Tim Green - The Big Time

TROY DIDN'T SPEAK TOhis mother the next morning, and she seemed okay with that. He found a seat alone on the school bus but didn't protest when Tate sat down next to him and Nathan took the seat behind them.

"So, we figured out what happened," Tate said, as cheerful as when he'd last seen her. "Seth told us."

"After he dropped you off last night," Nathan said, hanging over the back of the seat.

"And everything's going to be fine," Tate said.

Troy twisted up his lips and stared at the row of seats in front of him and the backs of the kids' heads as they jostled along.

"It's just because you were late," Nathan said, patting Troy's shoulder. "He had to set an example, with all the other kids not being from around here."

"He wants to make sure we win this thing," Tate said. "It's all coaching tactics, and you already know the offense better than anyone. So, you see? You don't have to be upset. We can just focus on winning this thing against Florida."

"And getting that fat cash," Nathan said, smacking a palm against his forehead and stroking his brush cut. "Sheesh! Ten grand."

"Well," Tate said after a few moments of silence, "this is good news, right?"

Troy sighed and said, "Not really. I don't care."

"Ha!" Nathan said, barking out his laughter. "What's the punch line? What do you mean you 'don't care'? Of course you care. It's ten grand. It's money for college. It's beating Florida for the first time in five years and impressing the college coaches. It's the big time."

"No, it's not," Troy said flatly. "That's not the big time. The big time is signing a huge contract with the New York Jets. The big time is having agents and lawyers who take care of things for you, being on TV, flying in private planes, swimming with the sharks. That's the big time, not some goofball all-star game."

Silence followed until the buzz of kids talking around them swallowed it up.

"I'm still waiting for the punch line here," Nathan said, poking Tate in the back of her neck. "What did I miss?"

Tate gripped the seat in front of her and faced forward, her mouth set in a flat line.

"You didn't miss any punch line," she said. "He's serious."

"He's what?" Nathan said. "He can't be."

"Ten thousand dollars doesn't mean anything to him," she said, her voice bitter. "And he sure doesn't care about us ."

"Right, 'cause it's all about you, Tate," Troy said. "You and Nathan and your scholarships, but what about me? This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. I can set up me and my mom for good. This is the big time for real. It's New York, the center of the whole world."

"Great," Tate said, picking up her book bag and slipping back into the seat behind Troy and alongside Nathan.

"Fine," Troy said, spitting out the word.

"Good," Tate said, then banged the seat in front of them with her hand.

Troy jumped up the second the bus came to a stop in front of the school. He hurried inside without looking back, got the things from his locker, and hurried to homeroom. Halfway through first period, he told the teacher he didn't feel well. She told him to go see the nurse. Instead of the nurse's office, Troy headed for the pay phone down by the gym, sneaking through the halls with an eye out for monitors.

He took a quarter from his pocket and dialed his father's cell phone.

"Dad," he said, "you gotta get me out of here."

"Hi, Troy," his father said, sounding as if he was still in bed. "Out of where?"

"School," Troy said. "Atlanta. My mom. All of it."

The instant the words left his mouth, Troy regretted them. He knew he was being a hothead, something his mom sometimes accused him of being and something he knew to be true. It was all so confusing, the joy of finding the father he always wanted and the thrill of being with him and the things they did, but at the same time finding himself fighting with the people he knew and truly loved: his mom, Tate, Seth, and even Nathan.

His dad said, "You don't really mean that."

Troy felt relief, like peering over the dizzying edge of the outlook railing atop Stone Mountain and pulling back to feel the sturdy granite beneath his feet.

"No," he said. "You're right. I don't."

"Good," his father said. "I'm glad."

"But my mom is making a stink about me going to the Jets," he said. "I don't think she wants me to go to New York."

Troy heard his father breathing into the phone before he said, "When your mom realizes how good it is for you, she'll come around. Don't worry, Troy."

"I think Seth wants her to stay here," Troy said. "I think he wants me here, too. He needs me."

"His career is almost over, Troy," his father said. "He's a good man. He won't expect you to throw away your own chances just so he can hang on for a few more games."

The words his father spoke fell like seeds in Troy's mind, seeds that sprang into stalks of reason blooming full of kindness.

"You're right," Troy said.

"So, don't worry," his father said. "This will all work out."

"But she said she could stop me," Troy said, wanting to bring up the FBI but feeling too ashamed even to mention it, as if that would make it seem like he believed it was true.

"Relax," his father said. "If I know anything, it's how your mother thinks. Let her cool off. Don't push her. She's got a soft spot, and if you just don't push too hard, you can get right in there, and before you know it, she's on your side."

"She's talking about not letting me work for the Falcons, or anyone else," Troy said. "She's talking about sending me to military school. No football. No football genius. Just me being an average kid."

"She wouldn't do that, Troy," his father said, a sharp edge creeping into his voice. "The Jets are talking about five million dollars just for signing. Five million dollars! She's not crazy."

"She's not?" Troy said. "Well, no one told her that."

"Look, where are you now?"

"School," Troy said. "I don't feel great. I'm on my way to the nurse, and I stopped to use the pay phone."

"I've got to get you a cell phone," his father said. "I should have done it already."

"Anyway," Troy said after a moment of silence.

"Yes," his father said, "anyway, you go see the nurse. I'll get this worked out with your mom. She'll see."

"Dad?" Troy said, the phone slick from the sweat of his grip.

"Yeah, Troy?"

"I trust you."

"And I trust you, too," his father said. "You're my boy. Don't worry. This will all work out."

"It will?" Troy said.

"You'll see."

Troy said good-bye, told the nurse he was feeling better, went back to class, and finished out the day.

What he saw when he got home wasn't anything good.

BOB M c DONOUGH STOOD TALLand slender, with close-cropped, graying hair and pale blue eyes that meant business. He stood talking to Troy's mom on the front porch. When they noticed Troy, they stopped talking. His mom gave Troy a look of concern and said they'd better go inside. Troy sat opposite Bob McDonough at the kitchen table while his mom flipped the tops off of three sodas, setting them out like pieces on a board.

"Bob," Troy's mom said, "would you please tell Troy what you learned."

Bob McDonough took a swig, and his eyes flickered from Troy's mom to Troy before he set down the bottle, licked his lips, and sucked in some air.

"Troy," he said, "you're an employee of the team, and it's my job to look into these kinds of things, whether someone is working a con game on one of our players or someone's trying to get inside information on the team for gambling. I admit that this is quite different, but you're an asset to the team."