Carter found out about my scholarship before I could tell him. He called Mom to talk about it. Then, after a while, she handed off the phone to me.
“Hey, bro, you coming to live here in the athletes’ dorm? I’m looking for somebody to wash my underwear,” Carter said.
“Sorry, it’s gonna be five years. Maybe you’ll learn how to do them yourself by then,” I said, loving every word of it.
“How’s it feel?” he asked.
“You know the feeling. Great. Just great.”
“Technically, we won’t be teammates. I’ll graduate before you ever get here.”
“Then I’ll have to meet up with you in the pros,” I said. “Throw my first NFL touchdown pass your way.”
“I wouldn’t be against that.”
“Oh, and remember, I won,” I told him.
“Won what?”
“The race to be on SportsCenter.”
“I guess that one’s yours,” he said. “You have the Powerball numbers for tonight, lucky bro? I hear it’s up to twenty-five mil.”
“How about our uniform numbers? Twelve for me. Eighty-five for you. How many more do you need?”
“Forget it. You might have used up your luck for a lifetime,” he said. “Anyway, I’ll see you for dinner tomorrow tonight.”
“Dinner?” I asked.
“It’s Mom’s idea. She’ll tell you,” Carter said. “Seriously, though—good going today. If you need any advice on becoming a Gator, I’ll be here for you.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate it.”
“And listen, if it rains, make sure to stay inside. The way you’ve been beating the odds lately, you might get struck by lightning.”
“Ha, ha. That’s so funny.”
* * *
The news about my scholarship spread fast. Starting at around four o’clock, kids and neighbors from around my way were knocking at our front door, wanting to congratulate me. Guys on my Pop Warner team, including Damon, kept stopping by, one after another. I invited them all inside to see my new room. Then Mom decided to make a run to the supermarket for soda and chips, and the party was on.
“I can’t believe this is happening to somebody I know,” said Damon. “Yesterday, you were just a regular kid, like the rest of us.”
“I still am,” I said. “I just know where I’m playing college football.”
“Yeah, but that’s so huge,” he said. A bunch of other guys nodded. “It’s like you don’t have to worry anymore. That’s your Willy Wonka Golden Ticket right there.”
All I knew for sure was that I was totally stoked and wanted a football in my hands more than anything. I organized a game of touch in the street outside my house. There were seven of us, so we played three-on-three, and I was all-time QB for both sides.
My left arm was feeling like fourteen-karat gold. I must have thrown five straight touchdowns. In one play, I even told somebody to make his cut between a pair of parked cars. I stood there with total confidence and laid the ball perfectly between a black Lincoln and a silver SUV. I spiraled it maybe four inches over the Lincoln’s roof rack, right into my receiver’s hands.
My phone kept interrupting the game. It was going off nonstop with calls and texts from kids I knew at school. After a while, I let most of the calls go straight to message or answered their texts with a Quicktext reply: Thnx, won’t let U dwn.
Only, I made sure to answer the text from Lyn Wilson differently. Lyn was Damon’s twin sister, although they didn’t look anything alike. She was one of the cutest girls at Westside Middle School and the star pitcher on the girls’ softball team. Damon had clued me in that she’d mentioned my name a few times. So a couple of months ago, I asked Lyn out for pizza. She didn’t say no, but she didn’t say yes either. She just sort of changed the subject without ever giving me an answer. That left me feeling like an idiot.
Her text read: congrats on d ftbll scholarship! dats amazn! btw i lk xtra cheez on my <).
Lyn’s real first name was Marilyn. That’s why she only had one N at the end. I’d heard her pitch a real fit once about teachers and coaches who’d spell it L-y-n-n.
I replied back: lyN, i lk xtra cheez 2 n h8 peppa. ltz gt 2gtha sn.
I decided to forget about what happened the last time. I was riding so high right then, nothing could make me feel bad about myself.
* * *
The next night, Mom took me to Wok N Roll, my favorite Chinese buffet, to celebrate. Carter and Alex met us in the parking lot there. Carter didn’t have a car of his own. Mom didn’t have the money to buy him one and pay the insurance. But Alex drove a brand-new blue Mustang convertible.
Carter made the introductions: “Mom, you know Alex, my roommate and new chauffeur.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Mom said. “I’m glad you’ve got that job tonight. I’ve been driving Carter around way too long.”
“Well, I don’t work cheap. He’s buying my dinner,” said Alex. “But I really wanted to get to know our youngest brother here. Welcome to the Gators, Travis.”
Alex extended a fist to me.
“Now that you’re one of us, let me show you how we do it proper on this team. It’s called a Gator Pound,” he said.
First, we did a double fist bump. Then he opened his hand wide like the jaws of a gator and swallowed my hand up, before I did the same to his.
“Hey, how come I don’t know that yet?” asked Carter.
“Don’t worry, I’ll teach it to you,” I told him.
I ran my hand over the warm hood of Alex’s car.
“Wow, I’d love to be seen in this instead of our old Toyota,” I said.
“It’s a beauty,” Mom added. “How can your parents afford it for you?”
