The Big Time

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

TROY LAY COMFORTABLY IN his dream on a sandy beach with the wind slipping past. He knew it was a dream, and he didn't want to wake up, despite the sound of his mom's insistent voice. Finally, when he knew for certain she wasn't going away, Troy opened his eyes and realized that his finger felt better even though it was swollen and stiff.

"Wake up," she said again. "I let you sleep late."

"You did?" Troy asked, swinging his legs out of bed.

"Home Economics first period, right?" she said. "I'm sorry, but learning to bake a cake from a box when the kids in this country rank twenty-fourth in the world in math scores? That's ridiculous."

Troy grinned but felt a pang of guilt for plotting with his father to trick a mom cool enough to let him skip Home Ec.

"What? You like cake from a box?" she asked.

"No, I'm glad," he said. "I was just thinking about everything."

"Your father?" she said with a sigh. "I know. Come on, I made oatmeal."

"Everything else, too," he said, following her into the hallway. "The TV shows. A big contract. The agents."

"I've been thinking about that," she said. "The TV shows aren't going to go away. I think we get the agent thing worked out first. Whoever we choose will probably have some specific ideas on how we can work this to our best advantage. We need to use the media in this to help our negotiations. We need to get you the best deal we can, Troy. This is serious business."

Troy followed her into the kitchen in his boxer shorts. At the stove, she took a metal spoon and began stirring a pot of oatmeal with vicious intensity. He was dying to tell her that she and his father were now thinking along the exact same lines, but for some unknown reason the harsh, scraping sound made him hold his tongue.

"What are you doing?" she asked, turning to dollop out the oatmeal into the pair of bowls she'd put on the table but stopping to stare. "Get dressed. It's going to be beautiful today, so you can wear shorts if you want. What, Troy? You're acting strange."

Troy forced a smile and shook his head before scooting back down the hall to use the bathroom and dress. He sat down to a steaming bowl of oatmeal with raisins and banana slices and dug in.

When his mom dropped him off at school, she signed him in at the office. He hugged her tight before heading for his locker. He was in the hallway outside math class when Tate found him and asked where he'd been. Troy explained about his mom letting him sleep in before launching proudly into the newfound information he had on his father. Nathan joined them halfway through Troy's glowing report. When he'd finished, Nathan whistled low.

"Records at Auburn," Nathan said. "That's sweet."

"Wow. Who else does he represent besides G Money?" Tate asked.

"I don't know," Troy said, his excitement riding high. He began to tell them the story of the night before-sneaking out, G Money's mansion, and his dad climbing the wall with him-but the bell rang before he could finish, and his friends had to stay in suspense until third-period study hall, when they all got library passes.

Troy got on the computer and, armed with his father's name, Googled the former college star turned big-time lawyer, proudly pulling up the Auburn University football record book.

"Look," he said, pointing out his dad's name in the record books, once for being third in total rushing yards in a season and another for tying for first with five touchdowns in a single game.

"The real deal," Nathan said quietly.

"That's great, Troy," Tate said.

Troy looked up and in a hushed library voice finished telling them the story about the night before. When he stopped talking, Troy noticed that Tate was gnawing gently on her knuckle.

"What's wrong?" Troy asked.

Tate hesitated, then said, "You don't really think you can fool your mom, do you?"

"I'm not 'fooling' her, Tate," he said. "I'm just…I don't know, playing out the situation."

"Right," she said, "manipulating."

"Don't even listen to her," Nathan said, swatting the air. "It's a great plan. Your mom will be happy, and you'll get a big-time contract and your dad back all at once. It's perfect. I'm happy for you, Troy. Can't you just be happy for the man, Tate?"

Tate scowled at Nathan, raised her voice, and said, "Telling someone what they want to hear might be your idea of being a friend, but it's not mine. I don't like it, that's all. I'm just telling him how I feel."

Tate looked at Troy and Nathan, obviously wondering if they'd be heading back to study hall with her, but Nathan scooted his chair closer to the computer screen and put an arm around Troy's shoulder.

"Come on, Troy," he said in a whisper, "let's Google his clients and see who else he reps besides you and G Money."

Tate nodded for Troy to go ahead, then walked away. Troy turned eagerly back toward the screen, thrilled at the prospect of what he might find. G Money was as big as it got, though. The rest of his dad's clients-at least the ones he could locate from newspaper articles and websites-were names he had only remotely heard of, if at all.

"Hey, what's that?" Nathan asked, still hungry for more names he recognized. "Northlake Trust? That's a band, right?"

Troy's fingers danced over the keys as he refined his search.

"It's my dad's client, but it's no band," he said, reading. "In fact, whoever they are, it looks like they're in some pretty big trouble."