SuperFan (5 page)

Rey raised his eyebrows at Shawn's hesitation.

Shawn was too embarrassed to continue. Alex, though, felt no embarrassment. “Shawn's dad? His favorite Superstar is Cena.”

Rey burst out laughing. “Well, then. I'll just have to change his mind.” He dug in his jeans pocket for his BlackBerry. “I love that idea. How about if we shoot it right now. On this?”

The WWE cameraman wanted to keep filming, so Mrs. Garcia volunteered to be in charge of the BlackBerry. Rey gathered everyone on one side of the kitchen table, with Mrs. Garcia on the other. He put Shawn front and center. “Okay, Señora Garcia. Wave when you're ready.”

Mrs. Garcia waved. Rey spoke first. “Hello, Mr. Reynolds, serving our country overseas. I wish I could say my name was John Cena, but I'm Rey Mysterio, and I'm coming to you live from your family's kitchen. Shawn and Peter, say ‘Hi, Dad!' so your father knows this is legit.”

“Hi, Dad!” the boys called together.

“I'm bringing you awesome news. Your son Shawn is one of the four WWE SuperFan finalists, and my job is to get him in shape to win. Win or lose—and my goal is to help him win—I think that when you come home you're going to see a very different Shawn Reynolds. Thank you for your service. As proud as you must be of Shawn right now, we're all doubly proud of you. Booyaka, 619!”

Perfect
, Shawn thought.
Dad will love that
.

Shawn suddenly felt Rey turn him in the direction of the living room. “Put on a T-shirt, shorts, socks, and some kind of gym shoes,” his mentor instructed. “You, too, Peter. Alex, we'll stop at your house so you can change. Let's go! We've got work to do!”

“Hurting, Shawn?” Rey called down from the top of the bleachers.

“Yeah!” Shawn managed. What he didn't say was, “Of course I'm hurting! I hate to run! I hate sports!” That didn't mean he wasn't thinking it.

“Run through the pain, man!” Rey insisted. Shawn was not going to quit on Rey Mysterio. He kept climbing the football stadium steps. Five more. Five more, even as Alex and Peter reached the top and got high-fives from Rey so loud that Shawn could hear. Shawn slowed but kept going. Then he was walking. Just a little bit more . . .

That was it. His legs gave out; his heart felt like it was about to blow through his rib cage. He slumped on a bleacher, wrapped his arms around his bare lower legs, and sucked wind.

“What's going on, Shawn?” Rey shouted. “You're just halfway up!”

“I'm tired!”

“Of course you're tired, that's why you're training! Come. Up. Those. Stairs!”

Shawn wanted to keep going. He was willing. But his legs and lungs weren't willing. He tried one more step. Not happening.

“Okay, Shawn! We're coming down.”

Shawn put his head in his hands. Two hours earlier, the four of them, plus Rodrigo, the driver, and the cameraman, had taken the stretch limo to the local high school football field. None of the boys had ever been in a limo before; they'd marveled at the plush seats, the refrigerator filled with bottled water and juices, and the entertainment center with the flat-screen TV. The most fun was gazing out the tinted windows at the surprised faces they passed on the sidewalks. Stretch limos in Columbia, Missouri, weren't common. People were wondering who was inside.

The drive had taken only ten minutes; they'd found the field empty. Shawn didn't mind. He was happy that Rey asked the cameraman and Rodrigo to stay with the limo for this first workout. Fewer people would see what a dreadful athlete he was.

They'd started out with simple equipment that Rey pulled from the back of the limo: jump ropes, elastic bands in various lengths and thicknesses, tennis balls, and dumbbells. Rey showed the boys that with these inexpensive tools, you didn't need a fancy gym for a solid workout. Then he taught Shawn a martial arts form to use to center his balance. From there, he brought the boys into the stadium and had them leap from bleacher to bleacher to build agility. After that, he demonstrated simple stretches for their biceps, pecs, glutes, and hamstrings.

Finally, he had them run the stadium steps. That was where Shawn nearly keeled over.

“Hey, SuperFan-to-be,” Rey said softly as he approached, trailed by Alex and Peter. It had taken him quite a while to hobble down the stairs with his cane. He offered Shawn a bottle of water, which Shawn drank gratefully. “How do you feel?”

