the Big Time (2010) (18 page)

THEY RODE FOR TEN
minutes in Seth's H2 before Troy realized that Nathan wasn't talking to him.

“What's up with that?” Troy asked.

Nathan had his forehead pressed against his window, huffing on the glass and making squeaky designs.

He made a quick star, then said, “Are you really going to abandon us after this game? Sheesh. Some friend.”

“Hey,” Tate said, “you big meathead. Instead of moping like that, why don't you pump yourself up? So, it's our last game together. Let's not cry about it. Let's win this thing!”

“You wouldn't understand,” Nathan said, waving his hand at her. “You're a girl.”

“Cut it out, goofball,” Tate said. “I mean it. Don't ruin this. Let's go play. Let's have fun. Let's win this.”

Seth cleared his throat and said, “Tate's right, Nathan. In football, you never know which game is going to be your last. Look at me.”

Troy hung his head.

“No,” Seth said to him, messing up his hair, “don't you get down. I didn't mean it like that, Troy. It's just the way it is. You never get to play this game as long as you want. It always ends too soon, and every year, if you are lucky enough to make it, your team changes. Something always changes. That's life. You keep moving.”

“Like a shark, right?” Troy said dully, his eyes watching the trees go by.

“What?” Seth said.

“Nothing,” Troy said.

“Come on, you three,” Seth said. “If nothing else, win this thing for me, will you? I'd like to get a coaching job out of this. Maybe the playing part is over for me, but I'm not leaving this game—not ever, if I can help it.”

“Of course we'll win it for you,” Tate said. “You made us state champs. You helped Troy, and it looks like he's going to get rich from it. Besides, I want that scholarship money.”

Seth laughed at her.

Nathan sighed and said, “I just can't believe this is it for us.”

“Who knows, Nathan?” Troy said. “Maybe you and I will play in college together. Georgia Bulldogs?”

Troy turned around and saw Nathan break out into a grin and swipe a hand over his brush cut. “Sheesh, now we're talking.”

“And maybe I'll play soccer there,” Tate said.

Everyone went silent. Troy looked over the seat at her. She smiled at him.

“But, Tate,” he said, “you're a football player—not just a kicker, a real football player. Remember that tackle you made on the kickoff against Dunwoody? You helped win that game.”

Tate blushed, looked down at her hands, and said, “I know, but next year it's not junior league anymore; it's the middle school team.”

“Some girls play in high school,” Troy said. “There's that girl over in Roswell named Bridget Kennicott who's so tough they call her the Tornado.”

“But not after that,” Tate said. “Even the Tornado won't play in college.”

“You could be the first, Tate,” Troy said.

“But I could get a full ride as a soccer player,” she said, “if I work at it. I'm fast and I'm strong.”

“And you got a mean leg,” Nathan said.

“And that,” she said.

“And tough,” Troy said.

“Thank you,” Tate said. “So, this really is the last game for us. Let's win it.”

Tate held out a hand in the air between them all. Nathan put his hand on top of Tate's, and Troy reached back over the seat to cover them both.

“Win it, on three,” Troy said.

“One, two, three, WIN IT!”

TROY AND THE GEORGIA
team were down by six and only twenty-seven seconds remained. It was third down and eight yards to go for a fresh set of downs. Troy took the snap from the shotgun position four yards behind the center and read the defense. The team's best receiver—a tall, skinny kid from Valdosta—had the coverage beat, but he slipped on the grass, and Troy immediately looked to his second receiver: the tight end running a post who hadn't been able to get free from the linebacker's jam.

Before Troy could get to his third read, the pocket collapsed around him and his instincts had to take over. Instead of running away from the surge of defenders, Troy stepped up toward them, ducking one, then dodging another, sharply aware of Nathan throwing himself in front of the noseguard to protect Troy's knees. Troy
found the seam he was looking for: a narrow opening in the flurry of bodies. In that same instant Rusty Howell broke free down the sideline. Troy took one more step forward, knowing the middle linebacker, on a late blitz, would crack him in the face.

Troy launched the ball and took the shot, seeing stars before he hit the ground. The roar of Georgia fans, clad in red and black, raised him from the ground. His teammates swarmed him, moving as he did toward the goal line, slapping his shoulders, helmet, and back. Tate jogged out and nailed the extra point, then Troy, Tate, and Nathan watched alongside Seth as the Georgia kickoff team kept Florida pinned deep. Their defense stood strong. The clock wound down. The gun went off, and Nathan as well as Tate cackled wildly to Troy about their ten-thousand-dollar scholarship money.

Troy congratulated not just his best friends but the rest of his teammates. Seth gave Troy a hug, then pulled away at the sight of the approaching Georgia Bulldogs' head coach, Mark Richt. The two men shook hands and began to talk. Troy turned and met his mom and Gramps at the fence. They hugged him, too, and said they'd meet him in the tunnel, where only family with passes were allowed to go.

Troy changed into his street clothes and got to the tunnel as fast as he could. He stood waiting with the rest of his teammates, searching the crowd beyond the fence as, one by one, families were allowed into the
separate area. In the swarm of arms and legs, banners and pom-poms, hats and grinning faces, Troy spotted a face that made his heart clench. He blinked and looked again.

The face was gone, and Troy had no idea if it had been a dream or not. He staggered toward the fence and gripped the cold metal mesh. Pressing his forehead into the wire, he strained to see it again. For what seemed like a lifetime, he looked. He only stopped when he felt his mom's hand on his shoulder and heard the warm, rough voice of his gramps. Troy stepped away, still looking, still wondering if the smiling, winking face had really been his father's.