Authors: Rich Wallace
Takedown (7 page)
“No thanks. You go ahead.”
Donald rolled his eyes and shook his head. “My dad will microwave it when he gets home from work. Strong black coffee. He lives on the stuff.”
“Doesn’t it keep him awake?”’
“Not for a second. We don’t have any trouble sleeping in this family. Good sleep genes or something.”
“No stress?”
“We don’t let it get to us. Not usually. Only if one of us has a bad wrestling match.”
Manny laughed. “How’d it go today?”
“I beat Mario and lost to Jesse. We got Palisades tomorrow. You going to be there?”
“Yeah. I can run after. You can join me if you need to run out your frustrations again.”
“I’m not counting on any frustrations tomorrow. I think I’m ready to win one.” Donald rolled the dice and landed on Indiana, which Manny had just purchased.
“You’re not winning this one,” Manny said with glee. “That’ll be eighteen bucks.”
Donald tossed the bills across the board. “Just wait until I buy Boardwalk and Park Place. You’ll be sorry.”
“I’m scared, buddy.” Manny looked over at the radio, which was playing “Mess Around” by Ray Charles. “You gotta be kidding me with this music,” he said.
“It grows on you.”
Donald rolled a six and moved his metal wheel-barrow forward. “Finally!” he said, landing on Marvin Gardens. “I’ll buy that one.” He rubbed his palms together. “I’d say I’m back in business.”
It was nearly nine thirty when Donald’s mom got home from work.
“No sign of Dad yet,” Donald said as he hugged her in the hallway.
“He’s working until midnight so he can leave early tomorrow to see your wrestling thing.”
“Great.”
“How was the dinner?”
“Not bad. I souped it up a little. I like to improvise, you know.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
“Manny came over.”
“That’s good.”
“I kicked his butt in Monopoly.”
Mrs. Jenkins shook her head with a wry smile. “You boys are so competitive.”
“I know. We can’t help it.”
He sat with his mom while she ate her dinner, then he went upstairs to shower and go to bed. Tomorrow was huge, and he wanted to be rested.
But it took him nearly two hours to fall asleep. And even then he kept dreaming that he was in a half nelson, his shoulders being forced toward the mat. The mat was a giant Monopoly board. Everyone in the bleachers was calling him a loser.
He woke up in a sweat and looked out the window.
The match was still fifteen hours away.
12
The Pressure Builds
“Y
ou don’t have much to say, huh?” Manny asked after they’d walked most of the way to school in silence.
ou don’t have much to say, huh?” Manny asked after they’d walked most of the way to school in silence.
“Too much in my head,” Donald replied. “Just thinking about the match.”
“I been there,” Manny said. “Pre-event jitters.”
“This is like pre-event flu or something. Way beyond jitters.”
“You’ll survive.”
They entered the school and went straight for their lockers, where a group of guys always gathered in the minutes before the bell. Calvin and Anthony and Kendrick were there, laughing about something that had happened in a class the day before.
Donald grabbed his books and walked straight toward his homeroom.
“Where are you going?” Anthony called. “What, do we have bad breath or something?”
Donald turned and smirked at him. “Of course you do. But I have to finish some homework. I’ll see you later.”
That was a lie. His homework was all done, but he was in no mood for joking around this morning. Tonight. After the match. He’d be feeling better by then.
As long as he won, that is.
Donald carried his lunch bag across the cafeteria and sat near the trash cans with his back to the room. Manny and Calvin and Anthony were at their usual table, but Donald couldn’t bring himself to join them. He slowly chewed his peanut-butter sandwich and stared at the wall.
He had no appetite, but he knew he’d have to force this sandwich down. He was already a nervous wreck; he didn’t need to be weak and under-fueled, too.
All around him kids were talking and laughing, relieved to have a break from the classroom. A few people said hello, but Donald just grunted or nodded back.
He just might get pinned again this afternoon. Maybe he was kidding himself to think otherwise. He opened his math book and laid it flat, pretending to be studying. But every thought he had was about wrestling.
After a few minutes he glanced around; everybody was emptying their trays and getting ready to go back to class. The clock said 11:55. Four more hours until the match.
