Body Slammed! (15 page)

“It was just a misunderstanding,” Jesse said without elaborating.

“I know what'll make you feel better.” Wally reached into her green messenger bag and pulled out a piece of peppermint candy. “Here, this'll help you get your happy thoughts back.”

“Candy?”

“Works for me. Most people don't know it, Jessup, but peppermint candy is the best medicine for the downers.” Wally wore the same JAMAICAN RUDEBOYS T-shirt she had on the first time Jesse met her. “Hey, I just learned something about you,” she said. “You're the Angel of Death's son.”

“You know who he is?” Jesse asked. Wally didn't seem like the type of person who watched wrestling.

“Absolutely. I love
Monday Night Mayhem
. It's the sweetest action on television. I mean, it's got drama, suspense, comedy—everything you could want in a show. Who wouldn't want to watch it?”

“Lots of people,” Jesse said, wondering if Wally was putting him on. “You know it's scripted, right?”

“Of course. That's what makes it so much fun. It's like watching a stage production, and I love theater.”

The bell sounded.

“Sorry, but I must go,” Wally said. “Maybe I'll catch up with you at lunch.” She pointed to the peppermint candy in Jesse's hand. “Don't forget to take your medicine.”

Jesse watched her disappear into a crowd of kids. He unwrapped the peppermint candy and popped it in his mouth.

During English class, he did his best to stay awake through a reading of
The Grapes of Wrath
. Mrs. Dowell called the book a classic. Maybe it was, but Jesse couldn't get into studying about life during the Depression. His life was depressing enough as it was.

With his phone hidden in his lap, he texted TJ again. This time, TJ answered right away. He told Jesse that Hector Castro, the bartender from the party, had bailed him and the girls out of jail. After that, Hector took him to pick up his car at the pound. Now TJ was waiting for Jesse's father and Carlos Montoya to drive him to the airport. The three of them were flying to Seattle for
Monday Night Mayhem.
Jesse quickly texted back to warn TJ not to tell his father about what had happened Saturday night.

TJ didn't appear to be mad at him, for which he was grateful. TJ was so different from the boring dorks Jesse hung out with. If he was honest with himself, Jesse would have to agree with his father that TJ had a wild streak. But that's what he liked about him. TJ was fun to be with.

Jesse was looking forward to watching him get his first win on
Monday Night Mayhem
. TJ had told him that he was going to beat Chris Choate with a shooting star press. A shooting star press is a high-risk maneuver in which a wrestler launches himself off the top turnbuckle, does a back flip in mid-air and lands on his opponent in a press position. Because of the potential danger of performing such a move, many wrestlers avoid attempting the shooting star press. But TJ knew he needed to do something special to get the ACW officials' attention if he expected to continue receiving a push.

At lunchtime, Jesse spotted Goose and Wendell sitting at a table, eating. He was about to go over there to apologize for his outburst in the locker room when he noticed Bucky making his way toward them. The moment Bucky saw him, he wheeled around and looked for another place to sit.

“Bucky,” Jesse called. “I'm sorry, man. I didn't mean to go crazy on you the other night.”

Bucky ignored him and kept looking around the lunchroom.

“Go on and join the guys,” Jesse told him. “I'll sit somewhere else.”

When he turned, he nearly bumped into Wally, who was standing behind him, holding a red Tupperware container and a blue plastic bottle.

“What's your story, Jessup?” she asked. “Why is everyone snubbing you? Did you forget to use deodorant this morning or something?”

“Oh, hi.”

Wally sniffed the air. “You don't smell bad. Hey, you don't have some kind of contagious disease I should be concerned about, do you?”

“Nah. Let's just say it hasn't been a good day.”

“Wish I could help you, Jessup, but I'm all out of peppermint candy,” Wally said. “But if you need company, you're welcome to sit with me.”

Jesse was hesitant. Wally seemed a little too strange for his taste. But he didn't have a lot of options. “Sure, okay, as soon as I buy my lunch.”

“I'll be sitting over there.” Wally pointed to a table in front of a mural of a sidewinder with a red bandana and a white cowboy hat.

A few minutes later, Jesse joined her.

“What are you eating?” he asked, staring at the brown meat in Wally's Tupperware container.

“Squirrel. Want some? It's pretty good.”

Jesse's insides lurched. “Uh, no thanks.”

“You sure? It's fresh road kill.” Wally stabbed the piece of meat with her fork and held it in front of Jesse's face. “I found the squirrel on the street this morning when I went out to get the paper. The squirrel had just died, and the body was still warm, so I cooked it right away.” She popped the meat into her mouth and gobbled it up. “Squirrel meat tastes best if you cook it before rigor mortis sets in.”

Jesse gaped at her, and a sour taste filled his mouth.

“Yep. There's nothing I like better than freshly cooked squirrel,” Wally said. “I only wish I had a bowl of armadillo stew to go with it.” She stared at Jesse with feigned disappointment. “Now don't tell me you're one of those weirdos who don't like squirrel or armadillo.”

Jesse smiled uneasily. “You're putting me on, right?”

Wally laughed. “I had you going there for a minute, didn't I?” She cut another piece of meat and ate it. “Anybody can tell this isn't squirrel . . . it's rattlesnake.”

Jesse looked closely at her food and saw that Wally was eating boiled chicken. He cut into his meat patty and took a bite. “How's Samson?” he asked, making sure he remembered to call Duck by his new name.

“He's doing fine, except that he told me he misses you.”

“So you've taught Samson how to talk?”

“No, silly. Dogs can't talk. Samson uses sign language.”

