Perfect Season (3 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

WHEN THANE AND TY
pulled up in the big black Escalade, Troy was over the little scene with his father, having stuffed it into the same back closet where he kept the fleeting memory of the Georgia Aquarium. What made him more uncomfortable now was the shabby house he and his mom were living in. So he jumped into the SUV and slammed the door shut behind him.

“Okay, let's get out of here.” Troy clapped his hands. “I'm ready.”

“Sure.” Thane put the truck into gear and Troy's stomach crawled until they reached the better part of the neighborhood where the homes were more in line with where Ty and Thane lived.

“We'll be moving into one of these as soon as we get all this junk worked out.” Troy pointed at a large brick mansion on the corner.

Ty and Thane looked at each other and shrugged. Troy huffed to himself. They might not care, but he did. At least when they came to dinner that night, the sun wouldn't be shining on the peeling paint.

Once they were away from Cedar Street, Troy found he was glad for Ty and Thane's company. It was exciting to have a cousin who was an NFL star, and someone like Ty who shared so many of the same dreams. Soon they were talking about pro football and how long it would be before the NFL took over the world.

When the conversation turned to how Thane would be leaving in a couple of weeks for training camp and Ty would be staying with their housekeeper, Troy got an idea.

“If your brother lets you play in Summit, maybe you could stay with us. We could get in lots of practice throwing together.”

Troy looked for a positive reaction from Thane. His older cousin said nothing, but Troy took that as a good sign.

When they got to the facility, Thane took Ty to the field before he went inside to work out with the team.

“Meet you out back.” Troy tossed his football to Ty, then went in to find the owner.

The Jets had a new facility that looked like something from the future, all white and glass and chrome with a big, barnlike structure in the middle of everything that housed the indoor field. On the second floor, he found Mr. Cole in a huge office overlooking the four grass practice fields out back. The Jets' owner sat behind his desk talking on the phone. Troy glanced out to see Ty in his Jets T-shirt, then back to Mr. Cole, who was all business. He wore a crisp dark suit and a blue shirt with a deep blue tie. There were flecks of gray in his dark hair Troy hadn't noticed before, and his black eyes soaked in Troy. He held up a finger and then pointed to a leather couch.

Troy sat down and tried not to listen in on the phone conversation. Outside he saw a boy in a purple jersey approach Ty. Judging by his size, he looked a year or two older. As Ty and the other kid began to throw a football back and forth, Troy wished he were down there with them.

“Troy White.” The owner's voice startled him. Mr. Cole came around his desk and shook Troy's hand before he sat down in a leather chair opposite the couch. He crossed his legs and let one foot dangle in the open space between them. “Nice to see you.”

“It's good to be here.” Troy tried to sound confident.

There was something so powerful about the NFL owner, something almost magical, that Troy found it difficult to speak. Also he couldn't free his mind from the idea that all he had to do was ask and if the owner wanted to, he could make all Troy's problems disappear. The owner could advance Troy money on the second year of the contract and—snap—just like that, he'd be at St. Stephen's. The temptation was extraordinary, but something about the intensity of the owner's eyes, and his mother's voice in the back of his head, kept him from asking.

“You all settled in?” the owner asked.

“Yes.” Troy tried not to frown at the image he had of the shabby house.

“Good, and set with a school?”

Troy sucked in his breath. There it was, the opening he needed. It was right there, and Troy knew that when opportunity knocked, it usually happened only once.

CHAPTER NINE

“HONESTLY, MR. COLE? I'M
not set.” He studied the owner's face to gauge his reaction. The owner gave away nothing, but inclined his head for Troy to go on.

An antique clock ticked beneath a glass dome on the desk.

Troy took a breath and went for it. “You heard about all that stuff with my father and the FBI, right?”

“I read about it.”

“So, all the money you paid me is . . . well, it's not
gone
, but the FBI seized it, and it could be years before I can
get
it. But it's still mine—that's what the lawyers say—so the IRS wants the taxes.” Troy spoke carefully, wanting to get it right.

