Football Champ (16 page)

GUMBLE CAST A QUICK,
hateful look at Troy, then shoved the skeleton box so that it tipped and spilled its contents out onto the floor. The skull rolled to a stop at Troy’s feet, grinning up at him with empty eye sockets. Gumble stepped up on his chair and then onto the desk so he could peer directly into the vent.

With one hand pinching his nose, Gumble stabbed a finger at the vent and shouted, “You little balls of crap! I see what you’re at! I’ll get you!”

Troy stood frozen as Gumble jumped down off the desk and leaped across the room, throwing open the door and disappearing out into the hallway. Troy heard the side door bang open as Gumble sprinted outside, heading for the Dumpsters in back.

“Troy!” Tate shouted. “Oh my God! Is he coming?”

“Yes,” Troy said, the word coming out as a croak.

“Get me out of here!” Nathan shouted.

“Can he get in the vent?” Troy asked, suddenly alert, the whole picture of what was happening clear to him now.

“Yes,” Tate said, “it’s open and the trapdoor is huge.”

Troy darted to the desk, tossing the chair out from behind it and kicking the bones out of his way. He put his shoulder to it. With all his strength, he began to push. Slowly the desk went. He shoved at it until it bumped into the wall, then hopped up on top of it so that he was staring into the frightened faces of Nathan and Tate.

“Hurry!” Tate said. “I think I hear him!”

Troy gripped the edges of the grate and tried to pull.

“Kick it!” Troy shouted.

“We can’t turn around!” Nathan yelled back, but he wormed his way past Tate and began to bang on the grate from the inside with a fist, bowing it out.

Troy saw the two thick screws holding it firm and cast his eyes back around the room. A screwdriver lay on the floor next to the skeleton’s metal stand. Troy jumped down, snatched it, and leaped back up, attacking the screws with the tool.

“Stop banging it,” Troy said.

“I’m not!” Nathan said.

“Then what’s that sound?” Troy asked, working frantically, the blade of the screwdriver slipping and gouging the wall.

Troy held still.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The hollow sound echoed through the vent.

“It’s him!” Tate screamed. “Troy! Help us!”

Troy attacked the screw again, his hand shaking so hard he had to steady it with the other.

“Hurry!” Nathan shouted.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The sound kept getting closer.

The first screw came free.

BANG. BANG. Louder and louder, the sounds came quicker as Gumble increased the speed of his crawl.

Troy attacked the second screw.

BANG. BANG.

It sounded like Gumble was nearly on top of them, and Troy heard the phony doctor cackle in an evil way. He turned the screw once, twice, then grabbed the grate and yanked with all his might, swinging it aside.

Tate shot out like an otter. Troy caught her and dumped her down on the desk. Nathan scrabbled out from behind, his head, shoulders, and arms free. He tossed his camera to Tate before he froze and his face went white.

Something sucked him back into the vent.

“Ahhhh!” Nathan screamed, kicking.

In the dark hole of the vent, beyond Nathan’s wide-eyed, screaming face and thrashing legs, Troy could see the crazed smile and the hairy spider-arms of Doc Gumble gripping Nathan’s ankles.

NATHAN COILED HIS FREE LEG
, and with a wild cry he let fly with a kick that would have made Chuck Norris proud. His heel connected with Gumble’s nose. A popping sound exploded through the vent, and Nathan’s foot came away from Gumble’s face, spattered in blood.

Nathan slithered free, then shot out of the vent just as Tate had, only when Troy tried to catch him, they both collapsed on the desk, then rolled off onto the floor amid the rattle of loose bones.

“Get up!” Tate shouted, tugging at them.

They scrambled to their feet and bolted out the office door. Troy guided them down a short hall that led to the side door, and they burst outside in front of the BMW, dashed around the corner, and grabbed their bikes.

Troy sensed Gumble above them and looked up to
see the phony doctor’s bloody face, snarling at them as he swung his legs over the side of the roof. Troy, Nathan, and Tate started running with their bikes, wheeling to speed them up so they could jump on and keep going. Almost as one they swung their legs up and over their seats. Nathan was off fast, but Tate—trying to do the whole operation with the video camera still in hand—slipped and went crashing to the pavement. When Gumble’s feet hit the lip of the Dumpster’s open lid, he spun, bracing his hands against the brick wall, and leered at Tate’s fallen bike.

