Perfect Season (25 page)
Authors: Tim Green
TROY AND TATE STAYED
up as late as they could, watching from Troy's window, hoping his father would appear in the front lawn with the papers they needed in hand. When he woke the next morning, Tate was gone, and he was fully dressed on top of his bed. He got up quick, checked out the window for good measure, then changed and went downstairs, trying not to act as jittery as he felt.
School was a nightmare. At football practice, Troy felt like a zombie. Seth was distracted, and Troy wasn't surprised. At dinner that night, Troy asked if he and Tate could go with Seth to court the next day.
Seth put down his fork and looked at Troy's mom. “It impacts him as much as anyone.”
“We don't have anything, Seth,” Troy's mom said. “I don't see how you can win. I just don't, and they've got school.”
“We've got a shot,” Seth said. “I just wish . . .”
“We all do.” Troy's mom looked down at her plate. “But I've talked to everyone who'll listen and tried to get someone to say something. I've got nothing, and we can't
prove
anything.”
Troy and Tate stayed up again that night. When Troy saw headlights flash on the street, he grabbed Tate's arm.
“It's him!”
“How do you know?” Tate asked.
“No one comes down here. It has to be him.”
EXCITEMENT SWELLED INSIDE TROY
until the car turned into their driveway. That puzzled him. When the car backed out and headed back down the street, Troy's fifty-fifty shrank to nothing.
Troy felt like throwing up, partly from nerves about court, but partly because his father had let him down, again.
“I'm so stupid.”
Tate sat up and scratched her head. “Why?”
“My
father.
” Troy spit the word like a nasty goober.
“It wasn't much time,” Tate said. “We don't know what happened. It's not over. We still have a chance.”
THE NEXT MORNING TROY
stomped into the bathroom, took a shower, and put on some church clothes.
Downstairs, Tate and his mom had already started breakfast. His mom wore a suit, Tate a dress.
“Like we're going to a funeral.” Troy slouched down in his chair with no intention of eating. “My funeral.”
“Why so glum?” his mom asked. “We have a chance.”
Tate raised a hand. “That's what I said.”
“See?” his mom said.
“And I texted Chuku. He's coming with his dad.” Tate forced a smile. “Moral support.”
Troy wasn't buying any of it. He had a bad feeling, but he wasn't going to say that to them. He rode to the courthouse in silence.
“I think that's it.” Troy's mom pointed to a white tower connected to what looked like a small Greek temple when they turned into the downtown area of Elizabeth, New Jersey. Troy and Tate hopped out of the car after his mom parked in a spot on the street.
Seth stood in front of the courthouse with Chuku and his dad, who looked somehow even more intimidating in a suit. They all shook hands.
Troy's mom used two hands to shake with Chuku's dad. “Thanks so much for coming.”
“It's insulting.” Chuku's dad spoke in a growl. “Why is it that they think my son can be bought? He's black, right? He'll jump through hoops for a football jersey or a pair of sneakers?”
“The whole thing is insulting.” Troy's mom leveled a glare at the courthouse itself.
Troy wanted to throw up. He couldn't let go of the funeral thing and it didn't help that Chuku's gleaming smile was locked up behind a serious frown. What Troy needed from Chuku was a silly grin and a joke about how Troy's collar was too tight and to loosen up, dawg.
Troy looked at his friend, willing him to see what it was Troy needed, because surely he couldn't ask.
Instead, Chuku sighed and shook his head until his dad clapped a thick hand on his shoulder and they all walked up the steps together. At the top, several TV reporters waited with their cameras. Seth held up a hand and told them all, “No comment.” Troy's mom did the same for him. They passed through the metal detectors together, leaving the cameras behind.
“That's why the judge is hearing the arguments in his chambers,” Seth said. “He didn't want the media to turn this into a circus.”
Ellen Eagen met them outside the judge's chambers and shook everyone's hands. She had dark hair, like her suit. Her big brown eyes swam with worry, even though she kept her wiry frame upright, like her chin. The judge had a long conference table in a room whose walls were packed with beige, musty-smelling bound books. Seth's team sat on one side of the table, two lawyers for the league along with the league president sat opposite them, and the judge sat at the head of the table wearing a suit beneath his robes.
The head of the league had a boiled lobster face with silver hair pushed straight back. His name was Ratachecz.
Chuku sat between Troy and Tate, with Ty on the other side of her. Tate leaned forward and whispered to Troy and Chuku, “Rat-a-checks, he looks like a
rat.
”
Troy looked to see whether Chuku would crack a smile at that, but was only disappointed. He'd never seen Chuku so stiff.