“That's the way it works, yes.” The owner narrowed his eyes. “So, you're in a pinch . . . financially.”

“And I was hoping to go to St. Stephen's to play football,” Troy said. “It's a private school and it's pretty steep. They're a powerhouse.”

“And that can't happen now.” The owner frowned. “But if I advance you even more than the five million I already gave you, your problems will be solved . . .”

Troy stuck his hands under his legs and crossed his fingers.

He gave a nod.

CHAPTER TEN

THE OWNER SMILED, BUT
then the smile melted like a snowflake on a stove. “I'm sorry. I don't expect you to understand, but this is business, Troy. I like you. I like your mom. That's not what this is about. I've paid you a lot of money and I need to see a return on that before I start giving out more money.”

The owner stared until Troy shifted in his seat and uncrossed his fingers.

“Sometimes a dark place brings us to a light brighter than we ever imagined.” Mr. Cole shifted his gaze outside the window. The emerald grass down on the fields seemed to glow.

And then it was over. The opportunity, Troy knew, had passed him by.

Mr. Cole perked up suddenly, as if coming out of a trance. “Great. Well, you make yourself at home here. You can come and go whenever you want. The team will be gone in a couple of weeks—we go to upstate New York for training camp, Cortland College—but I'll still be around here with the rest of the front office. Nice fields, right?”

“Beautiful.” Troy wondered if he had only imagined asking the owner for help, or if he hadn't been clear.

“Good, well . . .” The owner stood up and Troy knew the meeting was over, just like that. “Here, I thought you might like these.”

He handed Troy an envelope.

“Backstage passes and front-row seats.” The owner grinned at him and nodded at the picture on the wall behind his desk. “Helena. She's playing at Yankee Stadium in two weeks.”

Troy's mouth dropped. Helena was the owner's wife and an international superstar. Her concert was being billed as the hottest ticket since Katy Perry had done her worldwide tour.

Troy didn't know what to say, and real appreciation overwhelmed him. “Wow, are you sure?”

“Just promise you won't sell them. I hate when people do that.” The owner kept smiling, but something dark passed across his face. “They're for you to enjoy.”

“No, of course I won't. Thank you again.”

“Well, I've got connections on the inside. There are four, so you can bring a couple of friends.” The owner winked, shook hands, and showed Troy to the door.

Troy walked down the stairs and outside into the bright sunlight. The door swung open behind him and he turned to see a large black man with graying hair. The man had the build of an NFL linebacker and he wore Jets shorts and a T-shirt. On either side of him were two other men Troy was pretty sure were scouts for the team. They looked at him curiously. Then their eyes brightened with recognition and they smiled and said hello before continuing out onto the field.

Troy headed across the grass to the far field where he saw Ty and the boy in the purple jersey throwing the football back and forth. Troy glanced over his shoulder and saw the two scouts pull out their stopwatches while the big guy got down in a stance in front of some cones. Troy kept going and stuck the tickets Mr. Cole gave him into the band of his shorts.

“Hey,” he said to Ty. “How's it going?”

“Troy, this is Chuku. Chuku Moore.”

Troy tilted his head. “What?”

Chuku offered his hand. “Means ‘child of God,' but you don't have to pray to me or anything.”

Troy extended his hand to the boy with skin the color of coffee mixed with cream. Chuku had close-cut hair, a brilliant smile, and a mischievous but friendly gleam in his dark eyes. Troy noticed now that the jersey—a Ravens Ray Lewis jersey—had a signature running down the straight edge of the white number five.

“Ravens fan?” Troy said.

“Used to be.” Chuku nodded toward the man who was now sprinting through the cones in a blur. “Till they let my dad go.”

“That's your
dad
?” Troy watched the man take off out of his stance and move quickly around and through the cones.