Jesse decided Wally wasn't strange after all. She was just having fun. “Who are the Jamaican Rude Boys?” he asked, staring at Wally's T-shirt.

“They're a ska band.”

“Ska? What's that?”

“Um, let me see. How can I explain it? Are you familiar with reggae music? You know, Bob Marley and all that?”

Jesse knew what reggae was because his parents listened to it.

“Well, take reggae, stick a firecracker under it and you've got ska,” Wally said. “It's reggae amped up by about a hundred. Get it?”

Jesse didn't get it, but he nodded anyway.

“In ska, the emphasis is on the upbeat.” Wally tapped her hands on the table and sang out, “Hep-hep-hep-hep. Hep-hep-hep-hep. Ska is great music to dance to.”

Jesse sat his fork down and mimicked Wally by drumming the beat on the table.

“There you go, Jessup. You've got it. Hep-hep-hep-hep.”

“Hep-hep-hep-hep,” Jesse echoed and tapped along with her until a teacher assistant shushed them to stop.

“You catch on quick, Jessup,” Wally said.

“Thanks. I used to play the drums.”

“I bet you were good. Why'd you give them up?”

Jesse found Wally enjoyable to talk to. She liked wrestling, she had a great sense of humor and she had taught him about a new type of music. “I thought about joining the band when I came to Deaf Smith,” he said, “but I decided to play football instead.”

“Do you like playing football?” Wally asked.

Jesse wavered for a moment. Then, candidly he replied, “No.”

“Then why are you on the team?”

“I don't know. I guess because it's what's expected of me.”

“Who expects it?”

“My father.”

“Oh, yeah, the Angel of Death,” Wally said. “What's it like being the son of a famous wrestling superstar?”

“Not nearly as exciting as you might think,” Jesse said glumly.

“Well, do you think your father would think any less of you if you didn't play football?” Wally sealed the Tupperware container and placed it and the plastic bottle inside her messenger bag.

“I don't know. Probably not.”

“Then if you don't want to play football, you shouldn't
do it,” Wally said. “I mean, be who you want to be, Jessup, not what somebody else thinks you should be. Or to quote that wise philosopher, Popeye the Sailor: ‘I yam what I yam, and that's all that I yam.'”

Jesse pointed at her with his fork. “Is that why you've got that haircut?”

Wally touched her head. “What's wrong with my hair?”

“I don't know. It just looks . . . different.”

“What do you think my hair should look like?”

Jesse didn't answer.

“It's who I am, Jessup. It's who I choose to be. We get into trouble when we stop being who we are and try to be somebody else.”

Jesse loved the self-confidence that radiated from her. “Speaking of being somebody else,” he said, changing the subject, “if you watch
Monday Night Mayhem
tonight, you're going to see a huge transformation take place.”

“Like what?”

“I won't spoil the surprise. Tune in tonight to find out.”

After Spanish class, Jesse cornered Bucky Henderson in the hallway and forced him to listen while he apologized for going off on him. Jesse explained that he was upset and angry that he had cost the Sidewinders the district championship, and he asked Bucky to forgive him. Reluctantly, Bucky accepted his apology.

They walked out of the building, where they met up with Wendell and Goose. Jesse had so much he wanted to share with the guys. He was dying to tell them about TJ's party and the trouble he'd had with the police.

He started off by saying how sorry he was for his behavior in the locker room. Goose and Wendell accepted it. They understood that Jesse was just letting off some steam, which he was relieved to hear.

Before Jesse had a chance to tell the guys about his weekend adventures, Goose asked, “How was The Jobber's party?”

Jesse knew then that he couldn't talk about his experience. Goose would only tease him about his relationship with TJ. “It was all right,” he said flatly.

“Did you invite the bald chick to go with you?”

“You mean Wally?” Jesse asked, annoyed that Goose had referred to her as “the bald chick.”

“Yeah. I saw you with her during lunch, so I thought maybe the two of you might have something going on.”

“Nah. I just sat with her because I thought you guys were mad at me,” Jesse said. He didn't want to admit that he was finding himself attracted to her.

Wally was certainly no beauty queen. She wore no make-up or jewelry. She didn't tweeze her brows. And that haircut! It looked as if she had gotten it clipped by Edward Scissorhands. Still, she had an inner beauty that Jesse found appealing.

He wondered if she had a boyfriend.

CHAPTER TWENTY

T
hat evening, Jesse sat in the den with his grandfather to watch
Monday Night Mayhem
. His grandmother disliked watching wrestling, so she holed up in her bedroom with a stack of magazines.

The show opened with a match between John Henry Sykes and Sasha “the Russian Bear” Volkov. John Henry took two punches to the face but quickly retaliated with a head butt and a spine buster. He grabbed Volkov's leg applied an ankle lock, but Volkov reached the ropes, and the referee forced John Henry to break the hold.

Jesse wished he was built like John Henry Sykes. He wished he had an intimidating physique that would make jerks like Riley King think twice about messing with him.

He thought back to Wally's mention of Popeye. Jesse hadn't seen a
Popeye
cartoon in years, but he remembered that in almost every cartoon, Popeye would down a can of spinach. Then gigantic muscles would sprout from his biceps, and he could beat up Bluto, his enemy.

If that stuff worked in real life, Jesse would polish off a can of spinach anytime he had to deal with loud-mouths like Riley King, who got in his way.

The bout ended when John Henry caught Sasha Volkov in mid-air as Volkov came off the second rope. John Henry power-slammed him onto the mat and finished him off with the Derailer.

The match was a good opener, but Jesse had known ahead of time that John Henry Sykes was going to win the match. John Henry was being readied for a bigger role with the company, while Volkov's career was slipping into jobber status.