a frenzy with an Air Bourne that brought down Big Show so hard that the impact tore the ring canvas.

The Divas championship was next. Michelle McCool and Natalya renewed their rivalry. Before the contest, Natalya took a microphone to give a shout-out to Jayden, whom she asked to stand and take a bow. The Dome responded with warm applause.

When the bell sounded, Natalya went to work on Michelle with a series of Michinoku drivers and snap suplexes.

As Natalya mounted a counterattack, two husky men with credentials around their necks and walkie-talkies in hand stopped at the announcers' table. They greeted Shawn warmly, introduced themselves as Zager and Evans—the taller of the two guys was Zager—and asked him to please come with them.

Zager explained, “Mr. McMahon wants to see you in the dressing room before the main event.”

No way was Shawn going to keep Mr. McMahon waiting. So after an okay from the chaperones, he went back to tell his family where he was going.

“Can I come with?” Alex joked.

“No!” Peter responded. “Not unless I can come on this extrusion, too.”

“
Excursion
, Peter. Excursion,” Carla corrected him gently. “An extrusion is something that sticks out.”

Zager came up behind Shawn. “Sorry, Peter. This is just for your brother.”

The two WWE escorts led Shawn away to an elevator. They rode to the lowest level and then stepped out into a subbasement corridor lined with empty oil drums.

“Follow us,” Evans instructed.

“You're sure this is the way to the locker room?” Shawn asked doubtfully.

Zager smiled confidently. “Back way in. In fact, here we are!”

They stopped at an unmarked door; Zager put out his hand for a shake before he opened it. “Have fun, SuperFan! This is going to be a night you'll never forget.”

They shook, then Evans opened the door. Shawn hesitated. The room was dark.

“What's going—
oof
!”

Shawn felt himself shoved into the room; the door slammed shut behind him. As his eyes adjusted, he could see he was in some kind of storage room, lit by a single bulb.

“Hey! Hey! I'm in the wrong place! Hey!”

He heard Zager's low laugh on the other side. “See ya later, SuperFraud! Enjoy the show!”

“Wait a sec!” Shawn tried the door handle. It wouldn't budge. “Hey! Let me out!”

He tried the handle again. Nothing.

He was trapped.

He pounded on the door. Kicked it. Banged against it with his body, all in a desperate attempt to get it to open. “Help! Somebody, open the door!”

No answer. Who would lock him in here? And why?

Shawn tried to stay calm. He found a switch and flipped it; the room was bathed in harsh fluorescent light, but it was better than the single bulb. He could see a small TV-DVD player combination.

He went to it and turned it on. It wasn't a regular television, but a monitor with a live feed from the ring.

He pushed the Play button.

Spike Murcer's obnoxious face filled the screen.

“Hi, Shawn! SuperFan Spike here. I mean, not really Spike here. Spike upstairs. You here!” Spike cracked up. “Remember what Mr. McMahon said yesterday? How if the SuperFan couldn't do his duties for any reason, the runner-up would assume the job? Remember? Wait. Watch!”

As Shawn watched in horror, a clip from the Ultimate SuperFan Challenge replaced Shawn on the monitor. It was Mr. McMahon:

“‘For any reason,' Weenie Boy!” Spike repeated. “That means if you just happened to be locked in a basement when you're supposed to be carrying in the championship and I'm available, I'm the new SuperFan. Right, CM?”

Shawn got his answer when Punk joined Spike on the screen. “It was so easy, Shawn. Hire a couple of big dudes. Fake their credentials. Call 'em Zager and Evans. Know who they were? A one-hit wonder rock duo from the sixties. Find the room. Set up this recording. It took about a half hour of fun!”

“But know what's going to be more fun?” Spike crowed. “Knowing you're watching. Or maybe we won't let you watch at all. Bye!”

The screen went black. Shawn turned the monitor off and on again. Nothing.

He sat on the floor and tried to contain his growing panic.

Feel it
, he told himself.
Feel it till it goes away
.

It was the same technique he'd used with stage fright. Two minutes later, he wasn't frightened anymore. Just determined. He had two choices. He could stay down here and be found after the show. Or he could find a way to claim what is rightfully his.

He needed a way out. He checked the walls. Solid concrete. He looked down at the black floor. He looked up. It was a drop ceiling, like at home in Columbia . . .

Hey. Wasn't there space above a drop ceiling? He'd worked on the one in his room with his dad. Maybe that was his way out.

Carefully, he stood on the folding table and pushed at a ceiling tile. It came away easily; he let it drop to the floor.

Bingo.

There was auxiliary blue lighting that illuminated a suspended steel walkway.

Yes! Yes, yes, yes!

Shawn put both hands over the lip of the walkway. It was just like the pull-up bar in the doorway of his room. One good pull . . .

He was up. He was on the walkway. And he was running, hoping he wasn't too late.

“Get out of this locker room!” Shawn ran up to Spike. “Now!”

“What are you doing here?” Spike exclaimed.

“What is going on?” Cena interrupted.

“Shawn, where have you been?” Rey demanded. “You were supposed to be here a half hour ago!”

Shawn pointed at Spike. “Ask him! Ask Punk! They planned it together.”

“Planned what together?” Rey asked.

Face-to-face in the champions' dressing room with Spike, Shawn found himself angrier than he'd ever been in his life. The worst of it was that Spike didn't look sorry at all. He seemed to find the whole thing amusing.

“Go ahead, Spike,” Shawn commanded. “Tell'em what you did. Tell them!”

It was minutes after Shawn had escaped from the storage room. He'd run the catwalk until it ended at a steel ladder. That ladder deposited him outside another elevator, one supervised by a real WWE employee. When he explained what had happened the woman called everyone. A few moments later, a five-person WWE security group arrived to escort Shawn to the actual champions' locker room. There, Shawn found Spike with Cena's championship in his hands and Rey and Cena looking incredibly worried.

Rey took Shawn by the shoulders. “Shawn, talk to us.”

Shawn talked. Three minutes was plenty of time to explain what Spike and CM Punk had done. When he was finished, a furious Rey turned to the guards, his voice dangerous. “Take this boy to his father. And then get them out of this arena before I throw them out. Spike? Give Shawn the championship. Now.”

Spike hesitated for the briefest second.

“Now!” Rey thundered.

The championship made the quickest transition in the history of the WWE. Moments later, the security guys and Spike were gone.

“I am so sorry that happened,” Cena told Shawn.

Shawn hardly heard him. He was mesmerized by the championship in his hands. The metalwork was beautiful, with Cena's name, the WWE logo, and a map of the world. How could a Superstar not long for it? A tap on his shoulder pulled him from his daydream. Cena and Rey were both standing over him. “Shawn?” Rey asked. “It's time.”

The casket was at ringside. Sheamus had already made his entrance to thunderous boos. Lasers played on the Superstars' entrance as John Cena's theme music filled the Dome. The crowd revved up; stomping rattled the floorboards.

Rey was behind the Superstars' entrance with Shawn and Cena. For the last time, Shawn's mentor leaned down to talk one-on-one. “I brought another mask for you, amigo.” Rey showed him a new wrestling mask. This one had the word SuperFan across the top. “But something tells me you won't be wanting it.”

“Nope. I'm good.” Shawn wanted people to see his face. He'd earned this.

“WWE Universe! Please welcome to the Georgia Dome, in his first official duty as the first-ever SuperFan . . . trained by Rey Mysterio, and carrying the WWE Championship for John Cena . . . from Columbia, Missouri, weighing in at ninety-nine pounds . . . Shawn Reynolds!”