Thankfully, even after the Spike Murcer psych-out, Shawn had slept well. The bed was so comfortable he’d fallen asleep moments after his head had hit the pillow.
The plan had been for Carla to order a room-service breakfast. Though his father’s recent e-mails had mentioned the possibility of a Skype call, and there was an excellent computer in the suite with Wi-Fi and a webcam, Shawn was still surprised. He ran from the shower to join his mother and brother.
Sure enough, his father’s face was on the monitor.
“Hi, Dad!”
“Hi, SuperFan! It’s great to see you. How are you feeling?”
“I’m . . . okay.”
“You sound nervous.”
“I am,” Shawn admitted.
Sanford rubbed his freshly shaved chin. “Only a potted plant wouldn’t be nervous. Make the nerves work for you. What’s the challenge today?”
Shawn shook his head. “No one knows.”
“Then no one has an advantage. How about the other contestants? I don’t like the looks of that Spike guy.”
“Me neither.”
“Don’t be surprised if he plays mind games. Don’t fall for it.”
Don’t fall for it? I already fell for it.
“I’ll try.”
“I know you will.” Sanford’s face turned serious. “Shawn, there’s something I want to talk to you about. They’re talking about another mission for me.”
“When?” Shawn asked cautiously.
“It’s very vague. Soon, I think. But it still looks good for me to see the show.” Sanford smiled strangely, and it seemed like there was something else he wanted to tell Shawn. Then he seemed to think better of it
“Shawn? Focus on today, not tomorrow or the next day.”
“Okay.”
“Good. You’re going to do . . . hold on a sec.”
Shawn saw his father turn; someone was talking to him. Then the webcam went black for a couple of nerve-racking seconds before his father came back into view.
“I’ve got to go back on duty. Let me know how things shape up for the second round.”
“If I get that far,” Shawn commented.
“When you get that far,” his dad corrected. “Now go do what needs to be done.”
“Welcome, members of the WWE Universe!” Michael Cole and Jerry Lawler, the announcers for Monday Night Raw, stood in the ring with microphones in hand. Cole wore a jacket and tie, while Lawler had on his usual T-shirt and jeans combination. Cole was acting as master of ceremonies. “Welcome to our quest for WWE’s very first SuperFan! Let’s meet our four finalists and their mentors!”
There was no applause. This first event would not take place in front of spectators. There was too much work underway in the Georgia Dome, getting it ready for WrestleMania on Sunday, to allow fans in the arena. As Shawn waited in the contestants’ area with Spike, DeJuan, and Jayden—family and friends were seated several rows away—he’d been amazed by the hardworking army of designers, artists, and laborers. The biggest group was erecting the Superstars’ entrance, with its floor-to-roof facade and pyramid of video screens, plus a walkway of interlocking gold and silver tiles. Meanwhile, fireworks crews were setting up equipment on every level of the arena.
“I think he’s talking about us,” DeJuan joked. “If not, we’re in big trouble.”
Shawn laughed. He was near DeJuan and Jayden, while three empty seats separated Jayden from Spike. Every so often, Spike caught their eyes and flexed his huge biceps. Then he’d wave at them as if to say, “Bye-bye! It’s already over!”
All the contenders were dressed in identical warm-up outfits and running shoes, but each sported a different colored shirt. Shawn’s was yellow. Spike—who had been assigned a black jersey—had some choice words when he saw Shawn’s outfit: “Weenie yellow for a weenie!”
“Mentors, please join me in the ring!” Cole made the announcement. Rey, CM Punk, The Miz, and Natalya, all dressed to wrestle, climbed into the ring. Rey was wearing maroon pants and a matching mask. Shawn saw Rey stare daggers at Punk, who returned the scowl.
“What do you guys think of Spike?” DeJuan whispered to Shawn and Jayden.
Shawn made a face. Jayden did the same. “He’s so annoying,” she mouthed.
“And now, our four SuperFan finalists! Spike Murcer! DeJuan Smith! Jayden Starr! Shawn Reynolds!”
Spike broke ahead of the other three and did a Punk-style running slide between the ring apron and bottom rope that drew cheers from nearby workmen. Shawn entered the ring more carefully, using the metal steps.
