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Authors: Rich Wallace

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BOOK: Takedown
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Donald felt his shoulders pressing firmly into the mat for pin number five.
“Got ya,” Tavo said, grabbing Donald’s arm and hauling him up.
Donald swatted at Tavo and said, “Knock it off. I told you I don’t need any help.”
“Just giving you a hand, bro.”
Donald made a fist and lifted it up. “You’ll get a hand. A clenched one.”
Tavo laughed. They were the same size, but obviously he’d have no more trouble handling Donald in a fight than in a wrestling match.
Donald didn’t care. He took a step closer and leaned forward with his face just inches from Tavo’s. “You’ll be dead meat after I learn a few moves,” he said.
Tavo leaned forward, too, so his forehead was almost touching Donald’s. Donald put a hand on Tavo’s chest and shoved hard.
Tavo took a step back, nearly falling to the mat. He reached up and gripped Donald’s shirt with one hand, staring at him hard. “Don’t get me mad.”
“Let go,” Donald said. “I’m already mad.”
Tavo let go of the shirt and laughed again. That didn’t help Donald’s anger any.
Donald felt a finger jabbing into his shoulder. He looked up and saw Coach standing there. “Problem here?”
“No.”
“No?”
Donald shook his head.
Coach made the same circling motion with his hand that he’d made the day before. “Start running,” he said.
“Just me?”
“Just you. I saw what happened. I don’t care how bad you get beat, but if you act like a poor sport you get punished.”
Donald let out his breath in a huff and walked to the edge of the mat. Then he started running laps around the gym, much faster than yesterday. He couldn’t help but run faster because he was angry. Tavo had made him look like a jerk.
 
 
Coach sent word for Tavo and Donald to come to the office after practice. All of the school’s sports coaches shared the same office: a tiny, cramped space next to the locker room with a desk, two chairs, and a bulletin board with team schedules and announcements.
Both boys stood outside the office for about ten minutes while Coach talked on the phone. They didn’t say anything. Donald glanced at Tavo without turning his head. The guy had bigger arm muscles than he did, and he stood straighter. And he had confidence, no doubt about that.
Coach was apparently talking to his wife. “Look, it’ll happen when he’s ready. He’s just being stubborn. . . . Give him a book to look at. . . . The one with the bird who lost his mother; he’s got that one memorized. . . . Well, we can’t force him. He’ll get it sooner or later.”
Finally Coach hung up. “My two-year-old,” he said, swiveling in his chair to face the boys. “Toilet training.”
Coach looked at Donald. “You learn anything today, Jenkins?”
Donald shrugged. “I suppose.”
Coach pointed to Tavo but kept his eyes on Donald. “When you go against a smart wrestler like Tavo, you can’t let yourself get frustrated.” He pointed to his head. “Clear thinking. If you start seeing red, you’ll get pounded. He’ll pin you in a second. You’ve got balance and heart and pretty good strength, and I suspect you’ve got some brains, too.”
Coach stopped talking and gave Donald a hard stare.
“Okay,” Donald said.
“You’ll turn out to be a good wrestler if you stick with it and control your temper. After Tavo pins you about a hundred more times, I suspect you’ll start to catch on.”
Donald blushed. He looked sideways at Tavo. Tavo nudged him with his elbow and gave him an upward nod, looking kind of friendly, which was a surprise.
“You may not like it, but wrestling Tavo every day is the best gift a wrestler like you could get,” Coach said. “He’ll keep slaughtering you, but you’ll get better a lot faster than if I paired you with somebody else.
“One more thing: If you start fights, you’ll be off the team. Now get out of here.” He waved them back toward the lockers.
Donald followed Tavo back. As they reached the locker room, Tavo turned and said, “Guys who lose their temper get eaten alive in this sport.”
Donald didn’t reply.
Kendrick was dressed and tying his shoes when Donald got back. Most of the other seventh-graders were already gone.
“You in trouble?” Kendrick asked.
“Nah.”
“What was with the extra running today?”
“Me and Tavo got in a scruffle. It was no big deal.”