Shawn made a face. “I couldn't even get halfway.”

“Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Or the day after that. You'll make it to the top if you train every day. No excuses.”

“No excuses,” Peter promised. “Or I'll kick my brother's buttocks.”

Rey peered closely at Shawn. “Alex and Peter, can you guys run back to the limo? Ask Rodrigo for the white binders and bring them back?”

Shawn smiled. If Rey had asked them to crawl to the limo on their hands and knees they would have been willing.

“You're quiet,” Rey observed when the boys were gone. “What are you thinking?”

“How I suck.”

“You don't suck. You're just starting.”

Shawn shook his head angrily, but his voice was matter-of-fact. “Peter is two years younger than me, and he can run faster and jump higher. He's right. In a fight, he'd kick my butt. About the only things I'm better at than him are art and guitar. Alex is a great athlete and knows way more about WWE than me. I think maybe the WWE goofed.”

Shawn still couldn't look Rey in the eyes. “Look at me,” Rey commanded, his dark eyes intense.

Shawn looked up.

“I want you to do one thing,” Rey demanded. “Take those poison thoughts and stick them where the sun doesn't shine. Can you do that for me?”

Once again, Shawn was honest. He didn't say yes. “I can try.”

Rey nodded as Alex started up the bleachers with the white binders in hand. “If you try your hardest, that's good enough for me.”

“These weigh a ton!” Alex exclaimed. He carried two of the white binders while Peter handled the other one.

“Playbooks,” Rey said knowledgeably.

Shawn had no idea what he was talking about. “Huh?”

Rey took a binder from Alex and handed it to Shawn. “Football players have playbooks with their team's plays. This is your WWE playbook. Alex and Peter have theirs so they can test you.”

“There aren't plays in wrestling!” Peter exclaimed.

“True,” Rey acknowledged. “But there's a ton to learn, especially if you haven't been a fan for very long. Shawn, memorize this.”

“Memorize it?” Shawn was aghast.

“Memorize it,” Rey repeated. “When you're not doing schoolwork or volunteer work or training or reading
Tom Sawyer
, that is.”

Shawn was about to ask when Rey expected him to sleep, but thought better of it and flipped through the binder. There were hundreds of pages covering WWE history, wrestlers, matchups and rivalries, matches and moves.

“I'm supposed to know all this?” Shawn was incredulous.

“Yep,” Rey said.

“You know everything in here?” Shawn challenged.

Rey laughed. “I know all the parts about me. Come on, let's head back to the limo.”

The scene that greeted them in the parking lot was far different from when they'd first gotten there. They'd arrived to an empty parking lot. Now, the limo was surrounded by vans with antennae on their roofs and a gaggle of adults. The crowd was shouting questions at Rodrigo.

“Who
are
these people?” Alex exclaimed. “They weren't here before.”

Rey smiled wryly. “Word must be out.”

“Reporters?” Alex guessed.

“You're a cerebralty, Shawn!” Peter exclaimed.

“Celebrity. And no, I'm not. I'm just a kid,” Shawn countered.

“Actually, Shawn, you're gonna be at least a little famous.” Rey reset the mask on his face. “Gotta look my best with the media.”

Shawn felt stage fright creep up his chest. “I don't want to be interviewed!”

“I'm not sure you have a choice,” Alex observed. “Here they come!”

Alex was right. The journalists were in a dead run, and everyone was shouting questions.

“How does it feel to be a finalist, Shawn?”

“Are you named for Shawn Michaels?”

“Do you think you can win?”

“Is it true your father's in Afghanistan?”

“Who's your favorite wrestler?”

“Who's your friend?”

“Who's the other friend? He looks like your brother. How come he's so big and you're so small? Who's older?”

The questions kept coming. Shawn felt close to panic. But Rey was used to dealing with reporters. He whispered to Shawn. “I'll talk. When I turn to you, say, ‘I'm just proud to be a part of the competition.' Got it?”

Shawn nodded. It wasn't like he could come up with something to say on his own.