Tate lay on her back beneath the bike, extending the camera up in the air to show Troy she hadn’t let it break.

Gumble laughed and launched himself toward the closed top of the first Dumpster. Troy gasped. Gumble would jump down on Tate before she could get up.

But if Tate was going down, Troy was going with her.

WHEN GUMBLE’S FEET HIT
the top of the Dumpster, they landed in the pool of Nathan’s barf. Instead of coming to a stop, his feet flew up to the sky, right out from under him. Gumble’s arms made pinwheels in the air, but he never had a chance. Backward he fell, right into the open Dumpster, with a sickening squish. Gumble howled and thrashed, trying to get out.

Skidding to a sideways stop, Troy raced to Tate’s side, then jumped off his bike to help her up and steady her.

“You okay?” he asked, raising his voice above Gumble’s wailing fury and disgust.

Tate grinned at him, holding up the camera, and said, “I’m fine, and so is this. Come on.”

They started off and got halfway along the length of
the shopping center before they heard Gumble shouting at them from the Dumpster.

“You come back here!” he screamed. “Get back here, I said!”

Troy shot a glance over his shoulder, grinning at the slimed-over form of the fake doctor. Gumble’s white lab coat showed off the brown, yellow, and green filth from the Dumpster like an artist’s blank canvas. A used diaper clung to his shoulder, and a glop of something rotten rested in his spiky hair like some foul bird in its nest.

“See you on TV, Gumble!” Troy hollered, giggling to himself at how much Gumble reminded him of Peele when Seth had dumped him upside down into the trash can.

Tate waved the camera up over her head and gave a war cry as they rounded the far corner of the shopping center and surged across the parking lot toward home.

THEY DIDN’T CATCH UP
to Nathan until they got to the Pine Grove Apartments.

“Where’d you guys go? Sheesh,” Nathan said. “Man, I never looked back until I got here and I’m like, ‘What the heck happened?’”

“Tate fell. She almost got caught,” Troy said. “Nice going on Gumble’s nose.”

“Hey, you think Tate’s the only kicker? How about me kicking that goofball?” Nathan said. “He messed with the wrong mule.”

“He also slipped in your barf,” Troy said, his lip curling with disgust.

“Otherwise, he would have had me,” Tate said.

“Strategic barfing is another one of my many strengths,” Nathan said, beaming.

“Hey, let’s see what you guys got,” Troy said, reaching for the camera.

They played back the video and heard everything they needed. Nathan snuck the camera into the back door of his family’s apartment, and Tate headed in for dinner, too, telling Troy she’d see him at practice. Troy took the mini-DVD and stuffed it into his pocket before setting off on his bike toward the path through the pines. Seth’s H2 sat in the dirt patch, next to his mom’s VW Bug. When Troy went inside, his mom was at the stove and Seth sat at the kitchen table going over the clipboard he used for the Duluth Tigers’ game plan.

“Hey,” Seth said, looking as glum as he sounded.

“Hey, hey,” Troy said, pulling the disc out of his pocket and holding it up like a gold coin. “Look at this.”

“What have you got?” Seth asked.

“Your ticket to coaching us in the state championship,” Troy said, handing it to Seth with an enormous grin, “and playing on Sunday, too.”

“What?” Seth said, turning it over in his hand.

“What Roger Goodell said he needed,” Troy said, “and the proof to show Mr. Flee you’re not the liar, Peele is. I got Gumble on tape, admitting he lied. Peele threatened to turn him in. Something about him not having his doctor’s license.”

Troy’s mom dropped a spoon into the sink and asked, “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Troy said. “We tricked him.”

“How?” Seth asked.

Troy told them the story, leaving out the part about Gumble chasing them, because he didn’t want to worry his mom.

“You sure it’s on there?” Seth asked.

“We watched it,” Troy said, nodding his head. “Whoever does my interview, maybe they can show this on national TV. What do you think? That’ll clear Seth’s name for good.”

Seth smiled and said, “I like the way you’re thinking.”

Troy smiled back proudly.

“But I want to show this to Flee myself,” Seth said, holding up the disc, “so there’s no confusion about tomorrow night and me coaching the team. Once Flee sees it, he can let Mr. Renfro know
he’s
the one who’ll be riding the bench for the championship game. Then I’ll show Mr. Langan and he can get a copy of it to the commissioner. I got to believe Goodell will have me back in the lineup Sunday and we can keep this playoff run alive.”