“I didn’t see
him
running.”
Donald yanked his soaking T-shirt over his head and fumbled with his lock. “I guess he was too tired.”
“Yeah, right.”
They were the last two in the locker room now. Coach came in and chased them out. Donald grabbed his backpack and put on his sneakers without tying them. “See you tomorrow, Coach. I’ll be the one flat on my back again.”
5
First Match
T
wo weeks passed quickly, with rugged work-outs and constant learning of new wrestling moves. Tavo had continued to pin Donald repeatedly during practice, but Coach demonstrated a few counter moves that helped him fend off a few of the attacks.
The work made Donald hungry all the time. He’d sit in his morning classes wishing the clock would move more quickly so he could eat lunch.
Now here he was, suited up in the red-and-black Hudson City wrestling uniform, nervously stretching and running in place, minutes away from his first real match.
He put on his headgear and fastened the chin-strap, letting out a deep breath and staring at the mat in the center of the Hudson City gym. Mario was out there now, struggling to keep from getting pinned by his faster and more limber opponent.
Coach was loudly instructing Mario what to do—“Roll out of it!”—but the Jersey City wrestler had Mario in a half nelson and was forcing his shoulders toward the mat.
Donald winced as the referee smacked the mat to signal a pin. Mario had only lasted about fifty seconds. Would Donald do any better? He’d soon find out.
Donald’s match was one of five preliminaries before the meet would officially begin. He hadn’t earned a spot in the starting lineup, but fortunately the other team had several junior varsity wrestlers, too, so he’d be getting a taste of real competition.
Coach gripped Donald’s shoulder and told him to stay focused and be patient. “No big heroic moves right off,” he said. “Wait for your opening, then be as aggressive as you can. Think on your feet.”
Donald glared at his opponent, who looked a little shorter but a bit stronger, more solidly built. His mouth was set in an angry line.
How good could he be?
Donald wondered.
He didn’t make their varsity
.
And he probably hadn’t been training against someone as skilled as Tavo every day, either.
Stop thinking,
Donald thought.
Just kick this guy’s butt.
There were only about twenty spectators in the small bleachers, but Manny and a few of Donald’s other friends were there.
The referee waved the two wrestlers onto the mat. They shook hands and backed away, staring viciously at each other and waiting for the whistle to start the match.
Two two-minute periods. If it lasted that long.
They circled around each other, testing their quickness with a few false lunges. Then Donald saw an opening: The Jersey City wrestler had his right foot too far forward. Donald dodged toward his opponent’s left leg, forcing him to shift his right one even farther up. This gave Donald a perfect shot at that leg, and he took advantage.
Donald made that penetrating first step just as Coach had been stressing all week, keeping his arms close to his body as he attacked. He locked his hands behind his opponent’s right knee. From there it was easy to lift him and force him to the mat, and Donald had the lead.
He heard the cheers of his teammates and the spectators, but his focus was completely on working this guy’s shoulders toward the mat. But his opponent was resisting, squirming to get out of Donald’s grip. He wouldn’t be easy to pin.
Donald hung on, but the Jersey City wrestler managed to get to his knees.
“Go for the ankle!” Tavo yelled from the sideline.
Donald knew that would be his best move, lifting the guy’s ankle from the mat and forcing him to lie flat. Tavo used that move on Donald all the time.
The trick was to shift his hand from the guy’s waist to his ankle, doing it quickly enough that he couldn’t escape.
Don’t think, just do it,
Donald told himself.
The move worked. The Jersey City wrestler was flat on his stomach with Donald on top, lifting that ankle with one hand and trying to turn the guy with the other.
But Donald didn’t quite have the strength to take advantage of the position. The guy simply squirmed toward the edge of the mat, finally rolling them both out of bounds.
So the referee brought them to the center of the mat again. Since Donald had been in control when they went out of bounds, he would maintain his advantage. The Jersey City wrestler kneeled on the mat, hands flat, too, and Donald kneeled behind him, one hand on his opponent’s waist and the other at his elbow.
“Flatten this guy!” came a call from the crowd. Donald was sure it came from Manny.