“He tore up his knee two seasons ago. Took him this long to rehab. He played twelve years for the Ravens.”

“And he's trying out
here
?” Troy knew twelve years was about the maximum anyone played in the NFL, especially a linebacker with a hurt knee.

“He long-snaps, too.” Chuku stuck out his chin.

Troy wasn't that impressed. Every NFL team had a long snapper who usually played another position only in an emergency. It meant Chuku's dad was just about finished, but his special skill as a long snapper on the punt team might give his career a few last dying gasps.

As if Chuku sensed Troy's lack of respect, he said, “He ran a 4.4 before he got hurt. Fast, huh?”

“Pretty fast.” Troy put some enthusiasm into his voice to be nice. “You play, too?”

Chuku snorted and chuckled. “Like Victor Cruz, only faster.”

A doubtful grin stretched Troy's cheeks. “Well, with your dad and you, we may have the
three
fastest people in New Jersey on this field right now.”

Chuku's eyes traveled up and down Troy's frame. Half his mouth curled into a smile and he raised an eyebrow.
“You?”

Hot annoyance flushed Troy's face. “Not me. Ty.”

Chuku turned. “Chicken legs?”

Ty laughed and blushed and pulled his shorts up to his mid thighs to examine what did look like chicken legs. It bothered Troy even more that Ty was going along with the insult, unfazed. At the Super Bowl, when Ty's team won the 7-on-7 championship trophy, Ty had outrun the very fastest kids from all four corners of the country, and Chuku's lack of respect just didn't float with Troy.

“He's faster than
you
, I can tell you that.” Troy stuck out his chin.

Chuku burst out into wild laughter. “You for
real
?”

“Are you?” Troy asked.

“How old are you, Chicken Little?” Somehow Chuku's tone came out like a friendly joke, and that made Troy even madder.

Ty said, “Thirteen.”

“Well, I'm the same age even though people think I already drive, so I guess it won't be illegal.” Chuku turned to Troy. “I bet you anything you got I beat my dawg here in a race.”

“Forty-yard dash?” Troy asked.

“Come on, guys. What's the difference?” Ty said. “Let's play catch.”

“No, no, no.” Troy held up a hand. “You don't just say you're faster than everyone else and get away with it. You're
not
faster than my man.”

“How about you put your money where your mouth is?” Chuku's smile, like his voice, remained friendly as he peeled off the signed Ray Lewis jersey and dropped it in a heap on the grass. The tank top he wore was skintight. Troy and Ty could see that Chuku's muscles were like steel cables.

“You want my Jets T-shirt?” Troy asked.

“That's no bet. You think I'm a chump?” Chuku laughed. “Bet something that matters. This thing is
game-worn
. This goes for three grand if you want to
buy
it. You
got
anything worth that much?”

Troy wanted to scream that he made five million dollars, but he didn't
have
the money and he sure didn't want to have to explain to this kid why not. Then he had an idea.

“I got
these
.” Troy whipped the tickets and backstage passes out of his shorts without even thinking. “And even a pencil neck from Baltimore knows they're worth two of those Ray Lewis jerseys.”

Chuku studied the backstage passes and the tickets, unable to hide his surprise. “Helena? Where'd you get these?”

“Nothing for you to worry about.” Troy dropped the passes and tickets down on top of the purple jersey. “You just worry about how you're gonna get another Ray Lewis jersey so you don't have to tell your kids one day about the one you
used
to have. Let's go.” Troy pointed to the goal line. “You two get on the line.”

“Troy,” Ty said, “I don't think—”

Troy cut him off. “Just line up and run this big mouth's butt into the ground. I always wanted a Ray Lewis game-worn jersey.”

“That's right, line up, Chicken Little.” Chuku flicked his legs out into the air, stretching them before he got into a sprinter's stance on the goal line. “The sky is
fallin'.
”

Ty shook his head, sighed, and got into his stance.

