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"That is not for you to think about."

"How can't I?"

"You must worry about Wrestling only," his father said. Then added, "And a good university. That is important, also."

Ivan put down his knife and fork. "Coaches call every day. They send me hundreds of letters. Beg me to take their scholarships. Paying for college won't be your problem."

There was hurt in his father's expression. "You are not a problem to me." His father waved his finger. "No matter what, I will always worry about you. When you are fifty years old, I will worry about you. Understand?"

For a time the dining room was quiet. Ivan watched his father eat heartily, while he picked at the few small pieces of meat he could still force into his stomach.

"You received a telephone call earlier. This Coach Riker," his father said, "do you know where he is from?"

Ivan lowered his eyes.

"The University of Western Arizona," his father said. "I have not heard of this university. He wanted to know if you won today. He asked if you received the application. Do you want to know what I told him? I told this Coach Riker he should not call us."

Ivan sat back hard. "What?"

"Yes, I told him you will attend Bloomsburg University next fall."

"That's wrong, Papa."

"You are not going far away. It is final. We discussed this."

Ivan half laughed. "We didn't discuss a damn thing. You yelled and hit me. That's no discussion."

His father's hands knotted into fists, raised up, then crashed down on the table. Ivan didn't blink. "You will not answer back anymore," his father said through gritted teeth. "Do you understand?"

Ivan stood up, flexed his arms and chest, and leaned over the table. "Papa, you're not gonna hit me again." His eyes never left his father, whose stare—Ivan was surprised—had momentarily weakened. Ivan took pleasure in that. With one hand he swept up the medal and stuffed it into his pocket. "I'm going out," he said, then he turned and left.

Under the porch light of her house, Shelley wrapped a red scarf around her neck, buttoned her coat, then pulled mittens from the coat's hip pockets. She met Ivan in the street and gave him a hug.

"God, I'm glad you knocked," she said.

Ivan gestured to Shelley, and together they started down Farmingdale Road. "Let's walk."

"Know that physics paper I wrote last week?" Shelley said.

"Yeah."

"Got a B-plus on it. Well, my dad freaked. You'd think I'd screwed up any chance of getting into UPenn. Maybe
I
should be the one to go far away to college."

"My idea first," Ivan said.

Shelley held the sleeve of his jacket as they turned off onto a dirt path that quickly disappeared into the woods, curved left, then dipped down a small hill. The scent of pine hung in the cold damp air.

"You know, for someone who wants out of Lennings, you sure know your way around," Shelley said. "Doesn't surprise me, though. Told me once you'd never leave Lennings. 'In a million years' were your exact words."

"Things change."

"I watch you from my window when you go out to run and when you come back," Shelley said. "I see you in school. Down the hall. When you're sitting in class. I haven't missed one of your matches in two years." She tugged his sleeve. "Hey..."

Ivan stopped.

"For all I see you and know you, I wanna know even more," she said. "I wanna know everything. It sounds silly, I guess..."

Her hair fluttered in a gust of wind; she brushed the strands off her cheeks. Clouds parted, shooting shafts of moonlight through the tree branches to the ground below. Ivan could see the glint in her eyes, the part of her lips.

"Let's keep going, okay?" he said.

"Where?"

"You trust me?"

"Of course."

Shelley followed Ivan through a thicket of birch trees, then another, then stepped over and around the fallen branches along Sycamore Creek. They walked the shoreline of the pond, then turned off, where the path narrowed even more.

"A little farther," Ivan said.

"Until what?"

Ivan didn't answer. Words would be unnecessary, he knew. Shelley held his hand as they picked their way through the brush until, a short distance later, they stepped out from the woods.

Encircled by a wall of massive evergreens, he and Shelley stood on the edge of an isolated field of reeds, the withered stalks quivering and gleaming like crystal filaments bobbing on waves in the ocean. The wind swirled, the tree branches thrashed, and for a few glorious moments, it seemed as if they were in the bottom of a stormy cauldron. The sky above had opened fully, and a pristine moon lay centered in a halo of light stretched from one horizon to the other.

Ivan lifted his head skyward. Already he had forgotten about the Hunterdon Central tournament and fighting with his father and McClellan and everything he was supposed to hate about this town.

