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Ivan smiled. He wondered if Shelley had any idea how he really felt about her. He had nearly thrown away their friendship. He would make it his life's promise that it never happened again.

On Wednesday, just before the lunch bell, she had walked up to him in the school hallway, sighed, then said breathlessly, "I can't fight with you anymore and I can't not be best friends with you. The past week has been horrible for me, just horrible; I accept your apology and I hope you accept mine for being so damn pigheaded."

And he did. Her timing was perfect. On the day of the first round of the states, it was exactly what he needed to hear. Later that night, Ivan put away his Fairlawn opponent, with a near side cradle, in the third period.

"And thank your papa for giving me a ride to Jadwin," Shelley said. "He was so proud of you today."

In the quarterfinals, just hours earlier, Ivan worked his Absegami opponent over for back points twice in the second period and followed that with an escape and takedown in the final two minutes, for a 9–0 win. Two matches down, two to go.

Shelley wanted to say something more, Ivan was sure. His stomach knotted, and it occurred to Ivan that he was only twelve hours or so from Wrestling in the state semifinals in Jadwin Gym in front of thousands of spectators, all eyes on him, with everything in life that he wanted in the balance, and yet here was this beautiful girl whom he had known for so long, stealing his thoughts, making him wish that he really did have all night to spend with her.

"You're a very important person to me, Ivan."

"You sound serious."

"It's been a serious night. Tomorrow will be even more serious. I just want you to know how I feel."

Ivan realized Shelley had closed the gap between the two of them and was coming closer. Right in front of him, hands touching his. Her eyes closed, her lips parted, her head tilted slightly. Shelley went up on the toes of her boots, her hands pulling him into her.

It was a moment that seemed to move slowly, allowing Ivan time to consider what was happening and remind him that
nothing
had ever happened between them. Ever. Though he had dreamed of her and fantasized about her and wished to
be
with her. And now that wall was about to crumble. Maybe. Maybe she'd kiss the corner of his mouth and it might be a kiss of good luck, or it might be the beginning of something more.

She was only a few inches from him, rising to his height. Then, just a breath away, about to kiss the corner of his mouth, delivering whatever message she might. Everything seemed right. So Ivan leaned toward her. His mouth parted, too, meeting her mouth full-on. Shelley relaxed against him, as he pulled her into his arms.

And they kissed.

"Sweet dreams," Shelley said, before leaving. "I'll be there tomorrow. To watch you win."

• • • and I knew you could do it," Bobby's father said. "People were yelling and screaming that there was only a few seconds left. And you scored that takedown. Beautiful, just beautiful. I knew you had him, just knew it."

Bobby sat halfway up the stairs to his bedroom, wondering if his father was talking just loud enough so that his mother, down in the foyer, might hear. And was she listening, wishing to push open the bedroom door, step into the foyer, and make amends? Or was she indifferently staring at the television, setting the volume loud enough to drown out voices in the hallway, while his father was posturing, his signal that this was still his house?

Bobby pushed those thoughts out of his head. His mother had spent too much of the past few days crying, and his father had done his best to set aside his own problems and spend time with his son who now was just a dozen or so hours from the semifinals of the states.

Bobby repeated that again—
semifinals of the states.
He repeated it a third time just to make sure that his family's demise wasn't somehow distorting his Wrestling reality.

His father suddenly stepped up and put his hand on Bobby's knee. "When you got that takedown, well I just..." He seemed at a loss for words, then shook his head. "Well, I yelled louder than I have in a long, long time."

And it had been a memorable match in the quarterfinals, with three lead changes and a last-second takedown to snatch the 7–6 come-from-behind victory over last year's state runner-up. Bobby jumped up to have his arm raised. He saw Coach Messina pumping his fist. Then he was mobbed by his teammates and classmates who had driven down to Princeton. Yet Bobby hardly remembered, or felt, anything about the victory. He had been, and still was, numb. It was a wonderful feeling.

He looked up at his father, who was beaming, the hunch of his tired body straightened.

