the Big Time (2010)

by Tim Green

  "You got it," G said, slinging his arm around Troy.

  Troy's dad got into the picture on the other side of G, winked at Troy, and gave him a thumbs-up. Troy beamed with pride as the camera flashed, and he asked if his friends could get in a picture as well.

  "For sure," Troy's dad said. "G loves kids, don't you, G."

  "You the man, Drew," G said.

  Drew put his arm around Troy and steered him off to the side a bit so he could speak privately into Troy's ear. "You hear that? See, I do everything important for him--his contracts, his investments, all his deals. When you're big-time like G, there are about a billion people coming at you from about a million different directions. It's not easy, believe me."

  "So you're, like, his agent?" Troy asked.

  "Agent?" Drew said, touching fingertips to his chest. "Don't insult me."

  "Sorry," Troy said.

  His dad laughed, mussed Troy's hair, and said, "Agents are cheese balls, salesmen. I told you, G's big-time. The big-time people all have lawyers. That's me."

  "Wow," Troy said, feeling silly after the word got loose. "Last night, it sounded like you wanted to see me."

  "I do," Drew said. "I'm your father."

  Troy's whole body tingled at the sound of the word.

  "I probably shouldn't be telling you this," Troy said, glancing around to make sure no one could hear. "You have to sue her."

  "What?" his father asked.

  "Sue her," Troy said in an urgent whisper. "A lawsuit. If you do, she'll let me see you."

  "That's what she said?" his father asked with a look of disbelief.

  "She wants you to prove you're serious," Troy said, "but I know you are. I know because you're here. You came to see me, right?"

  "Of course," his dad said, showing Troy his empty palms. "G's got the keys to the city, but I was the one who pushed him to come here today because I knew he could get us passes. But tell me, why did you ask about agents? I'm curious."

  Pride bubbled up in Troy's chest. "I've got agents who want to represent me."

  "Agents?" his dad said. "For what?"

  Troy's smile faltered. "Well--didn't you hear? This football genius thing. They say I could get--I don't know--millions for it."

  "Millions?" his father said, rubbing his chin. "I don't know about that."

  Troy glanced around, lowered his voice, and said, "The Falcons are paying me ten thousand a week right now."

  "That's great," his father said, but with enthusiasm that was obviously forced. "Good for you, Troy. I bet you pay your share of the grocery bills with that."

  "I want to buy my mom a car," Troy said, frustrated, "and one day a house in Cotton Wood."

  "Cotton Wood?" his dad said, chuckling. "In G's neighborhood?"

  "Well," Troy said, "one day. Yes."

  "Uh," his dad said, looking past Troy and angling his head, "speaking of your mother? Here she comes."

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  "I TOLD YOU," TROY'S mom said to Drew, her face pinched with anger.

  "Hey," Drew said, raising his hands in mock surrender, "I'm just here with my client. Troy and his buddies wanted some pictures."

  "Your client?" Troy's mom said, looking around and seeing G Money signing the back of Nathan's hand with a permanent marker. "That guy?"

  "That 'guy' has four platinum records," Drew said, "and he made about twenty million dollars last year."

  "That doesn't impress me," Troy's mom said, her mouth a flat line. "You don't have a pass for this area. Either of you. You'll have to step back outside the yellow line. You and Jiminy, or whoever he is."

  "G Money," Drew said with a smirk. "The kids know who he is."

  "The kids aren't in charge here," Troy's mom said. "I am."

  "You want to put me in handcuffs?" his dad said with nasty sarcasm, holding out his wrists. "Even though G and I are guests of the mayor?"

  Troy felt like a fly jiggling in a web built by two spiders as they traded angry words.

  "Well, that's good news about the mayor," Troy's mom said, signaling one of the security guards. "At least we know that the paper's charges of corruption probably aren't completely unfounded. But now it's time to do what you do best, Drew...leave."

  "You got it, Tessa," his dad said. "You're right. You're in charge. For now."

  Troy's mom nodded and raised the rope. Drew and G Money ducked back outside it. The big man waited for them like a mountain, only his dark eyes following the action.