"Oh, Ivan," Shelley said. She twirled, throwing back her head, raising her arms high. "I feel like I'm onstage. At Carnegie Hall, playing a concerto. And a packed house is all here for me. Clapping and cheering and waving." She ran back to hug him. "Thanks for bringing me here."

This was his special place. The only place in Lennings where he felt peaceful. All at once, emotions welled up inside Ivan so that he could hardly contain himself.

"I want my name to live on forever," he said, hesitantly, reluctantly. "It's not possible, I know. No one lives forever."

Shelley lifted her head from his shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing."

"No, tell me," she said. "What're you worried about?"

For a while, Ivan didn't answer, his thoughts just out of reach to grasp fully.

"I don't know," Ivan said. "Of being forgotten, I guess."

"Forgotten? Why would you be forgotten?"

Ivan bent down and tugged at a reed. "I won the tournament today. Won it last year, too. And the year before that." He pulled the medal from his pocket and held it up. Suddenly, he reached back and threw the medal as far as he could. It flashed in the moonlight, then disappeared.

Shelley turned to him. "Ivan, why'd you do that?"

"They all look the same."

"So you just throw it away?"

"Throw one away, lose one, who cares? Does it erase what I did? Hundreds of years from now, the medals are gonna rust into nothing, but on March thirteenth, I'll be state champ. Forever. They won't be able to take that away."

Ivan walked toward the tallest trees that made up the far edge of the circle, where the reeds grew waist high. He pushed through, the ground stiff under his feet, leaving a path for Shelley to follow. Soon they came upon a wall of stones and crumbling mortar, stretching thirty or so feet before both ends sloped back into the earth. Ivan jumped on top.

"What's this?"

"Layaree's Wall," Ivan said. "It's old. Built before the Revolutionary War, I heard. Must've been important." On the other side, he jumped down. "I wanna show you something."

Shelley stepped over the wall, stood close, then leaned over Ivan's shoulder. Her warm breath tickled his ear.

Ivan's hand, hidden in the wall's moonlight shadow, felt for a flat oval stone just a few inches above the ground. "Every night this summer, I came here. I thought about her, all the time." He looked up at Shelley. "So I found a few sharp rocks and a piece of metal."

He was touching one stone in particular, so Shelley bent forward a little further. Just visible in the moon's illumination were the words
ANNA KORSKE
, carved deeply into the stone.

"I'm not gonna last forever," Ivan said. "Maybe this will." He sounded excited, like a son who had done a very good deed. "It'll be around after I'm gone. So she won't disappear. She'll be the only one here; no one else. Like she's special. Like she's immortal."

"It's beautiful," Shelley whispered.

Ivan looked at her. "Think so?"

Shelley nodded.

"Thanks."

Ivan sat back against the wall, pleased. Very pleased.

Light flickered from the muted television, while red and green bulbs on the Christmas tree blinked a kaleidoscope onto the wall. Carmelina lay nestled in Bobby's arms on the family-room sofa. She pulled a wool blanket up her legs. Bobby touched his hand to her stomach, then brushed the sheer material of her bra.

Carmelina whispered in Portuguese, and smiled. Bobby didn't understand what she said. But it was good, he was sure.

They hadn't left the sofa for a while, at times drifting asleep together, then awakening to catch glimpses of the approaching celebration. Bobby glanced at the television. Dick Clark flashed his world-famous smile and pointed toward the ball at Times Square. The thirty-minute countdown had begun.

Carmelina kissed Bobby's forehead, then dragged her lips along his eyebrows and down his temple, leaving a slick of saliva. "I love my present," she said, fingering a silver necklace around her neck. "I didn't thank you good enough." Her hand slipped down to his waist, untucked the bottom of his shirt, and tickled his stomach. "You're so thin ... When're your parents coming home?"

"We have time."

"They don't know I'm here?"

"No."

Carmelina looked at him, seriously. "You didn't tell them I was coming over?"

He shook his head.

"Damn, Bobby, I'm supposed to be
your girl.
"

"You are."