Donald hustled into math class seconds before the bell rang. He could feel Mrs. Epstein’s eyes on him. He looked up as she made a notation on her attendance sheet.
Kendrick tossed a crumpled piece of paper at Donald, hitting him in the arm. “How come you snubbed us at lunch?” he asked.
Donald shrugged. “Just wanted to be alone.”
“Why?”
“You know. The match.”
“That’s three hours away.”
“Think I don’t know that? I’ve been counting the hours since yesterday.”
“I try not to think about it.”
“I can’t do anything but.”
Mrs. Epstein cleared her throat. Donald turned to face the front of the classroom. But he spent most of the period staring at his notebook, where he’d written a single word: FINISH!
What a relief it was to get to the locker room. He hadn’t paid attention in any of his classes. Now he could fully concentrate on the task at hand.
He put on his uniform and his warm-up suit, then took his headgear from his locker. There was still a good hour before the match would begin, but at least there were no more distractions.
They warmed up as a team, with Tavo and Freddy leading the stretching and limbering. Then Coach gathered them back in the locker room for a pep talk and strategy session.
Donald would be up first again. His match didn’t count in the team scoring, but it still meant a huge deal to him. This wasn’t practice. The boys in the blue uniforms were invaders in the Hudson City gym.
He waved to his father, who had just entered the gym and was heading toward the bleachers. Dad raised his fist and mouthed, “Good luck.”
Donald stretched his arms high overhead, then slowly reached for his toes. He looked across the gym. Warming up behind the Palisades bench was a short wrestler with wide shoulders and an expression that seemed to say
TOUGH
in capital letters. That was the guy he’d be wrestling. It had to be.
TOUGH
in capital letters. That was the guy he’d be wrestling. It had to be.
Donald swallowed hard. In a couple more minutes he’d be out there.
It was time to find out what he was made of.
13
Music
D
onald took a deep breath and shut his eyes. When he opened them, that Palisades wrestler was still staring him down from across the mat as they waited for the referee to call them out.
onald took a deep breath and shut his eyes. When he opened them, that Palisades wrestler was still staring him down from across the mat as they waited for the referee to call them out.
Coach put a hand on Donald’s shoulder. “Ready?” he asked.
“You know it.” He bounced up and down a few times, shaking out his wrists and knees.
Donald glanced at the bleachers. There were a lot more spectators than last time; the place was more than half full. Manny and Anthony were seated in the top row. His father was about halfway up.
The referee waved them onto the mat and made them shake hands. The guy’s grip was strong and dry, but he only held it for a fraction of a second. He never took his eyes off Donald’s.
And though he was short with a stocky wrestler’s build, his style did not seem conventional at all. His stance was very low and somewhat off center, as if he was leaning to his left. And his feet kept moving side to side as he circled around Donald. He didn’t offer much of a target.
Donald crouched lower, too, but after thirty seconds of moving around like that, his legs felt pretty darn tired. So he stood up straighter and darted to the side. And that’s when the guy attacked.
Head down, he wrapped his arms around Donald’s legs and tried to lift them both. Donald reached down to grab his shoulders and twisted his own body, but the guy had a very strong grip. There was no place to go but down. Donald was behind, 2-0.
No panic,
Donald thought.
You’ll figure this guy out.
Donald thought.
You’ll figure this guy out.
He got to his knees, but the guy had one arm around his waist and the other had a tight grip on his shoulder. It took him nearly a minute to wiggle out of the hold, getting to his feet and jumping free.
The period was winding down, but Donald was not about to stand around and wait. The Palisades wrestler was finally standing straight, so Donald made the big penetrating step and shot in low, wrapping both hands around his opponent’s knee. He lifted and turned, bringing the guy down flat on the mat and coming up behind him.
Instinctively Donald hooked his left arm under his opponent’s arm and reached up behind his head. He drove hard with his legs to turn the guy toward his back.
“Half nelson!” shouted Tavo. “You got him.”