  Once Troy's dad stood on the other side, he said, "I hate to do this, Tessa, but you're leaving me no choice."

  Troy's mom asked, "No choice for what?"

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  "IF YOU DON'T WORK with me here, I'm going to have to sue you," Drew said. "For partial custody of Troy. I think a boy needs a dad. I don't know about the laws here in Georgia, but, believe me, I'm going to look into it, and you can expect to hear from my lawyer."

  "I thought you were a lawyer," Troy's mom said with a smirk of her own.

  "Any lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client," Drew said. "Haven't you heard that saying, Tessa? Well, I'm no fool. Far from it."

  Troy's father gave him a secret wink, then took a business card from his wallet and clamped it between two fingers like a cigarette before extending it to Troy.

  "In case he needs to get in touch with me," Drew said, raising an eyebrow at Troy's mom, "and you decide you'd like to settle this in a nice way. I'm in town until tomorrow night, and I'd like to take Troy out to lunch or Six Flags or something before I go. That okay with you, Tessa?"

  Troy reached hesitantly for the card, looking at her. "Mom?"

  His mom clenched her teeth, her eyes darting between them.

  "You said," Troy said to her in a low voice.

  A thin stream of air escaped between her teeth before she said, "Not now, Troy. You've got school. I have to think. I'll take the card."

  Before Troy could protest, his mom snatched the card from Drew and said, "Okay, Troy. You've got things to do, right?"

  Troy scowled at his mom as she steered him back toward the center of the bench area, where, in fact, Coach Mora was looking for him. As they went, Troy glanced over his shoulder. Nathan was still talking to G from inside the yellow rope, and Tate stood beside him. Troy's dad motioned to Troy, jacked up his eyebrows, and pointed with quick, stabbing motions at Tate. Before Tate could do anything about it, Drew reached over the rope, took her hand, and slapped another one of his business cards into it before closing her fingers around it and propelling her gently toward Troy.

  "Troy, I'll leave you with Coach Mora. We'll talk about that other thing later," Troy's mom said before moving on to her PR duties.

  Troy tried to pay attention to the questions Coach Mora asked him, but he could only give simple yes or no answers. With Tate now standing beside him, Troy's skin felt tight, and his fingers were itching to snatch his father's business card out of her pocket and make it his own.

  "You okay?" Coach Mora asked.

  "Fine," Troy said.

  "You coming into the locker room with us for the pre-game speech?" Coach Mora asked. The players behind him had begun to vacate the field, moving in a large bunch toward the locker room.

  "I think I'll wait with these guys on the bench if it's okay," Troy said.

  "Sure," Coach Mora said, turning to go. "See you for the national anthem."

  Troy looked back toward where his father had been, but both he and G--along with all the other guests--had been cleared off the sideline by a wave of security guards in yellow Windbreakers. The last of them were being funneled out the visiting team's tunnel entrance like used dishwater down a drain.

  Troy held out his hand to Tate and said, "Let me have it."

  Tate seemed reluctant to give up the card. She said, "I feel like I'm in the middle of this. Your mom didn't want you to have it."

  "Whose side are you on?" Troy asked, the words sounding nastier than he'd intended.

  Tate
's face turned red, and her fingers curled around the card so that it crumpled in her hand. "No side, that's my point. I don't think it's fair, making me the delivery girl when your mom doesn't want you to have this."

  "You act like it's stolen property or something, Tate," Troy said. "Cut it out. He's my dad. Let go."

  Troy gripped her wrist with his hurt hand and pried the card loose with the other.

  "What the heck?" he said, tearing it free, the struggle causing him pain.

  "Good," Tate said, relieved. "Now if it comes out, I didn't give it to you. You took it from me."

  "Whatever," Troy said, studying the card, then looking up at the luxury boxes above them, wondering which one belonged to the mayor.

  "Whatever?" Tate said. "Your mom is your mom, Troy."

  "And my dad is my dad."

  "Okay," Tate said, still sour. "I get it."

