Takedown (4 page)

“Wear gloves,” Manny said. “And bring some money.”

“Good news,” said Donald’s mom as she placed a roasted chicken on the kitchen table. “I got a temporary job at the Kmart in Jersey City. Just until Christmas, but it’ll help.”

“We’ll be back to eating sirloin steak in no time,” Dad said.

“Like we ever eat steak anyway,” Donald said.

“Right. But this chicken sure beats hot dogs, huh?”

Donald reached for the salt and pepper shakers, which were shaped and painted to look like mermaids. “Okay if I hang out with Manny for a while tonight?” he asked.

“Do you have your homework done?” Mom asked.

“No, but I don’t have much. I’ll do it right after we eat.”

“Are you going to his house?”

“Nah. We’re going to Villa Roma, okay?”

“You’re going to eat again?”

Donald shrugged. “I’ll probably just have a soda or something. Maybe one slice of pizza. But I haven’t been out in weeks. It’s been nothing but wrestling.”

“Yeah,” Dad said. “You need to unwind. You’ve been wrestling and I’ve been working double shifts. I don’t think we’ve all had dinner together in two weeks.”

“Well,” Mom said, shaking her head with a smile, “better enjoy it while you can. I’ll be working until nine most nights for the next month.”

“We won’t even recognize each other by Christmas,” Dad said with a laugh. “Darnald will be huge by then, with all that working out and pizza.”

“We’re going to jog some before the pizza.”

Dad raised his eyebrows. “That doesn’t sound like resting to me.”

“It’ll be all right. I’ve got energy to burn. I’m still keyed up from the match.”

“Sorry we missed it.”

“You didn’t miss much.”

D
onald had never run farther than a mile in his life—they made ’em do that in gym class once a year—but he figured he wouldn’t have much trouble running two. Maybe if Manny took it easy for a few laps Donald could stay with him, but he knew his friend would be way ahead once he started pushing.

Manny was no bigger than Donald, but he was fast and determined and seemed to be able to run all day. That was his sport. Donald was going to make wrestling his own.

“You gotta relax and work into it,” Manny said as they began running their first lap at the Hudson City High School track. The wind was directly in their faces as they started, but both boys were in full sweat suits, with knitted caps and gloves.

Two large lights were on above the bleachers, but it never quite got dark anywhere in Hudson City anyway. There were streetlights on every corner and lots of traffic, plus the glow from New York City just down the hill and across the wide river.

Donald was breathing hard as they rounded the second turn, but Manny seemed effortless. He kept chatting and coaching—“Let your arms swing in a nice rhythm. Nothing should be tense.”—but Donald just grunted and kept working. It was obvious to him that Manny was holding back, running slowly to stay with Donald.

“You can go ahead,” Donald said as they finished the first lap.

“I’ll stick with you for a mile,” Manny said. “I always do an easy warm-up.”

But after three laps Manny started to accelerate, and by the time Donald had finished six laps, Manny had done seven. Donald struggled through two more to make it an even two miles, then leaned against the fence and watched his friend hammer out a few more laps.

“Felt good,” Manny said as he walked over to Donald. “First time I’ve really let loose since cross-country season.”

“Had enough?”

“Not quite. I’ve got an indoor meet coming up. I need to do some strides.”

So Donald watched while Manny did a few quick 100-meter runs.

“Time to eat,” Manny said, motioning with his arm for Donald to join him as he walked toward the opening in the fence.

“Didn’t you have supper?”

“A little. But I can pig out now. Let’s go.”

They walked along the rutted sidewalk down Sixth Street, past tight rows of houses, until they reached the Boulevard.

“Who we meeting?” Donald asked.

“Anthony. Maybe Calvin.”

Donald and Manny had been best friends since they were little, but Manny’s circle had grown larger because of the track-and-field team. Donald had been jealous of that at first.

They reached Villa Roma, which was crowded with high-school kids. A television above the pizza counter was tuned to a music-video station, and the other one in the opposite corner was showing a college basketball game. But both sets were drowned out by the jukebox, which was playing an old Rolling Stones song. The place smelled warm and toasty from the pizzas baking in the large ovens.

