Football Genius (2007) (12 page)

NATHAN STARED AT THE
door to Troy's bedroom with the face of a victim in a horror movie. His eyes were as big as Ping-Pong balls. His forehead glistened with sweat. The man he was controlling on the TV screen made a mad dash around the game going the wrong way on the football field because Nathan wasn't paying attention.

Troy looked at the door too, and the sudden pounding made him jump. Nathan closed his eyes. His lips were moving in a silent prayer.

"Troy, you let me in there!" his mother screamed through the door. "I said enough is enough and I meant it! I
will
break down this door."

Troy helped Nathan to his feet and boosted him up to the window.

"She's like a crazy mule," Nathan mumbled, dropping to the ground outside with a grunt.

Troy pulled the door open. His mother stood there, breathing hard and glaring at him. He could see that her eyes were red and wet from crying, and he felt sick with guilt doing this to her.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"Sorry?" she said, arching her eyebrows. "Sorry?"

"I am," he said.

That deflated her. She turned and hunched her shoulders and walked down the short hallway into the kitchen, where she sat down at the table and cried.

Troy stepped slowly into the kitchen. Her arms were crossed, her head buried in them, shaking. Troy reached out and put his hand on hers. It went stiff, then she opened it and grasped his fingers.

Without picking her head up, she said, "Don't do that to me, Troy. Don't stop talking. Don't ever do that."

"Okay," he said quietly. "I won't."

She picked up her head and pulled him tight to her. He could feel her hair, wet with the tears, against his cheek. One of her hands was on the back of his head and he could feel the muscles in her jaw moving as she spoke.

"You're all I've got, honey," she said. "I'd die if I didn't have you with me."

Troy waited a minute, then said, "Like if I went to military school?"

She gripped him even tighter, then let up and said, "I wouldn't do that, honey. Even for your own good. I couldn't."

Troy sighed and said, "I know, Mom. The reason I didn't answer was because I just didn't hear you, Mom."

She held his shoulders and looked at his face.

"I couldn't not answer you if you needed me and I was really there," he said.

Her face wrinkled with curiosity.

A lie popped into his head, an easy way out. A story about headphones and loud music and being so into his book that he lost track of time.

Instead, he took a deep breath and said, "It was Nathan in there. I asked him to play the game so you wouldn't know I went out."

"Out where?"

"Mom, don't get excited, I'm trying to do the right thing. I went to Seth's. He didn't know I snuck out or anything, and he took me to see the head coach to show him what I can do and overrule Krock. But it didn't work. Krock was there, and mad, and if the team keeps losing and he gets to be the head coach..."

Troy couldn't look at her.

"Well," he said, "then he said he'd fire you."

When he glanced up, she was looking away, her lower lip pinched between her teeth.

"Maybe they won't fire Coach McFadden," she said softly. "That's what we gotta hope for, right?"

"You're not mad?" he asked.

"Oh, I guess I am," she said, even though she wore a small smile. "But I'm glad you told the truth, and I'm really glad you weren't just ignoring me. It's kind of a soft spot with me."

"Because my dad did that to you?" Troy asked before he could stop the words from leaving his mouth.

His mom's eyes shifted around and she sniffed like she didn't care all that much.

"Maybe in a way," she said, brushing something off her sleeve. "Are you hungry?"

"Sure," he said.

He set the table while she stirred a pot of chili on the stove. There was corn bread in the oven. They ate and talked about the small things that happened to them during the day, cleaned up, and played a cutthroat game of Monopoly until it was time for bed.

She didn't seem worried about losing her job. It was like she knew something, and maybe she did. Maybe Mr. Langan wouldn't fire Coach McFadden and she knew that.

As he lay there in the dark, though, the warmth of the evening with his mom began to fade. Happy thoughts were sacked by doubts. And, when he heard the lonely sound of the Midnight Express, he wondered if he'd ever get a chance to do something special, to be someone special. Or were the Coach Renfros and Coach Krocks of the world always going to be there to put him down, while men like his father and Seth Halloway walked away?

Troy didn't want to give up, but lying there by himself, it seemed like he had no choice. It wasn't until the next day, at football practice, that Tate came up with an idea.

THE SUN HAD ALREADY
dropped below the trees and it was mercifully cool out. The smell of cut grass was in the air, and somewhere in the neighborhood next to the field, a lawn mower droned on. Whistles sounded from the field next to them, a high school girls soccer game in full swing.

Coach Renfro's voice cut through it all. It had been a brutal practice with lots of running and lots of hitting. Now it was time for Bull in the Ring. The whole team would circle up around one player. Coach Renfro would call out a name, and whoever it was had to run as fast and as hard as he could at the one player in the middle of the ring, the bull. The bull had to keep his feet chopping and turn quick to take on the hitters from wherever they came. Coach Renfro sent them at the bull pretty quick, so the bull also had to recover fast to get low enough to take on the next hitter.