“What about your knees?” Troy’s mom asked.

Seth shrugged. “A little more ice, a little more ibuprofen. Maybe drain them out with a needle and pump a little cortisone in. I’ve done it before.”

Troy and his mom grimaced together.

“I’ve said it before,” Seth said, looking at them, “it’s a rough way to make a living, but it’s what I do.”

“Is it all really worth it?” Troy’s mom asked.

“Yes,” Seth said, “especially when you’re in the hunt for a championship. How many people get to do that?”

Troy nodded, thinking of his own championship the very next day, and said, “Not many.”

“Right,” Seth said, “not many get to go for what you’re going for tomorrow night, either.”

“I was just thinking that,” Troy said.

“I bet,” Seth said. “So let’s eat and go have a short practice to tune up, then get a good night’s sleep before the big game. I’ll call Mr. Langan and bring this disc in tomorrow after I show it to Flee.”

“What about the interview?” Troy asked.

“You want to do Larry King?” his mom asked.

“Yeah,” Troy said, his breath going out of him.

“Then we’re on at nine tonight,” she said, reaching for the phone. “I wanted to check with you before I made it official. We’ll head down to CNN Center after your practice.”

“Will he be there?” Troy asked.

“No, he’s in Los Angeles,” she said. “We’ll do an uplink.”

“A what?”

“A satellite hookup,” she said. “We’ll be in a studio here, talking to him live. The picture gets sent up on a satellite and down to his studio, so it’s like we’re right there.”

“Oh,” Troy said, “I thought I’d get to meet him.”

“You’ll meet him,” she said. “Just not in person. Not
in person tonight, anyway.”

“You mean maybe another time?” Troy asked.

His mom looked at Seth and said, “If this thing goes the way I think it will, there will be other opportunities.”

“What’s that mean?” Troy asked.

His mom walked over to him and put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.

“Whether we like it or not,” she said, “this thing is going to make you somewhat famous, Troy. It’s going to change our lives.”

Troy studied her face, the swirl of doubt in her eyes, the hint of a frown, and asked, “You mean in a
good
way, right?”

“
MOSTLY GOOD
,”
TROY’S MOM
said, forcing a weak smile. “But some isn’t going to be so good.”

“Why?” Troy asked.

“When people know who you are,” Seth said, “it’s like turning your life into a billboard on the side of a road. Most people pass by and they recognize you and think it’s pretty neat. They might stop and take a picture next to you, or just wave and beep their horn. But every once in a while, you get some goofball who’s going to throw a rotten piece of fruit or a broken bottle at you, just because.”

“Just because?” Troy said.

“Because they don’t like that you’re up there on a billboard and they’re not,” his mom said. “It’s part of it.”

“Even if you’re nice to everyone?” Troy asked.

“Yes,” his mom said, “even if you’re nice. I don’t want you to think it’s
all
fun, Troy. Some of it’s going to hurt.”

“Like football,” Seth said. “It’s fun, but it can hurt. It’s worth it, though. Because of the fun part.”

Troy smiled at him and nodded. “I thought that.”

“Okay,” his mom said, glancing at the clock and turning back to the stove, “time to eat, then practice, then you become famous.”

After dinner, Troy changed into his practice gear. His mom packed him some clothes to wear for Larry King, and they drove off down the dirt driveway together. The reporters still waited with their TV trucks, but Seth drove right through them, kicking up a cloud of dust.

“How long will they stay?” Troy asked, looking over the back of the seat.

“They’ll be gone after the word spreads that you’re doing
Larry King Live
,” his mom said.

“Good,” Troy said.

“Thought you said you were ready to be famous,” Seth said, glancing at him in the rearview mirror with a mischievous grin.

Practice ran like a Swiss watch, with everyone going to the right place at the right time. Pass patterns were crisp. Troy’s passes were precise. Handoffs went smoothly. On defense, with Troy reading the offense
and calling signals, the Tigers were able to swarm to the ball like angry hornets. By the time Seth called them all together, he was wearing a giant smile.

“Good,” he said. “Very good. Play like this tomorrow night and you’ll all walk away champions.”