SuperFan (3 page)

“Hi, WWE Universe,” Alex began. “I'm Alex Garcia, and no one loves the WWE like I do. No one! Look!”

Alex did a thirty-second guided tour of his room as Shawn followed and filmed. “Choose me as SuperFan, and I'll make the WWE proud. Six-one-nine!” Alex finished with Rey Mysterio's signature chant and then thrust his arms overhead in a victory pose.

“Good one,” Shawn told him as he stopped the recording. Then he made a decision: If he shot a video of his own, he didn't have to enter SuperFan. But he'd have it just in case.

He tossed the Flip camera to his friend. “Now me,” he said quietly.

“What?!”

“I said, now me,” Shawn repeated.

Alex look at him, his jaw slack. Then he whooped. “Shawn's gonna enter! I can't believe it! Shawn's gonna enter!”

Shawn sat on the bed, embarrassed. “I'm not sure if I will. But I might. It would mean a lot to my dad.”

“Then start talking before you change your mind!”

He pointed the Flip camera at Shawn, who had no idea what to say. “This could take a while, Alex. Like, till we get our driver's licenses.”

“Shawn? Shut up and talk.”

Shawn nodded, then sat back on Alex's bed and started to talk. Well, not exactly. He sat for three full seconds of silence before he began.

“Hi.” He gave a little wave. “My name is Shawn Reynolds, I'm from Columbia, Missouri, and this is my video for SuperFan. I'm not even sure I am going to enter. The truth is, I hated WWE until last night, when I went to a
Raw
show for my little brother's birthday. The truth is, if my father wasn't going to Afghanistan at the end of the week, I don't think I would even think about entering. The truth is, he's a huge WWE fan. I'm not. The truth is, until last night, I didn't really know the difference between John Cena and Sheamus or CM Punk and Rey Mysterio. But I want to make my dad happy, even though the truth is I'm a pretty cruddy athlete. All I can say is that if you pick me, I'll be just like a lot of other kids out there. Probably even most kids out there. We're not the greatest, but we're us.”

Shawn glanced at the clock. Fifteen seconds to go, but he had nothing more to say.

“That's it,” he added. “Oh! If you don't pick me, pick my friend Alex Garcia.”

“Great,” Alex declared as he shut down the camera. “Especially the last line. Let's show this to my mom and then tell your dad what's going on. He'll be so psyched!”

“No!” Shawn's reaction was immediate.

“No? Why not?”

“Because, I told you before, I'm not sure if I'm going to enter! And if I do, I want this to be the best surprise my dad has ever gotten.”

“Morning, Shawnie. Time to get up.”

Shawn opened his eyes slowly to see his father sitting at the foot of his bed in his uniform. The sight brought the reality of the day crashing down.

It was three days later. Friday. The day his dad was leaving. The family would drive him to the army base outside St. Louis. From there, his dad would fly to Bagram Airfield near Kabul, Afghanistan. And from there? Shawn tried not to think about that part.

“Got it,” Shawn told his dad. He glanced at Peter's empty bed. “Where's Peter?”

“Helping your mom make breakfast. Which, as you know, is no help at all.” Peter's lack of skill in the kitchen was another running family joke. No one could make less edible food and leave a worse mess. “Come on, champ. Up you go.”

His dad lifted him to his feet. At the
Raw
show in St. Louis, Sanford had bought Peter and Shawn some WWE gear. In honor of his father's departure, Shawn had worn a John Cena T-shirt and boxers to sleep.

Sanford laughed appreciatively. “Nice look. Cena would be proud.”

All week, Shawn had tried to choose whether to enter SuperFan or not. Would his father be impressed, or would he think it was a dumb ploy to make him feel better before he went to Afghanistan? Shawn didn't know. With Alex's help, though, he'd filled out an entry form and saved it to a flash drive. All Shawn would need to do was log on, cut and paste the information, upload the video, and have his dad sign off.

“Can we stop at the computer?” Shawn asked. “There's something I want to check out.”

“After we eat,” Sanford said a bit sternly as they stepped into the hallway. Shawn knew that his dad hated electronics before breakfast.

“It kind of can't wait. Please?”

His father raised his eyebrows. “It can't wait?”

“It can't wait.”

“Fair enough,” Sanford agreed. “Five minutes.”

The family computer was in the living room. It was far older than Alex's, with a corded mouse. Shawn found it already booted up. Carla usually started her day by checking e-mail. Her American Library Association coffee cup sat by the mouse pad.

“I'll miss that cup,” Sanford mused as Shawn slid into the battered black chair.

Shawn plugged in his flash drive and then clicked the video file. He'd named the file “Mickey Mouse” in case his parents found it by accident.

“We're watching a cartoon?” Sanford asked.

“Not exactly,” Shawn responded.

A moment later, his entry video filled the screen, starting with the three silent seconds as he tried to figure out what to say. Then Shawn heard his own voice and saw the little wave he gave to the camera.

“Oh my god, you entered!” Sanford exclaimed.

He watched his dad watching the whole thing until the clip ended and the screen went blank. Shawn closed the media player before he looked up. Oh no. Sanford was frowning.

“Is it okay?” Shawn asked, his voice small.

“It is okay?” His father repeated his words. “Is it okay? My eldest son enters SuperFan. On his entry video he doesn't lie and say he's this big WWE fan. He says he doesn't know the difference between Cena and Sheamus. But he enters, anyway. For me.”

