Tim Green - The Big Time

Troy's jaw went slack, but before he could say anything else, Seth had disappeared. He sensed Tate at his side and turned to see that his mom and Nathan were also there.

"How is he?" Troy's mom asked, her eyes following the arc of the metal door as it swung closed. "Was he mad?"

"He said he'd call you later, Mom," Troy said. "Mad? No, he wasn't mad. I'd say more like hurt."

"Mentally?" his mom asked. "Or physically?"

Troy looked at his mom. "I'd have to say both."

AS SETH PREDICTED, TROY'Smom did understand when Troy explained what Seth had said about not being good company and wanting to get started on icing his knees. She still stopped at Fat Matt's, and they ate ribs and grilled chicken back at Troy's house, watching the beginning of Sunday Night Football . Between eating, Troy's left hand kept secretly returning to his pocket to caress the corners of his father's business card while his right hand stayed dipped in a big glass that held icy water for his hurt finger. Normally, he would have wanted Tate and Nathan to stay as long as they could, but he was relieved when Tate licked the BBQ sauce from her fingers and stood to go.

Troy saw them to the door, and Tate and Nathan disappeared into the pines, headed down to the tracks that would take them home. As soon as his friends had left, Troy removed his father's card from his pocket, studied it, then put it back. He marched into the living room. The Styrofoam boxes from Fat Matt's still lay about the coffee table, but his mom had already disappeared into her bedroom. He could hear her talking to Seth on the phone. Troy tried to ignore the soft, gooey sound of her voice through the door as she offered sympathy and comfort to the star linebacker.

Troy turned off the TV in the living room and waited impatiently. Finally, he heard his mom tell Seth that she loved him, and her bedroom door creaked open.

"What?" she asked. "You're not watching the game? You feeling okay?"

"I want to call my dad," Troy said, his hand sneaking back into his pocket to clench the rumpled card.

His mom sighed, then her face did that thing where her chin went up and the corners of her mouth tugged out and down into little crescent-shaped wrinkles. "Yes, we need to talk about that."

"I want to see him," Troy said, "and you said that if he tried to sue for me, you'd let me see him. You said. Gramps was right here."

"Right," she said, drawing out the word. "He's suing me. Funny how that happened all of a sudden at the dome, after you spoke with him."

"He came up to me," Troy said, feeling the ground slip out from under him. His stomach sank, because he knew where this was headed and he knew his mom couldn't be fooled. Even so, he had to try. "Gramps said my dad needed to prove I wasn't just a whim because he saw me on Larry King , and he asked his client to get him passes so he could see me. That proves it wasn't just a whim."

His mom looked at him for a long moment before she put her hands on her hips and said, "But it wasn't his idea, the lawsuit thing, was it?"

Troy's mind went into hyperdrive. "He's a lawyer, Mom. You heard him. He knows all about that stuff."

A grim smile lit his mom's lips. "You didn't answer my question and I'm glad you didn't, because I think it means you respect me enough not to lie. Now, I know, and you know, that Drew didn't think up that lawsuit business. You just kind of mentioned it to him, didn't you?"

"He came to the game because of me," Troy said, panic filling him.

"But that's not the same thing," she said. "That's not what we agreed to."

Troy's sweaty hand dampened the card. The pressure in his head felt like a boiling pot, and his hurt finger throbbed. He tried to contain his rage, but it burst, and he yelled, "That's my father, and I want to see him! I will see him!"

His mom's voice went eerily calm. "No, you won't see him unless I say you'll see him. I'm keeping that number. Now, I'll live up to my original agreement. If he really sues me, then we'll work something out, but no more coaching from you."

"He said he was going to!" Troy said, banging his good hand on the coffee table so that a container of chewed-over rib bones spilled to the floor, making a mess.

"He's said a lot of things in his day," she said bitterly. "You don't have any idea, Troy."

His mom marched into the kitchen, and he heard her rattling something. Troy got up and followed to see her removing the phone from the wall. She marched back out into the living room and pointed at the mess.

"Clean that up and then get to bed," she said. "You've got school in the morning. You can take another pill for your finger if you need it."

"What are you doing with the phone?" he asked.

"It'll be with me, along with my cell phone," she said, starting toward her bedroom before stopping in the hallway and spinning around. "It's not that I don't love you, Troy, but I can't say one hundred percent that I trust you. I know how you get, and I can see that look in your eye. I don't want you searching the internet all night, finding his number, and calling him. I'll keep the phone with me to make it easier for you to do what I'm telling you to do. Now, good night."

"But he's leaving tomorrow night," Troy said, his voice barely a whisper.

His mom disappeared without another word, gently closing her door with a final click.

Troy's muscles tightened until he shook. He picked up a pillow and whacked it against the arm of the couch until dust glimmered in yellow light from the lamp next to his mom's La-Z-Boy. He sneezed and huffed and threw down the pillow before slumping to the floor and holding his head in his hands, crying and growling to himself with rage.

Finally, he took a deep, ragged breath, cleaned up, and went to bed.

He hadn't lain there for more than ten minutes before he sprang from his bed, dressed, and slipped out the window into the night.

If he couldn't call his father, Troy had a different and better idea of how he could see him, and he wouldn't have to wait.

THE TREES ABOVE SHIFTEDrestlessly in a steady wind that smelled like coming rain, and stars blinked between tattered holes in the clouds. Behind the toolshed lay his gramps's fourteen-foot aluminum ladder, and Troy knew he could lift it on his own. He found the middle two rungs and picked up the ladder, bumping his finger and cursing to himself. Struggling, he poked his head through so the ladder rested on his shoulders like a bizarre collar that balanced nicely. He knew the way through the dark pinewoods to the railroad bed almost without looking. The dull glow of the tracks lay like discarded stilts, pointing the way to where his friends lived and making him wish they were with him. He stood for a moment, thinking, then decided it would take too long to get them, even if they could sneak away.

Besides, this was something he needed to do on his own.

This was a family thing.

He stepped carefully through the weeds onto a once-familiar path now overgrown and filled with ruts and gopher holes. Through the trees, he navigated the big ladder, his eyes recognizing the dull gray lines of the concrete wall like an old enemy's face in a crowd. It surrounded the entire Cotton Wood Country Club. He spotted his old way in-a gaping crack-that had since been patched with concrete and cobblestones. Troy raised the ladder off his shoulders, breathing with deep relief at the lifted weight. He braced the ladder against the wall, scaling it quickly.

Nearly a foot thick, the wall provided an ample perch for him at its top. He stood and stared, listening for any sign of life from within, but the wind cloaked all other sounds. He wiggled his feet, setting them firm, and lowered his center before raising the ladder up and over to the other side. After planting it in the dirt below, he swung out and around and climbed down. Because he'd been inside the country club so many times before-as an intruder, but more recently as Seth's guest-he knew well the way he had to go.