“It’s the next SuperFan!” Rey greeted him with a warm embrace.
“I hope so.”
“I know so. Get yourself ready.”
Shawn unzipped his warm-ups and handed them to Rey. He looked across the ring at Natalya and Jayden. Natalya had dressed to match Jayden’s pink top, with pink leggings and a pink and white halter top adorned with silver sparkles. She’d even added a pink streak to her long blond hair.
Rey dropped to one knee near Shawn. “I have only one question for you, Shawn. Are you as ready as you could possibly be?”
Shawn thought for a moment. He was stronger than ever. He was a better reader. And he’d done it all without his father being home to support him.
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll do your best. Know how easy it is for me to bodyslam Big Show?”
“How easy?” Big Show was seven feet tall and weighed over four hundred pounds.
Rey shook his head. “Almost impossible! But I still give it my best shot.”
The ringside bell got everyone’s attention. Since the first competition was being taped for streaming on the WWE website, Cole gave a brief recap with emphasis on the winner’s future college scholarship. Then Shawn finally learned what would happen today.
“You’ll be running an obstacle course that will test your speed, your strength, your endurance, and your balance. You’ll run, you’ll climb stairs, you’ll crawl on your belly under a rope lattice, you’ll carry dumbbells from place to place, and you’ll finish by circling this ring ten times and then blasting through a set of tackling dummies. Watch out for surprises!”
“Your mentors cannot help you. When you get past the tackling dummies, run to the center of the ring and sound this bell.” Jerry Lawler struck an oversize bell. The sound reverberated through the Dome.
“The last competitor to finish will be eliminated. In case of a dispute, my decision will be final. Mentors ready?” Cole asked.
The mentors raised their hands.
“Contestants ready?”
Shawn raised his hand. So did the other three kids. Jerry Lawler led the four contenders to a starting gate that had been erected near the Superstars’ entrance. A bright white guiding light illuminated the hundred-yard straightaway that would start the course, which then veered upward into the seats.
Michael Cole stood by the gate with his microphone. “SuperFan finalists, take your marks, get set . . . go!”
The gate dropped. The race was on.
It didn’t take more than twenty yards for Shawn to find himself squarely in last place.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Three-quarters of the way through the race, Shawn was still dead last.
He’d sprinted gamely. Shimmied under the ropes. Moved a stack of ten-pound weight-lifting plates from one area to another. Climbed up stairs. Climbed down stairs. Yet the other competitors continued to pull away. By the time he reached the ring, Spike and Jayden had already sounded the big bell, and DeJuan was one lap from finishing. The only reason he wasn’t done was that he’d gotten his feet hopelessly tangled in the ropes course.
“Come on, Shawn! Run!” He could hear his brother and Alex. What was the use? It was over, but Shawn tried to speed up, anyway.
He couldn’t explain what happened next. Afterward, neither could DeJuan.
Maybe DeJuan had started celebrating a bit too early. Maybe he lost concentration. Or maybe he just hi
t a slick spot on the floor.
Whatever it was, DeJuan’s right foot slipped out from under him. Down he went. Shawn saw him try to break his fall with his hands. This was a huge mistake; DeJuan landed squarely on both wrists as Shawn passed him.
“Yeow!” DeJuan shouted with pain. Paramedics rushed to him. Shawn stopped and turned back, wanting to help his new friend.
“Keep going!” Rey shouted.
“Don’t stop!” Alex and Peter called together. “Go, Shawn! Go!”
Shawn didn’t listen. He stayed with DeJuan. It felt wrong to finish the race if DeJuan couldn’t get up.
It took DeJuan himself to get Shawn moving, speaking through obvious discomfort. “Shawn! Run, dude! I can’t do this competition now. My wrists are messed up! You want Spike to go one-on-one with Jayden? Finish the race!”
That did it. Shawn ran. He finished his ten laps, went to the bell, and rang it loudly.
“And our third SuperFan finalist is Shawn Reynolds from Columbia, Missouri!” Michael Cole made the announcement.
Shawn had gotten through. But as he looked at DeJuan, who was now getting his wrists splinted, he knew it had only happened because he got lucky. Or, because DeJuan got unlucky.