When the door to the chambers opened suddenly everyone turned to see who it was.
Troy gasped.
He couldn't believe his eyes.
THE TALL MAN WALKED
in wearing the same dark suit he always wore and sat down beside the league director, the rat. The tall man towered over everyone, even in his seat.
The league director cleared his throat. “Your honor, this is Mr. Sommes. Mr. Sommes is the Summit school district's business manager. He has been instrumental in providing information to the league during this investigation, which we think adds even more credibility to our right to suspend the Summit football team.”
Troy couldn't even speak. Everything started happening, and he felt as if there was no way he could stop it. Tate wasn't looking at him and he couldn't lean across Chuku to whisper to her about the tall man now that the hearing had begun. Troy boiled inside because he knew she'd be able to think of something. There he sat, useless as the league presented its information. Troy had trouble following the arguments as the lawyers cited different points of law and linked them to past cases they claimed were similar.
When they spoke about Chuku and the supposed “payoff,” one of the lawyers cleared his throat and quoted the UPS man. “Your honor, we
know
a payment was made. If you read the statement of Mr. Bartleson, the UPS driver, which I've highlighted in our answer, and I quote, âThese belong to my man, Chuku Moore, payment in full,' end quote, you'll see it's irrefutable.”
Troy's stomach sloshed like a barrel of acid, ready to burst. Chuku's dad looked like a stone monument titled
ANGER
. Chuku himself seemed to have lost all the color in his face. Troy swallowed down some sour bile and shook his head. Tate leaned forward and across Chuku's stony gaze she managed a look of kindness.
It didn't matter. This was all his fault, and he knew it.
Then it was Ellen Eagen's turn. She used many of the same twisted and puzzling terms and words the other lawyers had, and by the time she finished Troy had no idea where they stood.
Finally, the judge cleared his throat. “Before I close arguments, I have to ask you, Ms. Eagen, does your client, Mr. Halloway, have any evidence regarding the assertions of intentional malice?”
Ellen Eagen looked over at Seth and the rest of them and sighed. “Your honor, we would like to bring to the court's attention what we
think
is happening here.”
“Because my son never took nothing to
play football.
” Mr. Moore' voice cast an almost terrifying silence over the room.
Troy kept his eyes straight ahead.
The judge held up a hand. He spoke gently but firmly. “Mr. Moore, I know it doesn't always seem fair, but I have to follow the law. Now, Ms. Eagen, I asked for
evidence
, not speculation.”
The room went quiet again.
Troy's mind spun and buzzed and then suddenly, everything began to float. It felt like a football play, complex and inexplicable, but to Troy . . . he just knew.
Troy stood up and pointed his finger at the tall man.
“
He's
our evidence.”
“WHY DON'T YOU ASK
him?” Troy blurted out the question, continuing to point at the man.
Everyone looked at him with surprise.
“For . . . what?” Ellen Eagen asked.
“What are you talking about?” Seth asked.
“Malice,” Troy said. “Intentional malice.”
The tall man stood up and glowered. “That's enough from you. You're a kid.”
Troy plowed on. “You're the one behind it all.
You
talked to the UPS man.
You
tricked the Dennaro kid into saying something stupid, just the same way you tricked Grant Reed by bringing him down to the office and making him feel that he had to talk.”
“That's all easily explained.” The tall man looked to the judge. “I was helping the league. They asked me to help.”
“Who asked who?” Troy raised his voice and pointed to the league director. “Did you ask
him
? No, the league didn't ask him to investigate Summit football;
he
came to
you.
”
Troy saw the men on the other side of the table falter, but he didn't need it for confidence; he already
knew.
“But why? Why would he do that? Why would he report on his own football team?”
Troy let the question hang. He had them all. It was delicious. “Malice, that's why. Money. Greed. Malice. It's called Maple Creek. It's a development company that
he's
getting paid by. It's a payoff to ruin the football program so the school tears down the stadium and Maple Creek gets to build its shopping center. It's all there, in the town records, and when you look at Maple Creek's records, you'll see the payoff.”
The league director's red face had gone purple, and he appealed to the judge. “That's not
evidence.
That's not
proof.
”
The judge turned to Ellen, but he was talking to Troy. “You do need to show proof, Ms. Eagen.”
Ellen looked at Troy.
Troy pointed again, this time right at the tall man's face. “There's your proof. Look at him. Look at his face.”
The tall man had lost all color. Alarm bells rang in his eyes.
He scowled at Troy and marched toward the door. “I don't have to be here. If you have questions for me, talk to my lawyer.”
The door banged behind him.
