As Troy trotted through the gates and out under the shadow of the goalposts, he heard Seth on the far end of the field calling his team together in the night air. The parents meandered toward the stands. Troy broke into a jog as Seth began passing out red pinnies to the defense and blue ones to the offense. When Troy pulled up to a stop at the back of the group, he looked expectantly at Seth.
Seth frowned at him and bent down into his bag, crumpling a blue pinnie and tossing it over the other players' heads for Troy to catch.
"You're late," Seth said.
Troy smiled, but Seth's mouth remained a flat line until he returned to his team speech, thanking them all for coming, especially those from far away who'd be staying at the nearby Courtyard Atlanta. Seth checked his clipboard and ran through his practice plan so everyone would know what to expect for the next few days, including a big team Thanksgiving dinner at the Ritz-Carlton downtown.
Seth hadn't finished speaking before Tate and Nathan sidled up to Troy and began pumping him with whispered questions about his absence from school and his reason for being late.
Troy only shook his head.
"I don't want to talk about it," he said. "My dad's working on a deal. That's all."
"Come on, man," Nathan said, leaning Troy's way but with his eyes fixed firmly on Seth. "You can't clam up on us. If it wasn't for us, Coach Krock would still be running the Falcons' defense and you'd be out on the street."
"He's right, you know," Tate said, chiming in.
Troy studied Seth's face, knowing that his mom must have let him in on the sudden trip to New York. The star linebacker had a smile plastered across his face like a piece of wallpaper, joyless and unmoving, but a smile all the same. Troy felt a pang of guilt.
"Don't you guys get it?" Troy asked, cranking his head around to glare at them. "I can't talk about it. I don't know what's going on."
"Sheesh, don't be so grumpy," Nathan said.
"Yeah, save it for the team from Florida," Tate said.
"Okay," Seth said, letting the clipboard drop to his side, "now, we're here to win this thing. I'm the head coach, and we'll do things my way. I know each one of you is a star, but forget that. For the next five days you guys are just a bunch of scrubs trying to win a starting job. Florida has been whipping our butts for the past five years. I watched the film. Our all-stars were just that, a bunch of stars floating around in space. Well, not this year. We're a machine. We're an army. There's no favorites, no sure starters. Each one of you will win or lose a starting job on this team in the next four days based on your performance.
"Now, I had to start out with something, so I've watched some film and made some quick evaluations. Let's just line up to get this thing started. I'll call out the starting defense and the starting offense. If you're a backup, stand behind your position and pay attention as we go through our base plays. Okay…"
Seth read off the defensive players, giving Nathan the nod as starting left tackle. Tate, everyone knew, was the kicker, because they didn't even have another. When Seth called out the offensive positions, quarterback was last. Troy buckled his helmet and started to jog for his spot behind the center and the rest of the linemen who stood waiting over the ball.
"Hey," Seth said, his voice cracking out over the field and echoing off the concrete stands, "Troy. Who said you were the starting quarterback?
"You're not."
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
TROY'S MOUTH FELL OPEN in disbelief. His cheeks burned with embarrassment as he slowly marched past the center and took up his position with the other second-stringers, behind the offense.
"You don't come late and start on this team," Seth said, loud enough for the entire team to hear it. "Later on we'll see how you throw with that bad finger. For now Glenn Twitchen will start out running the offense."
Troy stared hatefully at Seth and daydreamed about telling him right then and there that he'd signed a letter of intent with the Jets- signed it -for fifteen million dollars, and that he'd never be coming back to Atlanta, or the Falcons, and that Seth's own career would be finished. That's what he dreamed of as he stood there watching Glenn Twitchen, the quarterback from Athens, play his position.
When Seth sidled up to him as the starting offense ran a series of pass plays, Troy didn't even look at him.
"Hey," Seth said under his breath, "you hang in there. I need to prove to everyone that there aren't any favorites, bring this team together."
"I couldn't care less," Troy said bitterly.
"Troy," Seth said, "this is me. Relax. You do what you normally do and you'll be the starter on Saturday. You've got to have confidence."
"They wanted me to do David Letterman tonight," Troy said. "Did you know that? If I knew you were going to pull some junk like this, I sure wouldn't have busted my tail racing back here. I wouldn't have wasted my time with all this junk."
"Hey, Troy, easy."
"Easy?" Troy said. "Is this to get me back for Sunday? The difference is that you broke down. I'm fine. My finger…"
Troy wiggled the digit in disgust. "It'll be warm after three throws."
Seth stared at him and said, "Sunday? You think I blame you? You think I'd do that?"
Troy shrugged.
"Hey," Seth said, "buddy. All this talk about the big time with your new agent and the big contract and you being the salvation of football is going to your head. You're still a kid."
Seth stalked away, letting a sharp blast fly from his whistle before he barked at the running back for bobbling a handoff. Troy unsnapped his helmet, removed it, and turned to walk away. He'd nearly reached the fifty-yard line when he heard Seth shout from across the field, screaming at the top of his lungs.
"Hey, White!" Seth shouted. "Troy! You better get back here!"
Troy froze, then heard Tate's voice piping to him like a bird. "Troy! What are you doing? We need you!"
Troy hesitated, then kept going.
"Where do you think you're going, White?" Seth screamed in his ornery coaching voice.
Troy stopped and turned back, but only for a moment, to shout, "I'm going to New York!"
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
TROY SAW HIS MOM making a beeline from her seat in the stands for the gate leading from the field, and he forced air through his teeth. She met him with a scowl.
"What in the name of the good Lord are you doing?" she asked.
"Leaving," he said, trying to push past her.
"Oh, no," she said, grabbing his shoulder pad and yanking him around with surprising strength. "You march right back out there."
"This is bull!" Troy shouted, glaring up at her and twisting free from her grip. "I make him into an all-pro linebacker, but his stupid knees just can't take it. That's my fault? So he benches me? No way, Mom. I'm done with this. Border War. Who cares? I don't need the headache, and I sure don't need the scholarship money."
His mom's face got all pinched up.
"No," she said, "that's right. You've got all the money in the world if you want it now, right?"
" We've got all the money," Troy said, feeling less certain, his hand finding the edge of his thigh pad and tugging it into a more comfortable position.
"That's right," she said, "all we have to do is turn our backs on our friends, our home, the people we work with, our family, and we've got all the money in the world. That's a real nice trade-off, Troy. Really nice. I'm proud."
Troy hated her tone of voice, and he hated the look she was giving him. He looked out into the parking lot, wishing against all hope to see the orange Porsche speeding in from the street. He needed his father. His father understood. His mother was twisting things. She loved Seth; he knew that. That had to be what this was all about.