"You were really focused tonight," his father said. "There's been so much for you to worry about..." His voice faded. He looked embarrassed, even guilty. Then his voice raised. "But you overcame it all. I'm so proud of you."

And it occurred to Bobby as he sat there, partway to the comfort of his bedroom, partway down to the first floor—or what had been his
parents'
floor—that on the verge of the most important day of his life, he was not feeling particularly nervous. He was exhausted, to be sure, and maybe that was part of the reason, though Bobby didn't think so. It was more than that. Somehow, over the past half day, he had reached a narrow-mindedness that made little else matter. There was a semifinal match to be wrestled tomorrow against a wrestler from Pennsville. And when he won that, there'd be another match, the state championship, afterward. It was that clear-cut.

"This is no time to be nervous, or distracted," Bobby heard his father say. "If you've made it this far, damn it, you deserve to be there as much as Korske or anyone else."

Bobby yawned. He didn't mean to, but his attempt to muffle the yawn was slow, at best. His father stopped. "Tired?"

"Yeah, Dad, I am."

His father nodded. "I'll pick you up at quarter to eight."

"The semis start at ten. Coach wants me in the Jadwin locker room early."

His father grabbed the overcoat hanging over the banister, then glanced down the foyer at his bedroom. "Time for you to get some sleep." He started away.

"Dad?"

His father turned. Bobby lifted himself up and stepped down the stairs. He wanted to ask his father if he really had to leave. It just didn't make sense. This was his house. Just around the corner was his bedroom. He shouldn't have to go
anywhere.

Bobby reached out and held his father. "I'm gonna win this for you."

His father squeezed, then let go. He walked into the kitchen, then the lights went off and the back door slammed shut. Soon, the Jaguar's engine rumbled to life, fading as his father backed out of the driveway. Bobby moved to the living room, watching the car's headlights through the windows.

Then his father drove away.

Bobby opened his eyes, ending a restless sleep. He lifted the comforters and blankets off, the chilly air raising goose bumps. He looked at the clock: 6:54
A.M.

A day of reckoning. Only three months earlier, the dream of making it to the state semifinals hadn't even been in the realm of possibility. It would have been almost silly to even consider.

But he had made it.

Usually on a Saturday morning, he would hear Christopher in his bedroom, playing with his Matchbox cars. Instead, all Bobby could hear was the patter of drizzle on the bedroom window, faint yet comforting, and his own deep, rhythmic breathing.

Bobby rolled his neck slowly, feeling a twinge on the right side. He struggled to stand, then walked to the window. The dreary morning looked so damn appropriate.

In the silence of the house, Bobby shrugged off his clothes, peed a little, then stepped into the shower.

Clouds had rolled in overnight, carrying a thick mist that blanketed Lennings. Ivan stepped in on the passenger's side of the car and pulled the door. It creaked, then slammed shut. The Nova hadn't yet warmed up and wouldn't until they were well on their way to Princeton.

"Have everything?" his father asked, a wisp of breath curling from his mouth.

Ivan patted his equipment bag.

His father set the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway, then drove down Farmingdale, through the center of town, eventually turning south onto Route 31. Towns passed quickly. Destiny rushed forward.

For any New Jersey high school wrestler, advancing to the state semis would be a supreme accomplishment, undoubtedly the pinnacle of his life. To advance in consecutive seasons was a distinction worthy of the highest praise and a volume of pride. For Ivan there was little of either.

It was at this point last year when a chance at the state finals had been taken from him. This morning's match against his Boonton opponent wouldn't be close, he promised. He'd leave no chance for some timekeeper's screwup.

"Did you sleep?" his father said.

"Long enough."

Soon, mist became rain. His father turned on the wipers. Warm air was finally blowing from the heater vents. Ivan closed his eyes and settled back.

"You had a call yesterday," his father said. "From this Coach Riker."

Ivan opened his eyes.
We gonna fight now, Papa?

But his father was calm. "He explained the problem with their scholarships. You have been very anxious for the past weeks. You are not like that. I always expect you to have much confidence. Now, you are angry, like the world is against you."

"It feels that way."

"It should not," his father said. "It should not at all."