The whistle blew and both wrestlers worked furiously—Donald trying to force his opponent down again and the opponent trying to escape. Donald felt his grip loosening; the guy had broken free. In an instant they were both on their feet again, circling around as before.
But Donald had earned the best of that exchange. His takedown was worth two points, while the Jersey City wrestler’s escape was worth just one.
Plenty of time remained in the period. Donald wanted another takedown. What he really wanted was a pin.
His opponent apparently hadn’t learned anything from that first takedown; he still had his right leg too far forward, almost inviting Donald to attack. So Donald feinted toward the left leg again, then shot over to the right and quickly executed the takedown.
He’s dead meat now,
Donald thought, working to turn the takedown into a pinning combination. But the guy got to one knee and forced himself up, escaping just as quickly as Donald had taken him down.
Now Donald had a 4-2 lead, and time was winding down to the end of the first period. Donald was clearly the more aggressive athlete. The Jersey City wrestler seemed content just to play defense.
Donald knew enough to take advantage of that. He went right back at the guy, penetrating low and reaching for both legs this time.
But his opponent was ready. He stepped straight back, and Donald crashed to the mat, facedown with his hands clutching nothing but air. The Jersey City wrestler deftly scurried across, and in an instant he had Donald in the same half-nelson grip that Mario’s opponent had used.
With no momentum and no leverage, Donald was helpless to keep from being turned to his back. He struggled desperately to keep his shoulders up, but the guy was just too strong.
Wham.
The referee slapped the mat, signaling a pin.
Donald was stunned. Seconds before, he’d had the match under his control. And just like that, because of one poorly executed move, he’d lost.
He barely looked at the referee or his opponent as they shook hands again, then walked dejectedly off the mat. Coach slapped him on the shoulder and said, “Good effort,” but he immediately turned his attention to the next match.
Donald slumped in a folding chair next to Mario and stared at his feet. “I was killing that guy,” he muttered. “He got
so
lucky. I can’t believe it.”
6
Time to Unwind
H
udson City won the match, but that didn’t do much to lift Donald’s spirits. He quickly changed clothes in the locker room while his teammates celebrated, leaving his sweatshirt hood up and not even bothering to tie his sneakers.
He slammed his locker shut and looked around. Steam from the showers was floating overhead, and he could hear Freddy and Tavo and the other eighth-graders laughing and bragging about their wins on the other side of the lockers.
“I’m out of here,” he said to Kendrick, who didn’t look any happier than Donald. “See you tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” Kendrick said flatly. Kendrick had made it to the second period of his match, but eventually he’d been pinned, too. “I’ll be here.”
Donald put his knapsack over one shoulder and stepped outside. He nodded to Manny, who was sitting on the blacktop with his back to the gymnasium wall.
“Thought you’d be a while longer than that,” Manny said.
“I just wanted to get out of there as fast as I could.”
“You tired from the match?”
“No way.” Donald wiped his nose with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. “I’ve got so much energy I don’t know what to do with it. I mean, we’ve been practicing for
two hours
a day for weeks. Today was like, what? A minute and a half? I hardly felt it.”
Manny grinned slyly as he got to his feet. “A minute and a half of work used to be more than you could handle. All of a sudden you’re wanting more?”
Donald shrugged. “Mostly I’m mad, I guess. I had that guy nailed. No
way
he should have beat me.”
“You’ll get ’em next time.”
“I feel like I should do a thousand push-ups or sprint ten miles.”
Manny started walking, turning his head to face Donald. “Okay, then here’s the plan,” he said. “Eight o’clock I’m running three hard miles, then a few sprints. From there I’m meeting a couple of guys at Villa Roma for pizza. If you want to join me for either activity, or both, I’ll be glad to have you along.”
“Kind of dark for running.”
“I’m going to the track. The lights are on until nine.”
Donald rolled his eyes and looked up at the dark sky. The clouds were moving quickly in a stiff wind. “All right,” he said, letting out his breath in a mist. “I won’t be able to keep up with you, but I’ll give it a shot.”
BOOK: Takedown
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