Free Football Champ by Tim Green

collected their breath, Troy got back on the headset. Hiswork wasn’t done. The Falcons had to kick off to Seattle, and the Seahawks would get a final chance to score. But with only 1:43 left and Troy calling the plays to perfection, time soon ran out, and the Falcons won the game, 21–17.
    Troy left his seat and entered the lounge area, where everyone stood chattering excitedly. The Carolina score came up on the TV screen, showing that they’d lost to New Orleans, putting the Falcons in first place. A cheer went up, and that’s when Troy felt a hand on his shoulder.
    “Now we talk, right?” Brent Peele said, nodding his head toward the bar and the entrance to the kitchen beyond it.

CHAPTER TWENTY
    “ OKAY ,” TROY SAID, TURNING to follow him.
    Another hand grabbed Troy, from behind this time, spinning him back, and Tate said, “What are you doing?”
    “That thing we talked about,” Troy said, angling his head toward the reporter dressed as a server. “That’s Peele.”
    “The waiter?”
    “He just dressed like a waiter to get in here.”
    “Don’t do it,” Tate said, stamping her foot. “I’m telling you.”
    “I have to,” Troy said. “I said I would.”
    “You don’t have to keep your promise to that guy,” Tate said.
    Nathan stood next to her, nodding heartily. “My dadsays the only thing lower than a newspaper reporter is whale poop, but I don’t blame you if you want to get into the papers. There’s no such thing as bad publicity, right?”
    Troy shook his head and said, “Anyway, I promised.”
    He shrugged Tate’s hand off and followed Peele into the kitchen. The reporter removed a small tape recorder from his pocket and clicked it on so that a small red light glared at Troy like the eye of a snake. Peele offered him a box to sit on, then turned, closed the door, and threw home the deadbolt, locking them in.
    “How did you know I was here?” Troy asked.
    “ I’m the reporter, kid,” Peele said, holding up the recorder to prove his point. “It took me a couple days, asking around quietlike, but I found out about this new ball boy who was Tessa’s son. She’s new to the team. You’re new. One plus one makes two. I figured they’d keep you hidden after I almost got you last week, and what better place to hide than the owner’s box? I got my hands on the guest list and saw you there. A guy I know runs the catering in the dome. He put me on the kitchen staff, and here we are.”
    “Why did you follow us the other day to Seth’s doctor?” Troy asked.
    “Uh-uh,” Peele said, shaking his head. “My turn now. Tell me how you do it.”
    Troy stared at him.
    “Look, kid,” Peele said like an old friend. “I knowyou’re not doing anything wrong. That’s not what this is about, and it’s not about Halloway, either. But people are going to find out. There’s no way you can keep this thing secret forever. I just want to be the one who writes about it first, that’s all. You might as well tell me. I’m a hometown guy. You don’t think I want the Falcons to lose, do you? They’re my team, too, you know. They win, we sell papers.”
    Troy took a deep breath and began to explain his gift and how his family called him a football genius. As Troy spoke, Peele’s small mouth grew tighter and tighter. The white scar that ran from beneath his nose to the corner of his mouth began to do a little dance, tugging at the reporter’s lip like a fishing line. Troy wanted to ask if Seth really gave it to him, but instead he finished by proudly recounting the story of the game they just played. He explained how he’d begged for a time-out, predicted the counter trey, and told Seth to attack it from the backside.
    Peele inhaled sharply and said, “Let me get a couple things straight.”
    “Okay,” Troy said, nodding eagerly, wanting to explain.
    “You know what the other teams are going to do?”
    “Yes.”
    “You know the plays they’re going to run?”
    “Yes. I see the