The judge stared at the door, blinking. “Oh, trust me. I will . . . I will.”
Then the judge turned his attention to the league director and his lawyers. “Well, gentlemen? In light of that display, I'm inclined to allow Ms. Eagen and her client some time to look into these records. Or maybe you'd like to concede, given the scandal that seems likely to result and your undeniable connection to it?”
Ratachecz lost all his color and he leaned into a little huddle with his lawyers, whispering before clearing his throat. “I think we'll drop the suspension, your honor. Given the . . . unusual demeanor of Mr. Sommes.”
“Excellent.” The judge continued to scowl at the league's director. “I also think it would be appropriate, Mr. Ratachecz, for the league to apologize to Chuku Moore and his father. While Mr. Halloway is used to the rough-and-tumble ways of the media, Chuku is a young man who got dragged into this mess by
your
misplaced . . . enthusiasm, should I say?”
Ratachecz swallowed, then looked at Chuku and his dad. “The league apologizes to you, Mr. Moore, and to you, too, Chuku.”
Chuku's smile returned and he nodded without ill will, even though his dad couldn't seem to erase his own look of disgust.
“Well done.” The judge smiled, raised his gavel, and banged it down. “Court rules in favor of the plaintiff.”
The judge then turned to Seth. “Good luck with your perfect season. I hope you win Friday night.”
THEY STOOD, ALL OF
them, in a little huddle outside the judge's chambers. Troy leaned close to Tate to whisper. “Did that all just happen?”
She smiled and pinched him. “It's no dream.”
Even Chuku and his dad stood silent and dazed.
Seth suddenly laughed like a crazy man.
The rest of them looked at him with wonder.
He stopped. “I'm sorry. I just can't shake the feeling. I was on the kickoff-return team my rookie year. We were playing the Raiders and the kick went short. I scooped it up and started to run. They hit me so fast from so many different directions I had no idea what was happening. Thank God I was near the sideline because I got knocked out of bounds and the ball went flying out of my hands and my teammates helped me up and I had no idea where I even was.”
Troy shook his head. “I don't get it.”
“That's what I feel like right now,” Seth said. “It's exactly the same. I don't even know what really just happened.” He laughed again and said, “Well, not exactly. This time it feels great!”
Troy's mom put her arms around him and Seth. “Come on. Let's go home.”
IN THE LOCKER ROOM
on Friday night little fits of nervous laughter erupted here and there, only to be swallowed up by the quiet rip and tear of tape being wrapped and torn, wrapped and torn, as players bound their joints against injury. Troy tied his cleats, then tied them again, only tighter. Nerves tangled his breath so that his lungs stuttered as they filled and emptied. He pulled shoulder pads over his head and laced them tight as well.
Chuku bounced and bobbed next to him, the music from his iPhone leaking into the stuffy, sweat-heavy air. He held out a fist for Troy to bump, then grinned ear to ear. Troy knew that's how Chuku rolled. He was back to himself. Bold. Bring the swagger. Killer Kombo.
Grant Reed looked over to Troy and gave him a thumbs-up.
Chance Bryant suddenly bellowed and smashed the meat of his fist into his own locker. “We're gonna
crush
these guys!”
The whole team followed their captain's cue. The noise grew and grew, until it was a steady roar that could be stopped only by Seth's whistle. Its shriek brought an eerie silence to the locker room again, and Troy became more aware of the sweaty leather stench of pads, gloves, and cleats.
Seth stood on the bench near the door. “All right. This is it. This is what we've been working for. Captains, lead them out.”
Troy got up near the front of the line, a double column snaking across the parking lot, down the concrete steps, through the fence, and out around the field, where they waited beneath the goal posts.
Rain lashed the field so that tufts of moisture rose up from the turf like smoke beneath the white stadium lights. In the stands, the Summit fans braved the weather in bright-colored parkas, rain gear, and a smattering of umbrellas strong enough not to be flipped inside out by the wind.
Summit took the field with a war cry. Warm-ups were crisp, despite the rain. Troy felt a fire burning inside him. Chuku seemed to fly through the air. It was a thing of beauty, like Cirque du Soleil, part circus, part gymnastics, part Russian ballet, and all the while that brilliant smile flashing right out through the bars of his face mask. Troy's other receivers, Levi and Spencer, and his running back, Jentry, dropped only a few, but Troy knew the weather would wear on their hands and the ball as the game went on.
They assembled in the team room for Seth's pregame speech. It was brief.
“This is yours,” Seth said. “It belongs to you . . . a perfect season, and the gateway to the state playoffs. Now . . . GO GET IT!”