Nathan was the most feared hitter as well as the most feared bull when he was in the ring. But when he was the bull, if you could get him before he turned to face you, or before he got his pads low, you could survive.

While they jogged in place, waiting for a turn to be called, Tate explained her plan.

"It's easy," she said. "You don't have to be there. You just gotta get your mom to help."

"Great," Troy said. "Just what she wants. She's already almost got fired because of me."

"You wanna hear the plan, or you wanna complain?" Tate asked over the cheers that erupted as Jamie Renfro ran out into the ring, knocking a smaller kid who was the bull onto his back. Jamie's dad switched the bull to the team's middle linebacker and called out Nathan.

Nathan growled and ran at the kid, knocking him so hard that he spun around before falling down. Nathan howled with his fists clenched and jogged back to his spot, grinning at Troy and Tate.

"Nice," Troy said, slapping Nathan high five, then turning to Tate. "Okay. Tell us the plan."

"You sit in the stands and watch," Tate said with a shrug, her feet pumping up and down in an easy rhythm. "You got a phone. She's got a phone. You tell her the play, she tells Seth. It all works."

"How's Seth supposed to hear her?" Nathan asked, removing his mouthpiece for a moment to speak more clearly.

"McGreer!" the coach screamed.

Troy didn't know if Tate realized it, but Coach Renfro always sent her out against Jamie and his two closest friends, while Nathan never got a shot at them. Jamie was out there now as the bull.

Tate sneered, lowered her shoulder, and out she went, crashing into Jamie Renfro only to be lifted up into the air and knocked back. She returned bouncing on her toes, though, happy just to have stayed on her feet.

"How does any middle linebacker get the plays they call?" Tate said, huffing and getting back into her place between Troy and Nathan as if nothing had happened.

"You mean the hand signals?" Troy said.

"Sure," Tate said. "Seth has to look at the sideline to get the plays anyway. Just have him teach your mom a few signals and she can let him know what play is coming."

"Too bad my mom won't even talk to him, let alone do some secret mission," Troy said.

"Why?" Tate asked.

Before Troy could answer, the coach yelled his name.

"Troy!"

Troy felt a fire spring up inside him. He ran at Jamie full bore, ready to cream him. Instead of taking Troy on, though, Jamie dropped to the ground, cutting Troy's legs out from beneath him and sending him tumbling across the grass. Jamie and his friends laughed. Even Jamie's dad couldn't stop from chuckling and nudging one of his assistant coaches as he told Jamie in a loud voice that he was cheating.

That was all the father did, though. There was no yelling. No laps to run. Nothing.

Jamie was still laughing, looking at his friends, when Troy got up off the grass and barreled into him from behind, knocking Jamie down and leaving him in tears and gasping for breath on the fresh-cut grass. Jamie's dad went ballistic. He screamed at Troy for the cheap shot.

"What about what Jamie did to Troy?" Tate said.

The coach spun on her. His face was purple and a vein popped out in the middle of his forehead.

"You can run with him!" he screamed, pointing at the far goalpost. "Take ten!"

"Ten?" Nathan said.

"You go with them! And make it twenty! Or turn in your gear!"

Tate tugged Troy's arm and motioned her head to Nathan, and the three of them set out on a slow jog while all four coaches gathered around Jamie, helping him slowly up.

"Nice one," Nathan said, grumbling under his breath when they were out of earshot.

"He shoulda done it," Tate said, throwing an evil look at Nathan.

"I know," Nathan said, and hung his head. "But twenty friggin' laps."

"Sorry, guys," Troy said.

They rounded the goalpost before Tate swatted her leg and said, "So, you never told me. Why's your mom mad at Seth?"

Nathan was huffing loudly and didn't even lift his head.

"Money," Troy said, smashing a bloody mosquito on his arm. "She thought that he thought she was asking him for money. She blew a gasket."

Tate shook her head and kept running.

After their eighth lap, the rest of the team was turned loose. They got into their parents' waiting cars and drove off. The sun was long gone and the mosquitoes were having a feast. Jamie left with an assistant coach and his son. Mr. Renfro stayed put, though, with his arms crossed over his chest to watch them run the laps. Then Tate's mom got out of her car and marched over to him, probably to ask what was going on.

Tate wasn't paying attention to her mom. She seemed lost in thought, and suddenly she said, "So we get them together."

Troy watched Tate's mom as she began waving her arms in the air and yelling at Mr. Renfro, something about it being a school night and him being a maniac.

"My mom and Seth...get together?" he said absently, still watching Mrs. McGreer.

"Together," Tate said as they rounded the goalpost for the thirteenth time.

Tate's mom yelled for them to get into her car, that it was time to go home. Mr. Renfro shouted something at her, waving his arms over his head. When she snapped something back at him, he spun around and walked away. Troy, Tate, and Nathan stopped their jog and started to drag their feet toward the parking lot. Nathan groaned. Tate's mom had her hands on her hips, watching.

"Together, like a date?" Troy said, her words finally sinking in. "Are you crazy?"