"Then why can't ya tell them we're together? It's like you gotta hide me. I wasn't invited for Christmas, and you didn't stop by, either. I had to make an excuse to my girl, Maria. She wants to meet ya. How you think that made me feel? I'll tell ya. Like garbage. Like there's something wrong with me."

"I'm sorry."

"Why doesn't she like me?"

Bobby shrugged. "I don't know."

Carmelina eyed him. "Know what I think it is? She don't think I'm good enough. Like I'm gonna trap her precious little boy. Damn, I got dreams. Did you tell her that? Did you tell her I got dreams for college, too?"

Bobby held her cheek in his hand. "Who cares what she thinks, Carmelina?"

"I do."

"Don't. Not tonight. We got the whole house to ourselves. No parents, no curfew. You and me, all alone." He pulled down the edge of her bra. "Please?" he said. "Can we?"

She softened. "Can we
what?
"

"You know."

Carmelina pulled her blouse across her chest and folded her arms. "What would
she
think?" She smirked.

Bobby moved the blanket rolled between Carmelina's legs, then propped himself up on his hands. He inched forward so that his jeans pressed against her. He felt powerful, so much like a man. He closed his eyes, smelling the perfume of her skin. The image of Carmelina lying underneath him stayed vivid in his mind. They had made out all night. In the attic ... on the stairs to the basement ... in the living room ... on his parents' bed ... now his body wanted more.

"Bobby," Carmelina said, "you like to touch me?"

"Yeah."

"You like to kiss me?"

He nodded.

Bobby ground his hips into Carmelina, pressing her into the sofa cushions, then pushing still more, as if the clothing between them would give way. Carmelina arched, her hands slipping beneath his shirt, then down his body. She reached her mouth up, brushing her lips along the underside of his chin.

"Wanna take these off?" she said, tugging at his jeans.

Bobby stood up, watching Carmelina's eyes as he pulled off his pants. "What about yours?"

Carmelina didn't answer. A gentle twist of her body made her blouse slip open again. She reached her arms above her head, squirming her hips, turning her head toward the inside of the sofa.

Bobby grabbed the cuffs of her jeans. The jeans crawled over her hips, then down her legs. He dropped them to the floor. Her white panties seemed to glow in the light of the television. They slipped off, as well. Bobby waited for a sign of hesitation from Carmelina, but he knew there wouldn't be any.

Carmelina pulled Bobby on top of her.

"This?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Now?"

"Right now."

Bobby pushed forward with his hips.

Carmelina bit her lip and held her breath. "
Oh Deus,
" she whispered.

"That hurt?"

She shook her head gently.

Bobby pulled back, then pushed forward again. Despite the chill in the living room, sweat quickly glazed his forehead and naked back.

"Bobby, you got—?"

"No, but you're okay, right?"

"Maybe we shouldn't..."

"A little more," he said, lowering his head. "Then I'll stop..."

Carmelina reached up and kissed his lips. "Okay..."

They moved together until their gasps for breath became one. Carmelina reached around his waist. Bobby was losing control. He opened his eyes. He tried to concentrate, but his thoughts were a wreck.

"Bobby..."

No, not yet!
But it was too late. His mind let go. And his body, too. Odd grunts came out of his mouth.

Carmelina held on like she might never let go. Then Bobby was silent.

Bobby looked down at Carmelina. She breathed in, her chest rising, her mouth curling into a soft smile.

Bobby woke up. He strained his eyes toward the television. It was well past midnight. He looked at Carmelina. Her eyes were closed, her breathing shallow, her face serene. Her necklace glinted.

He sat up. There were parents to worry about. And a half-hour drive to Newark and back. His weight. The upcoming dual-meet season. Sleep. Christopher. College applications. Losing to Seitzer. His parents. And he was
sure
the room smelled of sex.

He nudged Carmelina. "We gotta get dressed." He reached for his jeans and found his underwear wedged between the sofa cushions.

For a few hours, Bobby had forgotten about the Hunterdon Central tournament, but now disgust over his loss in the semifinals returned with a vengeance. He had had the match won; he had been dominating. Then a split-second lapse in concentration and it was over. That he had come back to win third place meant little.

Bobby grabbed his shirt from the floor as Carmelina stepped into her jeans. Then she reached for her blouse and finished dressing.