Ivan stared out the windows, watching the splash of rain from the passing cars and the clouds that seemed to hang just above the roadway. "I gotta win today, both matches. Then everything will be okay."

"Losing is not the end of the world," his father said. "I do not want you to lose. But someday you will, and when that day comes, it will not be the end." He shook his head. "Losing is not death."

I know what death is, Papa. I lived in the same house with death, fightin' it, fightin' it with my mama. It beat me; it took her away. Don't worry; I know death.

"I know what you are thinking," his father said. "It is sad she is not here today. It is painful. I think of her always."

Ivan nodded. Yes, he understood pain, too.

"Days pass, but it does not get any better, I know," his father said. "Every day is one more that she has missed. I wish I could tell her about you. She would be very proud. Not only for your Wrestling, but for the man you have become. You understand that, yes?"

"I guess."

Minutes passed in silence. Princeton drew closer. The rain lightened, then eased, then stopped.

Ivan thought about what his father had said. At once it seemed like the oddest and most right time to bring up his mother's death. On their way to Jadwin Gym. They hadn't said much, but it was everything that needed to be said. And Ivan felt healed, if only a little.

So he again sank back into the cushions of the seat, thinking of only one thing. Stepping up on the championship podium. Holding the gold medal. Absorbing the cheers. Raising his arms above the world.

Bobby looked up at the top of the building facade:
JADWIN GYMNASIUM
. The mecca of New Jersey high school Wrestling. In the morning light, it was majestic. With his father and mother behind him, and Christopher trying to keep up step for step, Bobby walked to the front entrance. A line of spectators was already formed.

"I'm gonna hold your water bottle, right?" Christopher said.

"Of course," Bobby said.

"And your warm-ups?"

"Sure." Bobby put a hand on Christopher's head and tousled his hair. "You're my good-luck corner man." Then he gestured to his father. "I gotta go in." His father nodded.

Bobby entered through the competitors' door and crossed the lobby. Inside, the cavernous arena opened up. At the center of the floor were two mats, side by side. At ten o'clock, the semifinals would begin with the two 101-pound matches competing simultaneously, then the 108-pound matches, and so on until the heavyweights concluded.

Bobby noticed the glances from spectators and wrestlers who were milling about. He wondered if they knew his name. Did they think he might not belong here? That he was a fluke? Bobby shrugged his varsity jacket higher on his shoulders and straightened up.

A hand fell on his back. "How're you feeling?" Coach Messina said.

Bobby turned and nodded. "Fine."

"Before you get ready to weigh in, let me talk to you a second."

Coach Messina led Bobby to a corner of the gymnasium. His eyes were more intense than Bobby had ever seen them. Different from when the team wrestled Rampart. Different from when Bobby won the districts. Different from a week ago at the regions.

"For four years you've been Wrestling under me, Bobby. I've seen you develop from a young kid wanting to get some exercise during the winter into a damn fine wrestler. I've watched you become a great captain, perhaps one of the best we've ever had at Millburn. And in the past month, I've seen you raise your talent to a level deserving of the state tide. Take a look around." He gestured toward the stands, the mats, the building itself. "There is only
one
Jadwin.

"Remember the first time you wrestled in a Millburn singlet? Remember what it was like each time you stepped out in front of your family and friends? They're nice memories, even special. But in all my life, the greatest moments I ever had were the two times I stood on the center mat of Jadwin with my hand raised as a New Jersey state champ. Nothing else comes close. Nothing. And, I'm sure, nothing ever will."

For two seasons, many years ago, the legend of Dean Messina began in the districts, grew during the regions, and reigned supreme at the states. Bobby knew every bit of that legend and wanted every bit to reach as high as his coach had.

"I'm proud of what you've accomplished this season," Coach Messina said. "And now what you've done here in Princeton. You're the wrestler that I imagined you'd become. But don't let it end in the semifinals. You've come too far. You can win this morning, and you can win this afternoon, too. Be ready right from the whistle. This is a big day for Millburn. A big day for the team. A big day for me. But most of all, a big day for you."