The Franchise Read online

  “He wasn’t humiliated,” I said defiantly. “He wanted to do it. He wanted to show—”

  “Look, football gives and takes. He knew the risks, but he was rewarded all the same.”

  I thought about Holt’s limo and Milliken’s BMW. I thought about Frank’s clunker.

  “No,” I said. “You and guys like Holt got the rewards, Frank took all the risk.”

  “Well, you took a risk, Latrell, and now you face the consequences,” he said. “Clean out your desk. I’ll tell Mr. Holt your services are no longer needed.”

  “I did what I thought was right.”

  “It’s a shame, Latrell. We’re on a roll now, a real winning streak.”

  “Thanks to my system.”

  He flashed the smile. “No, our system. We own it now.”

  I turned on my heel and never looked back as I spoke under my breath. “But you don’t own me.”

  “They fired me.” I called Uncle Randall the moment after I cleaned out my desk, but not before one final piece of business.

  “I’m sorry, Latrell.”

  “Well, now it means I can pass along inside information. This Sunday, bet a lot.”

  “Another shutout?” Randall asked. He was almost panting on the phone.

  “I can’t speak for the offense, but I wouldn’t bet on the Stars’ defense or the integrity of its data.” I laughed at the word integrity. I then hit the enter button, transferring data from my laptop into the Stars’ cloud, a cloud now filled not with a silver lining, but with corrupt facts. Just as I’d thought, Milliken hadn’t told anyone in IT to suspend my passwords.

  “Last week, my bookie thought I was crazy to bet on the Stars. But I’m heading out soon to pay off my car, then to mail you a cool percent of what I made.”

  “You don’t need to do that,” I said. I shouldn’t be rewarded for my sabotage.

  “Call it recognition for a job well done,” said Randall. “No one else gave you credit, so it’s up to me.”

  Roxanne picked me up to bring me to the house. When I stepped inside, Frank greeted me with a handshake. “Hey, son, I heard what Milliken did. I guess Roxanne told you I got canned, too.”

  I stood with my hands in my pockets, as there was little else to do.

  “Come into the living room. I have something for you.”

  I sat next to Roxanne on the couch.

  “What’s going on?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said after her father left the room. “But losing his job may be a blessing in disguise. The further we are from football the better, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Frank returned with a trophy in his hand. “This was for Super Bowl MVP.” He handed it to me.

  It felt heavy, but no heavier than the price he’d paid, earning it. I looked at it, then handed it back to him, but he wouldn’t take it.

  “It’s yours. I insist,” he said.

  “But I—I can’t take this, Frank.”

  “You gave so much to me and Roxanne, I want to give you something in return. Besides, you earned it.”

  I pulled the trophy closer and pictured how it would look in my room in DC.

  Frank then took one of his jerseys from the back of his chair and handed it to me.

  “Frank, this is just—” I reached over and hugged him. It was a big moment for me. “Maybe when I get back to DC, the Redskins or the Ravens will pick me up.”

  Frank smiled. “You’ll do well wherever you go. I just know.”

  “But I guess a lot depends on two things,” I said, feeling humbled.

  “What are those?”

  “Someone like Holt to give me an opportunity,” I talked fast so I wouldn’t cry. “And somebody like you to believe in me.”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Dear Mr. Holt:

  I’ll always be grateful for the opportunity you gave me.

  I’m sorry I couldn’t finish my internship—but not as sorry as I’d be if I’d finished it on Milliken’s terms. You said this was an opportunity to prove myself. I don’t know if I proved myself to you, but I know I proved myself to theone who matters most: me.

  Sincerely,

  Latrell

  ABOUT THE AUTHORS

  Patrick Jones is the author of six novels for teens, most recently the supernatural tome The Tear Collector. A former librarian for teenagers, Jones received lifetime achievement awards from the American Library Association and the Catholic Library Association in 2006. While he lives in Minneapolis, he still considers Flint, Michigan, his hometown. He can be found on the web at www.connectingya.com and on front of his television on Monday nights watching wrestling.

  A former magazine editor, Brent Chartier is author of Iceland: A Hockey Novel and Sandy’s Beautiful Flowers. His interest in traumatic brain injury is a result of his work with the Center for Neurological Studies, Dearborn, MI. He lives in Chesterfield, MI.