Which is exactly what Spike said to him on their way out of the ring. Actually, what he said was, “You lucked out, Weenie.”
“You think you lucked out,” Rey said flatly.
“I don’t think so. I know so. If DeJuan hadn’t wiped out, he’d be in and I’d be gone.” Shawn shook his head at the unfairness of it all.
Rey shook his own head right back at Shawn. “And if the sun hadn’t come up this morning, we’d be in the dark. The only thing you can do is keep going. Like at SummerSlam, against Kane? He was killing me. But I just kept going.”
It was three hours later. Shawn had eaten a quiet lunch in the hotel suite. Now, he and Rey were out for a walk in Atlanta’s Centennial Olympic Park. Built for the 1996 Atlanta Olympic Games, it featured a huge fountain with hundreds of jets, paths with bricks engraved with the names of Olympics donors, and a replica of the Olympics torch. The park was full of tourists and office workers taking a break to enjoy the spring sunshine. Just like last night, Rey wore jeans and a leather jacket, plus one of his masks. Shawn noticed a lot of people whispering and smiling as they recognized the famous Superstar.
Shawn stopped. “Umm . . . there’s only one problem with what you’re saying.”
“What’s that?” Rey stopped, too.
“At SummerSlam? Kane beat you.”
For a moment, Rey looked dumbfounded. Then he tilted his head back and laughed heartily. “Nice work with your playbook. So true, so true. But that doesn’t mean I didn’t keep going.” There were several wooden benches near the fountain; Rey sat and motioned for Shawn to join him.
“Here’s the thing, Shawn,” Rey said. “You can go through life and go through life and no one notices you. Then you earn the right to be noticed. It may sound crazy, but I had to earn the right to wear this mask. Not from another person. From myself.”
Shawn stretched out his hamstrings as Rey had taught him. His legs were tight from the morning’s race. “How did you know you were ready to wear the mask?”
“I did hundreds of 619s before I hit it right. Hundreds of hurricanranas. Frog splashes. Flying spinning kicks, flying neckbreakers, flying back elbows, powerbombs, missile dropkicks, and planchas. You know what? Even when a professional misses those moves it hurts. You talked about Kane beating me at SummerSlam. Did I quit? No. It cuts the other way, too, amigo. When I got lucky in the Royal Rumble, did I get all mopey and dopey? Did I say, ‘Hey, man, I don’t deserve this, please take my championship’?”
Shawn was silent. He knew the answer: No.
“Neither will you. But sometimes a competitor needs a little short-term incentive.” Rey smiled mysteriously.
What could be a better incentive than being SuperFan?
“This is what I mean.” Rey reached in his back pocket, took out a folded piece of leather cloth, and handed it to Shawn. As Shawn opened it, his eyes grew wide. It was a Rey Mysterio–style wrestling mask. Silver and black, with the SuperFan logo across the top, flanked by two tornados. The difference was, this mask had the initials S R on each cheek. For Shawn Reynolds.
“Wow.”
“You like it?”
Shawn nodded without taking his eyes off the mask. “I love it.”
“Good. Just like mine, it’s in the tradition of lucha libre from Mexico. Now give it back.” Rey put his hand out. “You don’t get to wear it until the final event. Incentive.”
Shawn reluctantly handed over the mask. Rey wouldn’t even let him try it on. But his mentor was right. He was already picturing himself in the finals, wearing this mask, competing with Spike. He was sure it would be Spike, too. How would Spike feel if he saw Shawn in this mask?
He’ll probably call me Weenie Mask Boy, Shawn realized. But it would freak him out.
“I’m going to get to wear this,” Shawn promised his mentor.
Rey laughed and draped an arm around Shawn’s shoulder. “You’d better. It’s not exactly recyclable. Come on, you’ve got your community service tonight. Let’s head back.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
The sleek guitar felt great in Shawn’s hands. It was a Takamine acoustic, much better than the cheap one he had at home. But Shawn hadn’t given it a moment’s attention since they’d moved into the suite on Thursday night. Now, playing it seemed like the perfect way to chill before the community service hospital visit.
