The Big Time

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

" IF YOU DON'T WORK with me here, I'm going to have to sue you," Drew said. "For partial custody of Troy. I think a boy needs a dad. I don't know about the laws here in Georgia, but, believe me, I'm going to look into it, and you can expect to hear from my lawyer."

"I thought you were a lawyer," Troy's mom said with a smirk of her own.

"Any lawyer who represents himself has a fool for a client," Drew said. "Haven't you heard that saying, Tessa? Well, I'm no fool. Far from it."

Troy's father gave him a secret wink, then took a business card from his wallet and clamped it between two fingers like a cigarette before extending it to Troy.

"In case he needs to get in touch with me," Drew said, raising an eyebrow at Troy's mom, "and you decide you'd like to settle this in a nice way. I'm in town until tomorrow night, and I'd like to take Troy out to lunch or Six Flags or something before I go. That okay with you, Tessa?"

Troy reached hesitantly for the card, looking at her. "Mom?"

His mom clenched her teeth, her eyes darting between them.

"You said," Troy said to her in a low voice.

A thin stream of air escaped between her teeth before she said, "Not now, Troy. You've got school. I have to think. I'll take the card."

Before Troy could protest, his mom snatched the card from Drew and said, "Okay, Troy. You've got things to do, right?"

Troy scowled at his mom as she steered him back toward the center of the bench area, where, in fact, Coach Mora was looking for him. As they went, Troy glanced over his shoulder. Nathan was still talking to G from inside the yellow rope, and Tate stood beside him. Troy's dad motioned to Troy, jacked up his eyebrows, and pointed with quick, stabbing motions at Tate. Before Tate could do anything about it, Drew reached over the rope, took her hand, and slapped another one of his business cards into it before closing her fingers around it and propelling her gently toward Troy.

"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."