  With his good hand, Troy stuffed the card into his pocket and said, "I don't know; this whole thing's got me crazy."

  "Well, it's all pretty unusual," Tate said.

  "But who cares?" Nathan said. "Hanging out with G Money? That's worth some ruffled feathers, I gotta tell you. Look at that, right on my hand."

  Nathan beamed as he held forth the hand G had signed.

  "Permanent, too," Nathan said proudly. "It's never coming off."

  "Nathan, the only thing permanent is a tattoo," Tate said.

  "Wrong, Tate," Nathan said, scowling. "My mom said those Sharpies never come off."

  "Maybe not off your dining-room table when you went outside the lines on that social studies poster we made," Tate said, "but it's not permanent on your hand."

  "Dang!" Nathan said, then snapped his fingers and took out his phone.

  "What are you doing?" Troy asked.

  "A picture," Nathan said, showing them. "A picture of my hand signed by G Money. Now, that's forever."

  "I don't care about G Money, or his autograph," Troy said, leading them over to the bench and flopping down with his legs extended. He smoothed out his father's business card and examined it. "Seven hundred and fifty-three Michigan Avenue. That sounds like a pretty fancy address to me."

  "Michigan Avenue is where all the famous stores are in Chicago," Tate said, "and the Water Tower. It looks like a castle."

  "Hey, if he's G Money's lawyer," Nathan said, brandishing his hand, "then he's got to be huge. You can't get more famous than G."

  "Troy'll be that famous soon," Tate said. "We saw the TV camera on you and Seth, and I heard your mom saying something to another reporter about you maybe being at the team press conference after the game."

  "She did?" Troy asked, his cheeks feeling warm.

  "Maybe she doesn't want you to think about it," Tate said. "Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it."

  The three of them sat silently for a few minutes, the crowd in the dome continuing to grow, filling the seats and adding to the noise and the ocean of red and black.

  Finally, Nathan said, "I know I'm not really the idea guy, but I can't stop thinking about this one."

  Nathan waited, and neither Tate nor Troy said anything.

  "Aren't one of you guys going to ask?" Nathan said.

  Troy sighed and said, "Okay, Nathan. What?"

  "Well, your dad's this big-time lawyer doing deals for people like G Money, right?" Nathan said.

  "Yeah," Troy said.

  "And you've got all these agents wanting to do your deal with the Falcons or even another NFL team after this season, right?"

  "Yup."

  "So," Nathan said, "why not forget the agents and--"

  "I know what you're going to say," Troy said, holding up a hand to cut him off.

  "You do?"

  "Yes," Troy said, "because I'm sitting here thinking the exact same thing."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  "WHAT SAME THING ARE you two thinking?" Tate asked.

  Nathan said, "That Troy's dad--"

  "Can represent me," Troy said, finishing the sentence.

  "Guys," Tate said, "you just met the man."

  "It's his father, Tate," Nathan said, rolling his eyes.

  "You think I'm blind?" Tate said. "He still just met the man. Troy doesn't even know him."

  "He doesn't know any of these agents banging down his door either," Nathan said.

  "He knows Seth," Tate said. "And Seth has an agent. Don't you think you'd want to be with someone you know you can t--"

  "What?" Troy asked, glaring at Tate. "Trust? That's what you were going to say, isn't it, Tate? Why wouldn't I trust my own father?"

  Troy stared at her until Tate looked away.

  "I'm sorry," she said. "I'll keep my mouth shut. Can we talk about all this later? I mean, you've got to help the Falcons win this game, right? We shouldn't be distracting you. Mr. Langan asked us not to, remember, Nathan?"

  "I'm not distracting him," Nathan said, jabbing his thumb into his chest. "I'm helping him."

  "I probably should get focused on the game," Troy said, realizing that less than three minutes remained on the clock before the team would come bursting through the smoke and flames at the mouth of the Falcons tunnel. "I'm not going to have to worry about contracts or agents or any of this if I can't keep helping them win. That's football, right? You're only as good as your last game. Come on, let's watch."