He unconsciously started picking out the notes to Rey Mysterio’s theme song, “Booyaka 619,” but gave it a twist of his own, adding a riff here, jazzing it up there.
A gentle tap at the door interrupted Shawn’s playing.
“Come in!” Shawn called.
“You sound great,” his mom declared as she stepped inside. Then her voice turned gentle. “Maybe you can play that again for me?”
“I don’t think so. Thanks,” Shawn said sheepishly.
“Not to worry,” his mother assured him. “How was the walk with Rey? Helpful?”
Shawn nodded. “Very. He made a mask for me. I can only wear it if I get through this next challenge.”
Carla chuckled. “Incentive, huh?”
“That’s what Rey said!” Shawn exclaimed.
Carla nodded knowingly. “All adults think alike.” She hesitated. “I don’t want to sound all sappy here. But I wonder sometimes if grown-ups emphasize all the wrong things. To get good grades, to make lots of money. When the most important thing of all is what you already are, Shawn. I saw it when you stopped to help your friend in that race. A good person.” Carla’s eyes twinkled. “Mask or no mask.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Shawn meant it. “Any news from Dad today?”
There was a strange look in his mom’s eyes. “Nothing to report.”
“I think I’ll send him another e-mail.”
Carla smiled. “No matter where he is when he reads it, I think he’d like that very, very much.”
WELCOME, SUPERFANS! YAY SHAWN! YAY JAYDEN!
A hand-lettered banner greeted Shawn and Jayden when they stepped out of the elevator onto the pediatrics floor of the Atlanta Peachtree Hospital. Then the banner was somehow cut loose and fell to the ground. Behind it was a cheering group of fifteen kids of all ages. Some stood with IV poles, others were on crutches or in wheelchairs. “We love you guys! Welcome to peeds!”
Shawn and Jayden looked at each other, not really sure what to do.
The two of them, plus their families, had been shuttled from the hotel to the hospital by minivan. DeJuan was visiting a senior center, and Spike was at the zoo, which Shawn felt was sort of appropriate.
The cheering continued until a boy around Peter’s age rolled forward in a motorized wheelchair. He was very thin, African American, and had close-cropped hair. “I’m Taylor Swett, and I’m the prez of this floor.”
Since when does a
hospital ward have a president?
“I’m prez because I’m here the most and the longest.” Taylor was beaming. “I’ve got juvenile rheumatoid arthritis. You don’t want it. I’m here for hand surgery. I had foot surgery a few weeks ago. That’s why I’m in a wheelchair. Check out my digits!”
Taylor lifted his right hand. Shawn could see the middle and ring finger knuckles were badly swollen. “Everyone here loves you guys. We hate that Spike dude.”
“Spike stinks!” one of the kids shouted to much laughter.
“Follow the rolling wheelchair, SuperFans! We’ve got a party planned in the lounge.” Taylor expertly spun his wheelchair around, and everyone followed him toward the lounge.
The lounge had been decked out in WWE gear. There was juice and chips, and the patients put on a show for the guests of honor. Accompanied on guitar by a goateed male nurse named Clarence, they sang the arena entrance songs of various Superstars. Then Taylor played Wii Raw vs. SmackDown against a Latina girl named Mariah. Mariah insisted that Jayden be her assistant; Taylor got Shawn to coach him. Mariah won easily. The party finished up with an autograph session. Jayden and Shawn found it amazing that their signatures could be so meaningful.
When Clarence announced that it was time to wrap up, the kids booed but complied. Mariah hung back and then asked Jayden if she would sign a poster in her room. Jayden said she’d be thrilled to, and she took her family along. That left Shawn and his group alone with Taylor.
“Shawn, how about we meet you by the elevator?” Carla asked.
“Sounds good. I’ll come . . . soon.”
Carla moved off, leaving the two boys alone. For the first time that evening, Taylor seemed shy. Shawn knew he should take the lead.
“Are you going to get to see WrestleMania?” he asked.
Taylor nodded. “I think so. On TV. If my operation isn’t on Sunday.”
“I wish you could be at the Dome,” Shawn told him sincerely.
“I wish I could, too.” Taylor’s voice was sad. “I like Jayden, but I’m rooting for you.”
SuperFan Page 6