Tim Green - The Big Time

"So, why haven't the Falcons used you to help their offense?" Seth Cole asked. "Or have they?"

"No," Troy said. "I guess nobody really thought about it. Seth-not you, Mr. Cole, but Seth Halloway-he's the one who got the team to even give me a chance, and he's their middle linebacker. So I just have been helping the defense."

"Then let's see if you can help the Jets' offense," the owner said.

Troy turned his attention to the screen. Three plays later, he began to call the defensive coverage. The owner let him go for five plays before he pressed another button that brought up the lights. His eyes bore into Troy's, and a pleasant smile curled at the corners of his mouth.

"I like it. I like it very much," he said, then turned to Troy's dad. "How much?"

Troy's father scratched his chin and, without dropping the owner's gaze, said, "The Falcons are talking eight figures over three years."

"Ten million over three years?" Seth Cole said, his eyebrows disappearing beneath the eaves of dark hair.

"At a minimum," Troy's father said. "Eight figures is the range."

"Will they give you fifteen?" Seth Cole asked.

"Maybe," Troy's father said.

"No. They won't," Seth Cole said, grinning and shaking his head.

"I can't say," Troy's father said.

"I will."

"You will what?" his father asked.

"Give you fifteen million," Seth Cole said, glancing at Troy, "for three years. But I have to have an option for three more years at twenty, with a right of first refusal after that."

Troy's head spun. The room seemed to float around him. It was all so big, so fast. For some reason he couldn't stop thinking about G Money's pool.

"How much up front?" Troy heard his father ask.

"How much do you want?" Seth Cole said.

"Ten," Troy's father said.

Seth Cole burst into a short fit of laughter before he took a breath and said, "Five million up front, but you don't leave this room without agreeing to the deal. Do you have the authority?"

"Yes, his mother agreed to follow my lead on this," Troy's dad said. "I'll need her signature, though. She's his legal guardian, but she's trusting me to cut the deal."

"Very good," the owner said.

"But I can't just agree to something without considering all the options," Troy's father said.

The owner stared for a moment, his eyes sweeping across Troy's father's face as if he were reading a book.

"His mother agreed to follow your lead. You can do anything you want," Seth Cole said, his voice soft but deadly serious. "You're the agent. You're the lawyer. You're the father ."

"How did you know that?" Troy asked, unable to stop himself.

Seth Cole looked at Troy with empty eyes. "I'm an investor. I make it my business."

They sat in silence for a few moments before Troy's father said, "Well, I really can't-"

Seth Cole stood abruptly and shook Troy's hand. "Very nice to meet you, Troy. I wish you the best of luck. Drew, maybe next time."

Seth Cole shook Troy's father's hand and slipped away, striding for the door behind the desk. Troy looked at his father and saw the anguish on his face.

"Wait!" Troy's father said.

But Seth Cole kept going.

" SETH," TROY'S FATHER SAID."Wait! You can't."

Seth Cole wrapped his fingers around the shiny gold doorknob and gripped it before he stopped, let it go, and turned around. The owner said nothing; he simply went to the desk and removed some papers from the drawer, then plucked a pen from its holder and strode back across the room, extending them both to Troy's dad before placing them down on the granite top of the low table in front of the couch.

"The mother will have to sign the actual contract if she's Troy's legal guardian," Seth said, "but what I want from you-his agent-is this letter of intent. Troy should sign it, too. Because I want your word, both of you, that this is going to happen. That will do. I built my fortune on trusting people."

"He can't start until next season," Troy's father said. "You know that, right?"

"No," Troy said, "I can't."

"I understand that," Seth Cole said. "I'll be rooting for the Falcons in the Super Bowl."

Troy's dad examined the letter, then picked up the pen. He chuckled and shook his head and gave Troy a wink, then signed the paper. Troy, who had been holding his breath since he didn't know when, let it out. His father pushed the papers his way and handed him the pen.

"Go ahead," his father said. "You can sign it, too. Let's do this right."

Troy held the pen and placed his free hand flat on top of the paper, studying his father's wavy signature.

"What about my mom?" Troy said.

"If your dad says she's on board," Seth Cole said, "I seriously doubt she's going to argue with this deal."

"She's in the PR department for the Falcons," Troy said.

"She won't need to work another day in her life," Troy's dad said.

"She likes to work," Troy said. "I want her to have a job with the team."

"No," Seth Cole said, his face set in stone. "I don't do that. I can have the team give her an interview, but that's all I'll promise. I can get her interviews with every one of the TV networks and half the ad agencies on Madison Avenue, but I don't hire people to do favors. No one wins. Ever. I'm sorry."

Troy looked up at Seth Cole, whose face remained unreadable. Seth Cole stared at Troy hard, and it was as if he could read Troy's thoughts: the fear of leaving his friends and the world he knew fighting with the wild dream of being rich, his parents a couple, and all of them living in the big time.

Troy nodded, then put pen to paper and signed his name.

" I KNOW LETTERMAN ISN'Tlocked in, but you don't really want me to just drop it, do you?" Troy's father asked, his face full of disbelief.

Troy felt his eyes grow moist and he looked away, ashamed for not knowing why but knowing in his heart that the only thing he wanted was to be alone with his mom. At the same time, he didn't want to disappoint his father.

"I just want to go home," Troy said, trying to sound strong. "I've got practice tonight. I almost forgot."

"Because I can make this thing happen, Troy. And buddy," his father said, laughing, "you don't need practice. You don't need anything except to figure out how you're going to spend your money."

"It's not just about the money," Troy said.

"What are you," his father said, "in shock or something?"

"I just don't want to go on TV," Troy said, amazed at how quickly the notion of having the entire country see him, Troy White, on TV had turned sour. "We don't need to whip them up anymore now that we've got the deal. I just want to go home. That's all. I've got football. Can't we?"

Troy's father looked sadly down at his BlackBerry. He punched in some words, waited, then nodded his head and slowly said, "I had a lot of media lined up, but you're right; the real purpose was to hype the deal. Yeah, we can go back. It's okay. Whatever you want, Troy."

Troy wanted to tell his father that it certainly didn't feel like whatever he wanted. It felt as if he'd been swept up in a tornado and didn't have any more say than a tattered sheet of newspaper spinning in the dust and leaves.

"Home," Troy said, and that's where they went.

The plane ride back wasn't as magical as the ride to New York. Troy stared out the window. The afternoon sun glinted off ponds, lakes, and rivers below, leaving the impression not of golden treasure but of worthless glitter scattered carelessly in the wake of a cheap parade.

The attendant offered sandwiches to them both, but Troy's dad waved him off and Troy didn't feel hungry at all. His father worked the laptop twice as hard as he had on the morning flight, something Troy hadn't thought possible. But even as they touched down at DeKalb Peachtree Airport, his father pounded away on the keys without looking up. Finally, though, when the big plane came to a halt, his father did look up to blink and smile and give Troy one of his winks.