“Quiet, please! Quiet!” Rey held up a beefy arm for silence, and the crowd hushed. “I'm Rey Mysterio. I'll make a brief statement, then Shawn will make a brief statement, and then we need to go so the boys can do their homework. Middle school is killer.”

The reporters laughed. Rey already had them charmed.

“Shawn Reynolds is a worthy finalist, and I'm thrilled to be his WWE mentor,” Rey continued. “We want our first SuperFan to be an athlete and a scholar, a good friend and a good person, strong of mind, body, and heart. Will Shawn win? I don't know. But you guys can help him by giving him the space he needs. Shawn, can you say a few words?”

Shawn gulped. This was his cue. But there were cameras. Was any of this live?

Probably not
, he reasoned.
Not in the middle of the day on a Saturday. But still
.

He managed to croak out the sentence Rey had given him to say. “I'm just proud to be a part of the competition. Thank you.”

“Can't hear you!” a tall, skinny female reporter shouted at him.

“Is that it?” Another writer frowned.

The reporters' questions and complaints came fast and furious, but Rey took over again.

“Gotta go!” Then he turned to the boys. “Hustle outta here.”

The kids dashed for the limo and scrambled in, with Rey following as quickly as his bum ankle would allow.

“Welcome to the big time,” Rey declared as the limo pulled away.

“You're a star, Shawn!” Peter was awestruck by what had just happened.

“I don't want to be a star!” Shawn moaned.

“Good. Don't think about that. Think about this.” Rey picked up the remote control for the flat-screen TV and pressed a few buttons. “This is what I wanted you to see. Who you're up against.”

Huh. His opponents. So much had happened since Rey rang his doorbell that Shawn hadn't even thought about who his competition would be in Atlanta.

That changed in a hurry as Rey started the entry videos of Shawn's three rivals. There was DeJuan Smith, an African American boy from Baltimore, Maryland, whom Shawn liked immediately. DeJuan was funny, energetic, and did a perfect imitation of Sheamus's voice as part of his video. He'd be mentored by former champion The Miz. The girl was Jayden Starr from Los Angeles, California. Jayden had somehow recorded her video in a wrestling ring while she did gymnastics across the floor. Like DeJuan, she seemed cool.

“Her mentor is Natalya. She's been the Divas Champion. Very beautiful, very tough. Now check out the last one.” Rey frowned.

Up came a video from a kid named Spike Murcer. Spike was from Renton, Washington. He was tall, he was wide, and he was strong. Spike had shot his video in a gym and did bicep curls with heavy dumbbells as he talked. “I want to grow up to be a WWE Superstar. The best way to do that is to be the first SuperFan. That's why I'm going to win. And everyone else is going to lose.”

Shawn shuddered a bit. There was nothing that Spike was saying that was so bad, but he just had a feeling about the guy. Plus, there were those huge dumbbells.

The video ended as the limo stopped in front of Shawn's house. “Who's his mentor?” Shawn asked.

“His mentor?” Rey repeated. “Funny you should ask that. It's my favorite person in the world: CM Punk.”

Shawn gulped. “Can you play it again?”

Rey reran the video. Amazing. Spike even looked like Punk, with dark hair and brooding eyes. He had Punk's cocky mouth and slight sneer. All he was missing were Punk's famous tattoos.

Shawn shuddered. These were the kids he'd have to beat. But how?

“Hey, it's the SuperFan!”

“Nah, it's not the SuperFan. Shawn Reynolds'll never be the SuperFan!”

“Well, then. It's the SuperFraud!”

Shawn's ears burned as he took his place in the batter's box of the Columbia East Middle School baseball diamond. It was two weeks after Rey Mysterio had shown up on his doorstep. Two weeks of exercising in the snow, rain, or shine, of studying the white binder with Peter and Alex, and of reading and rereading
Tom Sawyer.
Literally every moment that Shawn wasn't doing schoolwork or his chores, he was preparing for the competition. The only thing he did to relax was play his guitar.

Rey monitored his progress by e-mail and made changes to his training routine. To build upper-body strength, he told Shawn to put a pull-up bar in his doorway and use it morning and night. To build balance, Rey had Shawn stand on one leg while Peter and Alex tried to push him over. Two days ago, he'd finally made it to the top of the football bleachers without having to stop.