Sanford Reynolds was a tough guy. Shawn remembered how three years ago, they'd been in the family car when a careless driver smacked them on the driver's side. His dad's arm had been broken. His dad hadn't cried.

But now? As he gazed at his dad, he saw tears rolling down his father's cheeks. His dad took a camouflage bandanna from his back pocket—he was the only dad Shawn knew who habitually carried a handkerchief—and dabbed at his eyes. Then he forced a sad smile.

“At the right time, Shawn? At the right place? Don't be afraid to cry,” Sanford advised. “It doesn't make you less of a man. It makes you more of one.”

Shawn nodded. Then his father opened his arms wide, and Shawn got the biggest hug of his young life. “I love you, Shawnie,” his dad said in a deep voice.

“I love you, Dad. Please come home safe.”

This was the right time. The right place. Shawn let the tears come.

“Wave to your dad!” Carla instructed the boys. They stood with several other military families in the main parking area of the National Guard base ten miles west of St. Louis.

“Dad's waving back!” Peter exclaimed.

Shawn saw his father turn around to pick them out in the crowd and give a single wave. Then he shouldered his duffel bag and walked on toward a cluster of low-slung brown buildings. Shawn felt proud and empty at the same time.

The moment Sanford was out of sight, his mother turned businesslike. “Your father wouldn't want us to stand here moping. Let's go home.” She started toward their old Pontiac.

Shawn raised his chin at Peter, signaling that this was the time. After breakfast, when Sanford proudly shared the news that Shawn was entering the SuperFan contest, his mom and dad had shared a private moment on the front porch. That was when Shawn took Peter aside and planned what to say to their mom after their dad was gone.

“Just a sec, Mom,” Peter called.

Carla stopped. “Yes?”

Shawn fidgeted a little. “We just wanted to say, well, that this is really hard. So Peter and I promise we're not going to make it harder.”

“We're not going to argue,” Peter promised.

“And we've made up a chores sheet,” Shawn went on.

“We'll do our homework without being asked. With a clarion!” Peter got in the last word.

“Peter?” Carla raised her eyebrows. “A clarion is a trumpet. The word you want is
alacrity
.”

“Yeah. That, too.” Peter agreed. “And if Shawn wins SuperFan? I'll cheer with alacrity! And blow a clarion!”

Carla smiled sadly at her sons. “Thank you, boys. Your father would be proud of you both.”

She put out her arms. For the second time that morning, Shawn felt himself embraced in a worldclass hug. He told himself that while it was easy to say he'd do his chores and wouldn't fight with his brother, he had to do more than just say those things. He'd have to do them.

I will do them for my mom, the same way I entered SuperFan for my dad,
he told himself.
I won't let either of them down.

“What's your homework?” Carla asked. She was at the computer, making changes on the library's website of recommended books for boys.

Shawn squirmed. It was two weeks to the day after they'd dropped his dad off at the National Guard base, and he'd just been assigned an oral book report on a novel of his choice. It was a double whammy assignment. First, he was a very slow reader. Second, the idea of standing in front of his class and talking filled him with fear.

“I've got to find a book for an oral report.”

Carla saved her work and faced Shawn. “When's it due?”

“In three weeks.”

Carla smiled at her son sympathetically. “You hate oral reports. I know that.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want help finding a book?” she asked.

“No. Unless you'd like to read it and give the report for me!” Shawn joked.

With Sanford away, the Reynolds house had settled into something of a routine. Carla would get the boys off to school and then go to work.

A lot of times, Mrs. Garcia would invite the boys over on Monday or Friday night, so they could watch
Raw
and
SmackDown
and Carla could go to the movies with friends or do volunteer work at their church. Shawn found watching the Superstars and Divas comforting. It was like a silent connection with his father.

One of the hardest things was e-mail. Carla had decided that they'd look together every night at six thirty. That was before dawn in Afghanistan, a good time for Sanford to get access to a computer at the servicemen's center at his base. Sometimes they could even Skype.

“I'm going to suggest some books, anyway. I think you'll like the ones by Jerry Spinelli.”

Carla was starting to jot down some titles when Peter skidded across the wooden floor in his socks. “It's almost six thirty! Is Dad on Skype?”

“It's not quite time,” Carla told him.

“We should check, anyway. Maybe Dad's watch is wrong,” Peter reasoned.

Shawn rolled his eyes. “Dad's watch is never wrong.”

“Well, this could be the first time.”

“How about if I give in and we end the mystery ?” Carla suggested. She opened Skype. “Nope. He's not online. Let's check e-mail.”

“Yes!” Peter exclaimed, once Carla had logged in. “There's a new letter!”

Dear family,

I have to keep this short because there's a line of soldiers who want to use this computer. Am being sent in country on a classified mission. That means I can't tell you where I'm going. I don't know how long I'll be out of touch. I will take care of myself, and your job is to take care of yourselves. Hey! Peter and Shawn! It's Friday night in the States, which means that
SmackDown
is on TV. Why don't you guys watch and tell me about it in your next e-mail? What's the latest with SuperFan, anyway?

Carla, I love you.

DAD

When they all finished reading, the room was so quiet that they could hear the whirring of the computer's fan. Since Sanford had been sent overseas, they knew that at some point his unit would be sent into action. This e-mail told them that the time was now.

“I'm nervous, Mom.” Peter said what they all were thinking.

“What about you, Shawn?” Carla asked.