Donald spotted Anthony and Calvin in the corner near the video games.

“You guys order a pie?” Manny said.

“Yep,” said Anthony, getting Manny in a gentle headlock. Anthony Martin was probably the biggest guy in seventh grade—a football lineman and a shot-putter on the track team. Calvin Tait also played football and ran track. He and Manny often teamed up on relays.

“Spotted any girls?” Calvin asked.

“None our age,” Donald said. “Mostly high-school people in here tonight.”

“Yeah, they took all the tables,” Anthony said.

“We’ll have to sit on the floor to eat.”

“No problem,” Donald said. He leaned against the wall, hands in the big front pocket of his sweatshirt, which said GIANTS.

Anthony went up to the counter and brought back the pizza, which he set on top of the video game. He grabbed a slice and took a seat on the floor next to Calvin, their backs against the wall.

Donald picked up a slice and took a huge bite.

“Don’t you wrestlers have to watch your weight?” Calvin asked.

“I’d like to watch it go
up
,” Donald replied. “I could gain three pounds and still be in the same weight class. Mostly it’s the bigger guys who want to cut.”

He had been thinking about trying to gain a bit of weight. Tavo was a lock to stay in the 90-pound weight class, so there wasn’t much chance Donald would be wresting varsity unless he moved up in weight. Donald had wrestled the 95-pounder, Jesse Nadel, in practice a few times. Despite the disadvantage in weight, Donald was more competitive with Jesse than with Tavo.

Donald took a second slice of pizza and slid to a seated position on the floor between Anthony and Calvin. He kept his eyes on the door, watching who went in and out. A lot of the athletes hung out here, so he wasn’t too surprised when he saw Hector Mateo walk in. Hector was a senior and the standout on the high-school wrestling team. Watching him compete the year before, in fact, had been a big part of Donald’s inspiration to try the sport.

What did surprise Donald was who Hector was with: Tavo. Hector was four years older than Tavo. Why would he be hanging out with him?

Donald watched as Hector and Tavo joined a group of high-school guys at one of the tables. Hector took off his letterman’s jacket. Underneath he was wearing a blue soccer jersey that said PUERTO RICO. He had a thin chain around his neck, and his short hair was freshly styled.

Donald felt a little uneasy. He and Tavo hadn’t had any run-ins since Donald had shoved him that day at practice, but they’d never quite resolved things, either. Tavo seemed very easygoing, but you never knew what might happen off school grounds.

So Donald tensed a little when Tavo caught his eye and started walking over. He was dressed pretty well, and his hair was styled like Hector’s.

“Jenkins,” Tavo said, nodding as he looked down at Donald.

“Rivera,” Donald replied.

“What’s up, Martin?” Tavo said, gripping Anthony’s hand and pumping it.

Donald stood up. Tavo sent him to the floor so often in practice that he figured he didn’t need to be there now.

“You wrestled pretty much all right today,” Tavo said. “The inexperience got to you, though.”

“I shoulda won anyway. The guy just got lucky. It was probably his first match, too.”

“No.” Tavo shook his head, keeping his eyes locked on Donald’s. “I was at wrestling camp with that kid last summer. He’s in eighth.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He’s not a bad wrestler.” A smile crossed Tavo’s face. “He’s smart.”

Donald felt himself blush. “I’m smart.”

“Smart but dumb. What I mean is, you’re smart enough to learn. But nobody can know what they don’t know yet, you know what I mean?”

“Sort of.”

“Good wrestlers make their own luck,” Tavo said. “They know how to finish the job.”

Donald jutted his chin toward Hector. “What are you doing hanging out with him?”

“We’re just picking up some pizza and wings for home,” Tavo said. “He’s my brother. Half-brother, anyway.”

“Oh. He teach you much?”

“All the time. He knows every move in the book.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen him wrestle.”

“Gonna win the state this winter,” Tavo said.

“I don’t doubt it.”

Tavo turned to Calvin and started talking about tennis, which Donald had absolutely no interest in. So he slumped back to the floor and listened to the music. There was almost nothing current on the jukebox, just classic rock and things like Sinatra and Johnny Cash, plus some Latin American stuff, since nearly half the people in Hudson City were Cuban or Puerto Rican or Dominican or Mexican.

