Tim Green - The Big Time

"Troy, I'll leave you with Coach Mora. We'll talk about that other thing later," Troy's mom said before moving on to her PR duties.

Troy tried to pay attention to the questions Coach Mora asked him, but he could only give simple yes or no answers. With Tate now standing beside him, Troy's skin felt tight, and his fingers were itching to snatch his father's business card out of her pocket and make it his own.

"You okay?" Coach Mora asked.

"Fine," Troy said.

"You coming into the locker room with us for the pre-game speech?" Coach Mora asked. The players behind him had begun to vacate the field, moving in a large bunch toward the locker room.

"I think I'll wait with these guys on the bench if it's okay," Troy said.

"Sure," Coach Mora said, turning to go. "See you for the national anthem."

Troy looked back toward where his father had been, but both he and G-along with all the other guests-had been cleared off the sideline by a wave of security guards in yellow Windbreakers. The last of them were being funneled out the visiting team's tunnel entrance like used dishwater down a drain.

Troy held out his hand to Tate and said, "Let me have it."

Tate seemed reluctant to give up the card. She said, "I feel like I'm in the middle of this. Your mom didn't want you to have it."

"Whose side are you on?" Troy asked, the words sounding nastier than he'd intended.

Tate's face turned red, and her fingers curled around the card so that it crumpled in her hand. "No side, that's my point. I don't think it's fair, making me the delivery girl when your mom doesn't want you to have this."

"You act like it's stolen property or something, Tate," Troy said. "Cut it out. He's my dad. Let go."

Troy gripped her wrist with his hurt hand and pried the card loose with the other.

"What the heck?" he said, tearing it free, the struggle causing him pain.

"Good," Tate said, relieved. "Now if it comes out, I didn't give it to you. You took it from me."

"Whatever," Troy said, studying the card, then looking up at the luxury boxes above them, wondering which one belonged to the mayor.

"Whatever?" Tate said. "Your mom is your mom, Troy."

"And my dad is my dad."

"Okay," Tate said, still sour. "I get it."

With his good hand, Troy stuffed the card into his pocket and said, "I don't know; this whole thing's got me crazy."

"Well, it's all pretty unusual," Tate said.

"But who cares?" Nathan said. "Hanging out with G Money? That's worth some ruffled feathers, I gotta tell you. Look at that, right on my hand."

Nathan beamed as he held forth the hand G had signed.

"Permanent, too," Nathan said proudly. "It's never coming off."

"Nathan, the only thing permanent is a tattoo," Tate said.

"Wrong, Tate," Nathan said, scowling. "My mom said those Sharpies never come off."

"Maybe not off your dining-room table when you went outside the lines on that social studies poster we made," Tate said, "but it's not permanent on your hand."

"Dang!" Nathan said, then snapped his fingers and took out his phone.

"What are you doing?" Troy asked.

"A picture," Nathan said, showing them. "A picture of my hand signed by G Money. Now, that's forever."

"I don't care about G Money, or his autograph," Troy said, leading them over to the bench and flopping down with his legs extended. He smoothed out his father's business card and examined it. "Seven hundred and fifty-three Michigan Avenue. That sounds like a pretty fancy address to me."

"Michigan Avenue is where all the famous stores are in Chicago," Tate said, "and the Water Tower. It looks like a castle."

"Hey, if he's G Money's lawyer," Nathan said, brandishing his hand, "then he's got to be huge. You can't get more famous than G."

"Troy'll be that famous soon," Tate said. "We saw the TV camera on you and Seth, and I heard your mom saying something to another reporter about you maybe being at the team press conference after the game."

"She did?" Troy asked, his cheeks feeling warm.

"Maybe she doesn't want you to think about it," Tate said. "Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned it."

The three of them sat silently for a few minutes, the crowd in the dome continuing to grow, filling the seats and adding to the noise and the ocean of red and black.

Finally, Nathan said, "I know I'm not really the idea guy, but I can't stop thinking about this one."

Nathan waited, and neither Tate nor Troy said anything.

"Aren't one of you guys going to ask?" Nathan said.

Troy sighed and said, "Okay, Nathan. What?"

"Well, your dad's this big-time lawyer doing deals for people like G Money, right?" Nathan said.

"Yeah," Troy said.

"And you've got all these agents wanting to do your deal with the Falcons or even another NFL team after this season, right?"

"Yup."

"So," Nathan said, "why not forget the agents and-"

"I know what you're going to say," Troy said, holding up a hand to cut him off.

"You do?"

"Yes," Troy said, "because I'm sitting here thinking the exact same thing."

" WHAT SAME THING AREyou two thinking?" Tate asked.

Nathan said, "That Troy's dad-"

"Can represent me," Troy said, finishing the sentence.

"Guys," Tate said, "you just met the man."

"It's his father, Tate," Nathan said, rolling his eyes.

"You think I'm blind?" Tate said. "He still just met the man. Troy doesn't even know him."

"He doesn't know any of these agents banging down his door either," Nathan said.

"He knows Seth," Tate said. "And Seth has an agent. Don't you think you'd want to be with someone you know you can t-"

"What?" Troy asked, glaring at Tate. "Trust? That's what you were going to say, isn't it, Tate? Why wouldn't I trust my own father?"

Troy stared at her until Tate looked away.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I'll keep my mouth shut. Can we talk about all this later? I mean, you've got to help the Falcons win this game, right? We shouldn't be distracting you. Mr. Langan asked us not to, remember, Nathan?"

"I'm not distracting him," Nathan said, jabbing his thumb into his chest. "I'm helping him."

"I probably should get focused on the game," Troy said, realizing that less than three minutes remained on the clock before the team would come bursting through the smoke and flames at the mouth of the Falcons tunnel. "I'm not going to have to worry about contracts or agents or any of this if I can't keep helping them win. That's football, right? You're only as good as your last game. Come on, let's watch."

Troy buried the card in his left pocket. They got up and stood right on the broad white strip of sideline at the midpoint of the field. The dome began to rumble. The announcer's voice shouted out a welcome to the fans and introduced the Falcons' defensive starters one by one. The tunnel exploded with fresh flames as each defender burst from the tunnel at the sound of his name, sprinting past a double row of cheerleaders. Seth was the last defender to be announced, and he got the loudest cheers. The rest of the team came racing out of the tunnel behind him, accompanied by a surge of twenty-foot flames. The Falcons formed a twisting mass at the center of the field, shouting and jumping and hooting at the top of their lungs. Smoke floated toward the roof. The crowd went wild, and Troy and his friends had to plug their ears.

The team migrated to the bench area, but energy stayed high, even when the Falcons lost the coin toss. The fans cheered when the Packers chose to receive the kickoff. The entire crowd seemed eager to see Seth and the defense tear into the Packers with the help of their secret weapon who was no longer a secret. Troy stood next to Coach Mora at the edge of the sideline, while Tate and Nathan had to stay on the bench so they wouldn't get trampled. As the captains came off the field after the coin toss, the cameraman with the handheld camera jogged along behind them and practically stuck his lens in Troy's face. The red light went on, and Troy shifted on his feet and blushed.