Donald could tell that he had him now. He’d been on the wrong side of this move enough times to recognize when the outcome was certain. The Palisades wrestler was straining, pushing with everything he had, but Donald had a lock-tight grip and all of the momentum. He was slowly forcing the guy’s shoulders toward the mat.
And within seconds Donald felt the momentum stop, felt the hard resistance of the mat pressing up against those shoulders. This guy was pinned.
The referee slapped the mat.
It was the best sound Donald had ever heard.
He leaped to his feet and pumped his fist. He shook hands with the Palisades wrestler. The referee raised Donald’s arm as the victor.
Coach got him in a quick headlock and said, “Beautiful job. You’re on your way, kid.”
Tavo smacked his arm, and Freddy met Donald’s fist with his own. Donald pulled off his headgear and looked around the gym.
Here came his dad, stepping down from the bleachers. He reached over and shook Donald’s hand. “Way to go, Darnald. That was fun.”
“Sure was,” Donald said. “It’s great that you got here.”
“It was worth the hassle.” Dad looked at his watch. “Wish I could stay for the rest, but I’m due back at work for a couple more hours.”
“I know. I’ll see you tonight.”
Donald walked to the locker room, way too excited to take a seat with the others yet. Incredibly, he had even more energy now than he’d had before the match.
He bounced up and down in front of his locker, throwing out his fists like a boxer. What a difference a win made. He felt like he could wrestle five more matches and still have energy to burn.
Kendrick and Mario also won their prelims, and Hudson City dominated the varsity match. So there were a lot of happy, rowdy wrestlers in the locker room afterward.
“Pizza,” Kendrick said with a big smile. “We earned it.”
“Villa Roma,” Donald replied. “I told Manny we’d meet him at seven.”
“Good deal. I gotta run home and get some money.”
Donald looked around at the other wrestlers. This felt more like a team now, more than just eighth-graders ruling over seventh-graders. They’d come a long way in less than a month. He was glad to be a part of it.
Wrestling was hard, but it was worth it. He had no doubts about that now.
Donald stepped out of the gym with his head held high, walking across the dark pavement. Since he’d started wrestling he hadn’t seen much daylight except on the weekends. School until three, then practice or matches until well after dark. It was six o’clock already.
He was hungry, but he had at least an hour to kill before Manny or Kendrick or anyone else would show up at Villa Roma. So he headed toward the Boulevard and turned right. There was a store down there that he wanted to check out:
Lindo Música Internacional.
Lindo Música Internacional.
He’d been in here a few times, so he knew they had what he wanted. He nodded to the man behind the counter and walked past racks of CDs toward the back, where a few guitars hung from the wall.
“Help you?” asked the salesman, who had followed him down the aisle. The man was thin with a neatly trimmed dark mustache.
“Maybe.” Donald pointed toward the ceiling, though he wasn’t sure where the music was coming from. “What’s this playing?” The song was fast and guitar heavy, and the singing was in Spanish.
“El Torito. They’re Dominican.”
“Cool. I wanted to look at the guitars.”
“Do you play?”
“Not yet.”
The man took an acoustic guitar from the wall and handed it to Donald, who plucked one of the strings and listened to it resonate. “Could a person teach himself how to play?” he asked.
The man smiled. “You could. But you’d save a lot of time by taking lessons. There are several people around the neighborhood who give them.”
He pointed to a bulletin board on the wall that had small posters announcing where local bands would be performing, a few business cards for DJ services for weddings and parties, and announcements of bands looking for musicians or singers. The word LESSONS caught Donald’s eye. He counted four cards with phone numbers of guitar teachers.
Donald carefully handed the guitar back to the salesman, admiring the smooth grain of the wood and the tautness of the strings. “Christmas is a couple of weeks away. I’ll send my dad in.”
He’d noticed the price tag on the guitar, though. It was steep. “Do you ever sell used guitars?” he asked.
“Sure. Sometimes.” The man put the instrument back in its place. “We have songbooks and picks and anything else you’d need, too.”
Donald guessed that even a used guitar of that quality would be expensive. Maybe he could go with a lesser model for now. They probably had some at Kmart. His mother got an employee discount.
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