“It’s just my mama and me, and she can’t. She’s struggling for money like everybody else. She manages a sub sandwich shop off South Main,” said Alex, twirling his car keys around his finger one time before they disappeared into his palm. “But I’ve got some extended family that helps me out.”
“Is that the fam you were talking about?” Carter asked him.
“No, they’re not that kind of close,” Alex answered. “They just got some extra bucks to burn.”
“Well, it’s still very nice of them,” Mom said, as we headed toward the restaurant.
Once we got seated at a table and the waiter brought our drinks, Mom said there should be a toast in my honor.
“Carter, why don’t you make it,” she said.
A look of pain came over Carter’s face, like somebody was twisting his arm.
“All right,” he said, and then raised his sweetened iced tea.
I lifted my black-cherry soda and held it over the middle of the table.
“What can I say about Travis?” Carter started off. “He’s talented, hard-working, and—except for Alex here—the only one I know with as much passion for football as me. I’m proud to call him my brother.”
I loved what he’d said, and we all touched glasses with a clink. Then I filled my plate from the buffet with General Tso’s chicken, Chinese spare ribs, and pork fried rice. I made three separate trips, coming back with the same things every time.
“Travis, why don’t try something new?” asked Mom.
“Because I know what I like,” I answered.
“Maybe you just like what you know,” said Alex.
“Are you studying philosophy?” Mom asked him.
“Communications,” answered Alex, who’d finished off a huge plate of crab legs. “Maybe after playing in the pros, I’ll be a broadcaster.”
Alex and me were almost the same size. He was just a half-inch taller and probably ten pounds heavier.
“Excuse me for saying this, Alex,” Mom said. “But you don’t really look like a college football player.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot,” said Alex. “Maybe too much.”
“He’s thin, but he’s fast. Real fast,” said Carter.
“Not thin. Lean,” Alex replied. “I’m trying hard to put on another fifteen pounds of muscle. Then maybe turn pro after this season.”
“If you want to put on weight, forget the crab legs,” Carter said, turning a fork through a tall mound of pork lo mein. “You need more meat and pasta.”
“Leave school? What about your degree?” Mom asked.
“If he turns pro, he doesn’t need a degree,” I said. “He can hire someone with a diploma to count all his money.”
Mom slapped at my wrist with her chopsticks for saying that.
“I gave my mama my word I’d graduate, no matter what,” said Alex. “I don’t break those kinds of promises. So if leave for the NFL, I’ll go back to school during the off-season to finish up my BA.”
I snuck a quick look at my phone after the buzz of another congratulations text.
“Since when are you good with phones out at dinner?” Carter asked Mom.
“It’s Travis’s party,” she answered, giving me a sideways glance. “He’s entitled to be rude to his guests if he wants.”
“Okay, I’ll put it away,” I said, sliding the phone down into my back pocket.
As soon as I did, a kid who played Pop Warner football came up to our table with his father standing behind him.
“You’re Travis, right?” he asked. “You got the college scholarship yesterday.”
He wanted my autograph. It was my very first one. I almost couldn’t believe it. There wasn’t any paper around. So the waiter brought me over a blank dinner bill, and I signed that.
My hands were shaking a little. I tried to sign my name as neat and straight as possible. But after I’d finished, I saw the letters were slanting slightly downhill. The kid was thrilled to have it anyway. Then Mom introduced everyone at the table.
The father recognized Alex’s name and made a fuss. That’s when the kid asked for Alex’s autograph too. In the middle of all that, the waiter brought our check, and I noticed Carter slip Mom some money for Alex’s meal. As we stood up to leave, the owner of the restaurant came over. The waiter told him something in Chinese, and then the owner shook my hand with a big smile on his face. He asked me to pose for a photo with him.
“For our wall of stars,” he said, pointing to some celebrity photos behind the cash register.
“Sure,” I said. “No problem.”
Mom took the photo for him as Carter and Alex stepped outside, then went to pay the check before I went outside too. I was hoping Alex might let me sit behind the wheel of his Mustang for a minute. Carter and Alex hadn’t gone that far yet. They were standing by the restaurant while Carter broke into his fortune cookie.
“What’s it say?” I asked him.
“Nothing,” Carter said, staring at the small strip of paper like he’d been cheated.
“What do you mean, nothing?” asked Alex.
“Here, look,” said Carter, showing us the paper.
It read: THE FORTUNE YOU SEEK IS IN ANOTHER COOKIE.
Alex and me both laughed hysterically and even traded a Gator Pound over it. Then Mom walked out and handed Carter back his money.
“What’s this for?” Carter asked.
“The owner wouldn’t take anything from me,” she answered, snapping closed her purse. “He said that it was his treat.”
“Mom, I don’t think we can do that,” Carter said. “We’re on scholarship. We’re not supposed to accept gifts for being on the team. That’s an NCAA rule, a big one.”
“Should I go back inside?” asked Mom.
“Hey, your brother’s not on scholarship yet, right? It was his party. Your mom’s not on scholarship either, and she was the one trying to pay,” said Alex. “Take my advice. Just keep on walking.”