"Don't worry," Tate said. "I know how this stuff works. Trust me."

She reached down into her sock and pulled out a folded-up piece of neon green paper. She unfolded it and waved it in their faces. It was the handout coach Renfro had passed out at the beginning of practice advertising the county punt, pass, and kick contest on Saturday afternoon.

"I was going to try this anyway," Tate said, "but now it can really help us."

"What the heck does
that
have to do with this?" Troy asked.

"LOOK AT FIRST PLACE,"
Tate said, holding it closer so Troy could see.

Troy couldn't kick or punt, so even though he could throw farther than any kid in his grade, he never bothered with the punt, pass, and kick contest. First place for the eleven-year-old group, besides a big golden trophy, was lunch with Falcons star linebacker Seth Halloway.

"It's for kids," Troy said.

"I know that," Tate said. "But if I can win it, I bet I can get your mom to go with me."

"How?" Troy asked. "What about your mom?"

"Look at the date for the lunch," Tate said.

"The Saturday after. So," Troy said.

"So, church," Tate said. "My parents go to adult Bible study every Saturday from noon till two. You know my mom. She doesn't make exceptions. That's why half the time she misses our games."

Troy looked at Mrs. McGreer, standing there under the streetlight on the edge of the parking lot, hands still planted on her hips. She was short and stout, with Tate's olive skin and dark hair piled in a tight bun. An immovable force. Maybe the only person on the planet who could make Coach Renfro stop yelling.

"Maybe," Troy said. "But you gotta win."

"Win what?" Mrs. McGreer said, sliding open the door to her van so they could pile in.

"Just a contest," Tate said.

"Punt, pass, and kick," Troy said.

"I oughta punt, pass, and kick that Coach Renfro in the astronaut," Mrs. McGreer said, climbing in and starting the van. "Practice this late on a school night."

The three of them covered their mouths, stifling their giggles and nudging one another. Tate's mom never swore, but somehow she always got her point across.

The problem, as they saw it, was passing. Tate could punt and kick better than any boy her age, but her arm strength had never been a source of pride. They had just two days to get ready, but Troy thought he could help. The next day after school, Tate and Nathan got off the bus at Troy's stop. It was a warm and windy day with a clear blue sky. The pine trees waved and hissed over their heads as they walked down the twisty drive. Troy handed out cookies from the jar and poured glasses of milk for them around the kitchen table. Then they went outside to the bare spot and he lined Tate up facing Nathan, ten yards away.

"Okay," he said, handing her the ball. "Throw it."

She did. The ball wobbled its way toward Nathan, not even making it. Troy put his hand over his face but said, "We'll be okay. You just gotta get some spin on it."

"Spin?"

"A spiral," Troy said. "If you can throw a spiral, you can get it twice as far."

Nathan passed it back, delivering a wobbly knuckleball of his own that bounced off the dirt in front of them. Nathan smiled and shrugged. "I'm a lineman."

Troy showed Tate how to hold the ball with the tips of her fingers on the laces and then how to put a spin on it by rotating her fingers and wrist at the same time.

"It's in the wrist," Troy said, zipping a pass to Nathan, who dropped it and said, "Ouch."

Soon she got it, spinning the ball enough, not to create a tight spiral, but to get it wobbling in the right direction. Back and forth they threw it, dozens of times, until Tate said her arm hurt.

"Don't throw out her arm," Nathan said, "or we'll be doomed."

Troy nodded.

"Let's see how far you can get it," he said. "Then we're done."

They backed up to the pines and marked a line in the grit. Troy showed her how to get a bit of a running start and then heave the ball. Tate tried it and Nathan marked the spot in the dirt. Troy paced it off. Twelve yards. He frowned and brought back the ball, handing it to her.

"You gotta get mad, Tate," he said. "When you need to really chuck it, you gotta get mad."

"I'm not mad about anything," she said.

"Think of something," Troy said.

"What do you think of?" she asked.

Troy felt his face get warm. He didn't want to tell them he thought of his father, of being left alone. He didn't want to describe the vision of an imaginary figure walking out and slamming the door and tell them that's when he'd chuck the ball with all his might.

"Just think of something," he said.

"I know!" Nathan shouted, jumping up and down. He ran a few more yards away from them and turned his back.

"What are you doing?" Troy said.

"Give her the ball," Nathan said, looking back and doing something with his hands in front of him where they couldn't see.

Troy handed Tate the ball. Nathan dropped his pants halfway down his butt and bent over, half-mooning them.

"You idiot," Tate said, scowling.

Nathan turned his head, grinning and sticking out his tongue, and spanked his backside.

Tate let out a roar and chucked the ball at him, crying out, "Jerk!"

"Pretty good," Troy said, pacing it off. "Fifteen yards. Not that bad, Tate."

"Happy to help," Nathan said, pulling up his pants.

"You
are
an idiot," Tate said.

"You won't say that," Nathan said, "when you win."