Troy marched to the forty-yard line and turned around. He raised a hand. “On your mark . . . get set . . . go!”

Ty and Chuku burst out of their stances and ran toward Troy like rockets riding the wind.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

IT WAS CLOSE, THAT'S
all Troy could say.

“I tried.” Ty was breathing heavily. “He's fast.”

“Told you.” Chuku was relaxed and casual. “Backstage. Dang. You guys want to throw the ball? My hands are as good as my feet, maybe better. Nah, maybe nothing's better than my feet. Ha ha.”

“Yeah, let's. Come on already.” Ty grabbed the football and tossed it to Troy.

On the other field, the scouts were running Chuku's dad through another drill and timing him with their watches.

Troy's head still spun from losing, but he set up in the middle of the field so he could call out routes for the two of them to run, as if everything were fine. He certainly wasn't going to act as if the whole thing bothered him. He sent Ty on a post route and connected with a bullet. From the corner of his eye, he watched for a reaction from Chuku, but the new kid either didn't see or wasn't impressed. Troy burned inside.

“Run a ten-yard comeback,” Troy said to Chuku, then barked out a cadence and pretended to take a snap.

Troy took a three-step drop and rifled the ball at Chuku's head before he even got out of his break. The laces whistled and for an instant, Troy almost felt bad. Chuku planted a foot at ten yards and broke back. The ball was on him, but Chuku's arms popped up like toast. The ball didn't even make a sound, so soft were his hands. Chuku tucked the ball and broke back up field, running all the way to the end zone.

“Touchdown.” Chuku laughed to himself.

Troy ground his teeth.

From the other side of the field, Chuku's father shouted through cupped hands, “Chuku! I'll be out in a while! You good?”

“I'm good!” Chuku returned the shout and the three men disappeared back inside.

Troy wondered how long Chuku would be weighing them down, but as time wore on, two things happened. First, Troy's respect for Chuku Moore grew like Jack's beanstalk. Second, try as he might, Troy couldn't help liking the kid and his friendly, nonchalant manner. To Troy life seemed like a fight against the tide, while Chuku seemed to be going with the current, carefree and easy, just enjoying it all.

Finally Chuku's dad emerged from the facility alone. “Chuku! Come on, boy!”

Chuku ran over to Troy, smiling. “Nice to meet you guys.”

“You're a pretty good receiver,” Troy said.

“Pretty good?” Chuku's smile widened. “I was just fooling around out here. A. J. Green's got nothing on Chuku Moore.”

Chuku shook Troy's hand, then Ty's, before grabbing his jersey and the tickets and scooting off toward his dad, who had already turned and was trudging toward the gate.

Father and son disappeared before Ty asked, “You think his dad is gonna get signed by the team?”

“I have no idea.” Troy tossed the ball in the air and caught it.

“Can you imagine if he did move here?” Ty wiped the sweat from his forehead. “And then, after you get everything worked out, the three of us at St. Stephen's in a couple of years? Man, we could do some damage. Win a couple of state championships. All three of us five-star recruits. We could go visit all the big schools
together.
Maybe make ourselves a package deal?”

Troy winced at the sound of St. Stephen's. “Yeah, well, who knows. It's no big deal. We got each other. We don't need that kid.”

“Yeah, but you know better than anyone that teams can double-cover one guy with deep speed, but not
two
. It doesn't take a genius to know that.” Ty paused. “Sorry about your tickets.”

“I'm sorry for you.” Troy patted Ty's back. “Who do you think I was bringing with me to that concert?”

“Really? Man. Well, I ran as fast as I could and he beat me by a full stride. I've never seen anyone that fast.”

Thane appeared at the doorway to the facility and shouted much the same as Chuku's dad had done. “Let's go, guys!”

They joined Thane and walked through the offices toward the front. When they left the lobby, a Mercedes SUV pulled up in the circle. The window rolled down and Mr. Cole leaned toward them.

“Troy, you bringing these guys with you to the concert?”