Everybody liked pizza, though.

Hector had two pizza boxes in his arms, and he caught Tavo’s eye and jerked his head toward the door.

“See you guys later,” Tavo said. He pointed at Donald. “Coach said tomorrow we’ll show you how to get out of that half nelson.”

“Sounds good.”

“Don’t eat too much. You’ll get fat.”

“I wish.”

Manny took a seat on the floor next to Donald. “You wrestle him a lot?”

“He kicks my butt every single day. Every time I think I’m ready to turn the tide he throws some new move at me.” Donald shrugged his shoulders very slowly and gave a half smile. “The guy’s good, I gotta admit that.”

“Well,” Manny said, “the only reason I got good in track was because I got to compete against the best guys around. First time I ran in New York, it was like, whoa, these guys are
quick.
But when I finally started to realize that I could keep up with them, it gave me a whole new boost of confidence.”

“Yeah. I guess I’d feel the same if I could beat Tavo just once. I haven’t even come close yet.”

“And beating him is the only way to get on varsity?”

“That’s how it works,” Donald said. “You wrestle junior varsity unless you can knock off the varsity guy in your weight class. Coach says we’ll have wrestle-offs the day before every match. If a guy like me challenges Tavo in the wrestle-off, then he has to beat me to keep his spot on varsity. If I beat him, then he drops down to JV.”

“That’s fair. The top guy has to prove himself every time to keep his spot.”

“Right. But when you’ve got somebody like Tavo in your class, it makes it impossible for me or Mario to move up.”

Manny shook his head. “Not impossible.”

“Pretty close.”

“Maybe you need to try a different weight class.”

Donald stared at the pizza crust in his hand for a few seconds. “We’re in the lightest class already. Anyway, you’re allowed to wrestle in a heavier class, but not a lighter one. So, yeah, I could challenge somebody heavier, but I’m already only eighty-seven pounds. If I went after the guy at ninety-five or a hundred it’d be a big disadvantage.”

“You never know. You’re already at a disadvantage against Tavo.”

Donald nodded slowly, then shoved the pizza crust into his mouth. He chewed carefully—the crust was his favorite part—then swallowed.

Manny might have something there. Maybe there was more than one path to varsity.

 

 

A freezing rain was falling by the time Donald crawled into bed that night, but he kept his window open a crack anyway. He loved to huddle nice and warm under all those covers but still feel a breath of cold air on top of his head.

His radio was on softly, tuned to his favorite station, the eccentric one out of New York City. The whole house was dark. Donald heard his door being pushed open, then a soft thud as the cat landed at his feet on the bed. She settled down within seconds and went to sleep.

Some woman named Etta James was singing a jazzy, kick-butt song called “Tell Mama.” That was followed by Bob Dylan doing “When the Ship Comes In.” Donald had heard that one before; it was already on the list of songs he wanted to remember. Next came something slow and twangy called “Tecumseh Valley.”

Donald turned on his light and took a small notebook out of the drawer of his bedside table. He added the names of those songs and the people who sang them to his list, waiting for the last one to finish and the announcer to name the artist: Townes Van Zandt. Donald put an asterisk next to that one. The list was growing pretty long and included all kinds of music—rock, folk, jazz, old-time country.

It was more than the music that excited Donald, though. The words of those songs were powerful.

It was late and he was tired, and he had school and practice again tomorrow. But he had begun to really savor this time each evening, just relaxing beneath his warm covers with the breeze coming in and the radio on. This felt like a reward after all that hard work he’d been doing. It was his time to think, or just to listen. It amazed him how writers could capture so much emotion and insight in just a few lines of a song.

Suddenly he knew what he wanted for Christmas. A guitar.

He shut off the light and turned to his side, giving the cat a gentle shove. He gripped his forearm. The muscle there was harder than it used to be and maybe a bit bigger. His shoulders were a little tight, the result of fighting a losing battle to keep from getting pinned that afternoon. But they’d be okay. He could take it. That loss still stung, but he knew he’d get better.