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the mic to Kingston, who swept his hand around. “Parents, thanks for bringing your sons and daughters!”
    More cheers. Shawn looked at his brother. Peter was beaming. It made Shawn feel great that he’d helped make this evening happen. He wasn’t having such a bad time himself, either.
    An aide handed Mr. McMahon the WWE Championship. “This is the WWE Championship,” he declared. “Normally, the champ carries this himself. At this WrestleMania, we’re doing it differently. It will be carried in by a young person who earns the title of WWE SuperFan. Our first SuperFan will be strong, determined, and dedicated. He—or she!—will represent the young WWE Universe at events in the year to come. He or she will earn a full college scholarship to be placed in a trust until the SuperFan is ready to start school. For more information, visit WWE.com , the official website of the WWE!”
    Shawn saw that Peter was so excited about the contest that he was practically climbing on their dad. “Can I enter? Please? I’ll be the most soporific SuperFan ever!”
    Shawn grinned. He knew that soporific meant “causing sleep,” not “super-duper,” like his brother intended.
    â€œIt depends,” Sanford said gently.
    â€œOn what? It depends on what?”
    â€œIt depends on the rules.”
    Peter thought for a moment. “Yeah. That’s right. But if I can, will you let me?”
    Sanford gave the all-time parent non-answer answer. “We’ll see.” Then he turned to Shawn. “How about you, Shawn? You want to enter?”
    Shawn shook his head. “Peter and Alex for sure. But me? Not so much.”
    Sanford looked disappointed. “You seem to be having fun tonight.”
    It is true, Shawn thought. I am having fun. But I am no SuperFan. Not even close.
    â€œWell, you’re allowed to change your mind,” Sanford told him.
    Shawn nodded. “Got it, Dad.”
    If Peter or Alex entered, he’d do everything he could to help them. But tonight was a onetime thing. No way was he joining the WWE Universe.
    No way.

CHAPTER THREE
    The morning after the Raw show, Shawn slept until nine. Peter was still asleep when Shawn woke up, got dressed, and quietly left their room.
    The Reynolds family lived in a small, white-frame ranch house with just two bedrooms, a living room, dining room, and kitchen. Compared to other kids he knew, the house wasn’t much, and Sanford did all the work on it himself. In fact, the day before Raw, Shawn had helped his dad repair his bedroom’s drop ceiling. Between Carla’s librarian job and Sanford’s work for the city recreation department, they couldn’t exactly afford a contractor.
    When he came into the kitchen, Shawn wasn’t surprised to see his mom. She had Tuesdays off; it was the day she generally read a few of the new teen books that publishers sent by mail even before the books went on the library shelves. She always said that parents and librarians needed to read everything that their kids were reading.
    Today, though, his dad was at the table, too. Weird. Usually Sanford had to be at work by nine. Was he sick? Shawn’s folks were just sitting there, cups of coffee and cell phones in front of them.
    Shawn suddenly got a terrible feeling. The last time he’d walked into a scene like this, his grandfather in Chicago had passed away overnight. “Is everything okay?”
    His father shifted, his eyes weary. “Everyone’s healthy. That’s the most important thing.”
    That was another parent-type non-answer, and Shawn knew it. “Just tell me,” Shawn pleaded. “Tell me what happened!”
    His father frowned; his mom put a comforting hand on his arm. “Go ahead, Sanford. It’s who you are,” she told him in the Southern drawl she’d never lost since her childhood in North Carolina.
    It’s who you are . . .
    â€œOkay,