Джон Гришэм - Sooley

His mother would be completely unable to understand the decisions facing him: leaving college early, hiring an agent, entering the draft, turning pro, or forgoing it all and returning to Central for another year or two. So he did not burden her with such talk. After fifteen minutes, the pleasant Christine took the phone and said goodbye.

Making as much noise as possible, Sooley showered and dressed and left the lights on, and in doing so did not provoke the slightest twitch from his roommate. He left the dorm early and went for a long walk on campus, one that would not be possible in a couple of hours. He made it to The Nest without being stopped once by a student wanting a photo.

Coach Britt was waiting in his office with Coach Grinnell. Dressed casually, in golf shirts and sweats, they were sipping coffee and appeared to have been talking for a long time.

There were so many postseason rumors roaring through the internet that their lives were unsettled. However, one important decision had to be made soon.

Lonnie said, “You have less than a week to make your decision, Samuel. What are you thinking?”

The NCAA was toying with ways to keep underclassmen in college. One idea was to allow them to hire an agent on a temporary basis, go through a workout and get evaluated by a panel of experts who would rate their chances in the draft, and call it off if things didn’t look too promising. They could then stay in school and not lose eligibility. But this was just a proposal. At the moment, if Sooley hired an agent and entered the draft there was no turning back if it proved disappointing. He could probably make a buck playing in Serbia or Israel, but his college playing days would be over.

He loved Central and everything about college life. It was the only home he knew and the thought of leaving was unsettling. However, he was devouring everything he could find online about the draft, player projections, lottery picks, agents, rookie contracts, the millions of dollars waiting out there, and the stars like Kobe and LeBron and Kevin Garnett who turned pro after high school and never bothered with college. He had found a dozen stories about good players who’d stayed in college only to see their careers ruined by injuries.

The question he wanted to ask was: “Okay, Coach, what are you thinking?”

The internet was rife with speculations about where his coach was headed, but every blog seemed to agree that Lonnie Britt was leaving Central.

Sooley shrugged and said, “I don’t want to leave, Coach, but timing is everything, you know?”

“Have you talked to an agent?”

“Not yet. Their runners are around, bugging me, bugging Murray, but I haven’t spoken to an agent yet. You think I should?”

Lonnie nodded, as did Jason Grinnell.

“You need an agent, Samuel,” Lonnie said. “But be careful.”

Sooley absorbed this with a poker face. He knew damned well that Lonnie himself had an agent and that they were aggressively pursuing openings around the country. His agent was a slick operator from Houston who repped a lot of college basketball coaches. According to the online dirt, and there was a pile of it, Price was trying to manipulate searches at Purdue, Marquette, and several other schools involved in the annual postseason game of musical chairs.

“I’m hesitant to recommend an agent, Samuel,” Lonnie said. “There are a lot of them and I don’t have much experience. I’m getting calls.”

Jason Grinnell laughed and said, “We’re all getting calls, Samuel. Every agent in the country, certified or not, is calling and trying to get a foot in the door. I’ve never had so many friends.”

The laughter died and an awkward pause followed. Finally, Sooley asked, “So, what am I supposed to do? Do you think I’m ready for the draft? Or should I stay in school?”

Lonnie smiled and said, “You’re every bit as good as the players you faced in the tournament. We believe in you and want you to succeed. Sure, I’d love to coach you for three more years, but that’s not going to happen. You can’t say no to the money, Samuel.”

“What’s going to happen to you?”

“I don’t know. Lots of rumors. But I’m in no hurry. You, on the other hand, need to make a decision.”

“Do you know Arnie Savage?”

“Never met him, but he’s rumored to be a decent agent. Why?”

“His runner has been persistent. Showed up in Norfolk, then again in Memphis after we beat Duke. Said hello to Murray and wanted to get together.”

“Murray didn’t tell me.”

“No sir. He didn’t tell me either. The contact was unauthorized but, as I’ve learned, it’s really no big deal. Just a runner. I’ve checked out Savage and he seems to be legit. Has two dozen or so players in the NBA.”

Lonnie asked, “You want me to make phone calls?”

“No sir, but thanks. I’m digging for myself, plus Murray’s got my back.”

Jason said, “You gotta do it, Sooley. You can’t say no to the money.”

“I know.”

Murray sat at the kitchen table with his parents and sipped a soda. No food was present. There was nothing doing on the stove or in the oven, not a whiff of the usual delicious aroma.

Ida was perturbed and had been for some time. She was saying, “He’s not even nineteen years old. You gotta be nineteen, right?”

“Sort of. You have to turn nineteen in the calendar year you’re drafted.”

“That’s too young,” she said.

“That’s the rule, Mom. And what’s the big deal anyway? What about baseball and hockey? Every year hundreds of eighteen-year-old kids turn pro right out of high school, been doing it for years, for decades. Al Kaline won the American League batting title when he was twenty years old. Joe Nuxhall pitched his first game for the Reds at the age of fifteen.”

“Who?” Ida asked.

“And those old white guys are somehow relevant to Sooley and the NBA?” Ernie asked.

“No, they’re not. My point is that eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds go pro all the time now. Duke has three or four of them this year. Kentucky has at least two. Why do you think those guys are more mature than Sooley?”

“He’s just a kid,” Ida said, again. “I can’t believe we’re talking about this.”

“Get with it, Mom. He needs to sign with an agent and enter the draft.”

Ernie was shaking his head. “I don’t like it. He needs to finish college and then think about going pro.”

Murray said, “I disagree. What if there’s a million bucks on the table? And he says no, comes back to Central, then gets hurt? Why take that chance? All Sooley wants is to make some money that will enable him to go get his family. That’s what he thinks about. Sure, a college degree would be nice, and he plans to get one sooner or later. But he will not sleep well until his mother and brothers are over here, safe and sound.”

Ida said, “He’s not going to make a million dollars, is he?”

Murray smiled while shaking his head in frustration. “Mom, I know you don’t follow the game online and that’s a good thing. But right now most experts and bloggers are picking Sooley to go mid to late first round, probably between the fifteenth and twentieth picks. On something known as the Rookie Scale Contract, that means his first-year guaranteed salary is about two million dollars. Double that for year two.”

Ida shook her head in disbelief.

Ernie said, “He can’t even drive a car.”

“Well, I’m teaching him. In a few months he’ll own a Porsche.”

“God help us.”

Reynard Owen sat in a booth and watched a cold rain sprinkle the parking lot. The restaurant was on the outskirts of Chapel Hill, twenty-five minutes from Central’s campus. On time, the small blue pickup pulled into the lot and parked next to Reynard’s sleek black Jaguar. From the passenger’s side, Sooley got out, unfolded himself, and looked at the Jaguar. Murray got out and admired it too. One of them said something funny and both laughed as they crossed the parking lot. Inside, Reynard waved them over and they met in a booth, far away from anyone else.