  Troy buried the card in his left pocket. They got up and stood right on the broad white strip of sideline at the midpoint of the field. The dome began to rumble. The announcer's voice shouted out a welcome to the fans and introduced the Falcons' defensive starters one by one. The tunnel exploded with fresh flames as each defender burst from the tunnel at the sound of his name, sprinting past a double row of cheerleaders. Seth was the last defender to be announced, and he got the loudest cheers. The rest of the team came racing out of the tunnel behind him, accompanied by a surge of twenty-foot flames. The Falcons formed a twisting mass at the center of the field, shouting and jumping and hooting at the top of their lungs. Smoke floated toward the roof. The crowd went wild, and Troy and his friends had to plug their ears.

  The team migrated to the bench area, but energy stayed high, even when the Falcons lost the coin toss. The fans cheered when the Packers chose to receive the kickoff. The entire crowd seemed eager to see Seth and the defense tear into the Packers with the help of their secret weapon who was no longer a secret. Troy stood next to Coach Mora at the edge of the sideline, while Tate and Nathan had to stay on the bench so they wouldn't get trampled. As the captains came off the field after the coin toss, the cameraman with the handheld camera jogged along behind them and practically stuck his lens in Troy's face. The red light went on, and Troy shifted on his feet and blushed.

  "Oh, no," Coach Mora said, grabbing the cameraman by the shoulder and gently shoving him away. "You guys stay out of his face. He needs to work."

  The cameraman disappeared up the sideline, outside the team's yellow line. The Falcons' kickoff team took the field. Seth appeared beside Troy, his eyes bugging out and a crazed smile plastered across his face.

  "You ready, buddy?" Seth asked, holding up a taped fist.

  "Yeah," Troy said. The word came out so quietly, he was sure Seth couldn't hear it amid all the noise, so he nodded his head.

  The whistle sounded. The game began. The Falcons' kickoff team smashed the Packers' returner, pinning the visitors deep in their own territory.

  The defense now took the field, and Troy put his hands on his knees and focused on Green Bay: on their offensive personnel, the body language of the different players, the formations, the motion, the action. After every play Coach Mora would glance at Troy expectantly, waiting for his genius to kick in. Usually it took eight to twelve plays before the patterns became clear. A couple of times over the past weeks, Troy's ability had been stifled by pressure, and once by a lingering headache after Troy took a shot to the head in one of his junior league games.

  Having his father suddenly appear in his life had no doubt created some extra stress
and tension, but after only five plays Troy broke into a huge grin.

  "Screen pass left," Troy said to Mora.

  Coach Mora gave him a startled look, then returned his smile before frantically signaling to Seth out on the field to let him know about the screen. Quickly, with a second series of hand signals, Mora told Seth to put the defense in a blanket zone coverage that would shut down any screen. Seth paused for a moment, then began shouting instructions to his fellow players that Troy couldn't make out. The Packers approached the line. The Falcons scrambled to their places. Troy looked back at his two friends. His mom stood there now as well, and he gave them all a thumbs-up before turning his attention back to the field.

  The Packers ran exactly what Troy had predicted: a screen to the left.

  But instead of the blanket zone Mora had called for, the Falcons' defense rushed with an all-out blitz, with most of the team gushing up through the line. Troy shot a look of disbelief at Mora, who winced in anger. The Packers' linemen let the Falcons' defense right through. The quarterback retreated, drawing them farther up the field like a pack of dogs mad for a rabbit. Only a handful of Falcons dropped into coverage. Seth stayed close to the line, floating toward the Packers' running back, who had pretended to fall down before getting up and sprinting for the sideline to catch the screen. Most of the defense was too far up the field to possibly catch him, but the instant the quarterback threw to the running back, Seth made his move, darting for the ball, leaping for the interception and what would surely be a Falcons' defensive touchdown.

  The ball floated in the air. The Packers' runner settled his hips and cupped his arms to catch it. It was all or nothing. If Seth caught it, he would score a touchdown for the Falcons. If he missed, none of the other Falcons' defenders were in position to keep the runner from the end zone.

  Seth leaped into the air.