"Robert Reed - Game of the Century" - читать интересную книгу автора (Reed Robert)

were respectably average, and in spatial subjects, like geometry and geography,
she excelled. Also unlike her peers, Theresa didn't have problems with rage or
with residual instincts. Dogs and cats didn't mysteriously vanish in her
neighborhood. She was a good person with friends and her genuine admirers.
Parents trusted her with their babies. Children she didn't know liked to beg for
rides on her back. Once she was old enough to date, the boys practically lined
up. Out of sexual curiosity, in part. But also out of fondness and an odd
respect. Some of her boyfriends confided that they preferred her to regular
girls. Something about her--and not Just a physical something--set them at ease.
Made them feel safe. A strange thing for adolescent males to admit, while for
Theresa, it was just another circumstance in a life filled with nothing but
circumstances.

In football, she always played quarterback. Whether on playground teams, or in
the various midget leagues, or on the varsity squad in high school.

Her high school teams won the state championship three years in a row. And they
would have won when she was a senior, except a mutant strain of parvovirus gave
her a fever and chills, and eventually, hallucinations. Theresa started throwing
hundred meter bullets toward her more compelling hallucinations, wounding
several fans, and her coach grudgingly ordered her off the field and into a
hospital bed.

Once State relinquished all claims on the girl, a steady stream of coaches and
boosters and sports agents began the inevitable parade.

Marlboro Jones was the most persistent soul. He had already stockpiled a full
dozen of the 1-1-2041s, including the premier player of all time: Alan, The
Wildman, Wilde. But the coach assured Theresa that he still needed a quality
quarterback. With a big wink and a bigger grin, he said, "You're going to be my
field general, young lady. I know you know it, the same as I do...!"

Theresa didn't mention what she really knew.

She let Daddy talk. For years, that proud man had entertain fantasies of
Rickover moving to the pros, leaving the door open for his only child. But it
hadn't happened, and it wouldn't. And over the last few years, with Jones's
help, he had convinced himself that Theresa should play instead for State's
great rival. Call it justice. Or better, revenge. Either way, what mattered was
that she would go somewhere that her talents could blossom. That's all that
mattered, Daddy told the coach. And Marlboro replied with a knowing nod and a
sparkling of the eyes, finally turning to his prospect, and with a victor's
smile, asking, "What's best for you? Tour our campus first? Or get this signing
crap out of the way?"
Theresa said, "Neither."

Then she remembered to add, "Sir," with a forced politeness.

Both men were stunned. But the coach was too slick to let it show. Staring at
the tall, big-shouldered lady, he conjured up his finest drawl, telling her, "I