by Laura Shovan
She’s still wearing her conservative work clothes—slacks and a plain maroon sweater. Mom is the principal’s secretary at St. Matt’s Catholic Prep, where Cody is a freshman. Evan would have been a junior at St. Matt’s if he hadn’t moved in with Dad and switched to public school. St. Matt’s is coed, so I’ll go there for high school too. One of the perks of Mom’s job is discounted tuition.
“Oh, the sacrifices I make for my children,” she likes to say, faking a dramatic sigh.
Kenna walks behind us, hugging her arms to her chest. Her mom is supposed to join us here so we can all go in to the meeting together.
“Mikayla, stop skipping,” Kenna says in a loud whisper. She looks up and down the hall, where some boys in basketball jerseys straggle by their lockers. “Can you at least try to act cool?”
“We’re at wrestling. You have to call me Mickey,” I say. I spread my arms wide. “I’m finally an Eagle.” I swoop like a bird toward the gym door. And crash right into Coach Spence.
“Oops,” I say. “Hi, Coach.”
When Dr. Spence was Evan and Cody’s coach, I thought he looked like a dog. It’s the way his face strains forward from his thick neck.
I peek around him into the gym. Chairs are set up for the Eagles families, but hardly anyone is here yet. We must be early.
I haven’t been listening to Mom and Coach’s conversation, but now I pay attention. Coach sounds like a barking dog. Words burst out of him a few at a time.
“I loved coaching your boys, Suzanne,” he says. “Good kids. Lot of talent. But this is a competitive team.”
“The girls are competitive,” Mom says. Her lips have disappeared into a thin line. What did I miss? Mom says in a pleading voice, “John, you’ve known Mikayla since she was five. And Kenna’s been her training partner for years.”
“It’s not about Mikayla or Kenna,” Coach says. He looks at his clipboard. “I hear they’re both good technical wrestlers, for girls. But girls don’t have the physicality to roll with my guys. It’s not a safe environment for them.”
Kenna shrinks next to me. Her shoulders slump.
Mom starts to argue, but Coach cuts her off. “If Mikayla wrestles competitively now, what about high school? She can’t join the St. Matt’s team. You think they’ll let her wrestle boys at a Catholic school?”
“That’s beside the point,” Mom says.
I hear Kenna’s mom coming down the hallway, her high heels tapping. She stops and takes in our faces. “What’s going on?”
I like Mrs. Franklin. She teaches science writing at University of Maryland, and she’s super fashionable. Tonight, she’s wearing a long red wrap that sweeps across her shoulders. She’ll get Coach Spence to change his mind, I’m sure of it.
Mom says, “Apparently, girls are not welcome on the Eagles wrestling team.”
Mrs. Franklin gives Coach Spence her don’t-mess-with-the-professor face. “You made us come all the way down here with the girls for this? We signed them up weeks ago.”
“I sent an email,” Coach says.
“Where did you send it?” Mom asks.
Mrs. Franklin shakes her head. “This is unacceptable. Don’t you know how disappointed they’ll be?”
Coach Spence’s face turns bright red. The color spreads to his balding forehead, making his blond crew cut look almost white.
Kenna buries her face in her mom’s wrap. I ball my hands into fists so I won’t cry.
As the adults argue, a boy comes down the hallway. He’s way too young for high school. Dirty-blond hair flops over his eyes, boy-band style. He’s wearing an Eagles jacket, the blue one with white leather sleeves that Cody begged for but we couldn’t afford. The boy gawks at us until Coach barks, “Inside, Nick.” Then he slides through the gym doors.
Nick. I know who that is—Coach’s son. Cody warned me that he’s a stud, a big wrestling talent with the attitude to match.
“You sent it to the DelgadoFamily email? John, Paul and I have been divorced for years. You know I don’t use that address.”
Coach Spence shrugs. “Honest mistake.”
I look at Mom. Do something! I shout at her, but only in my mind.
“I’m going to speak with the head of the wrestling league,” Mom says. “You may be willing to give up on our girls, but I am not.”
“Suit yourself, but I’m on the league’s board.”
Coach gives Mom a quick nod and disappears into the gym. Families are starting to come in for the meeting. People who know Evan or Cody wave to my mom as they pass.
“Let’s get out of here,” Mom says.
Mrs. Franklin bundles Kenna against her body and walks ahead of us to the parking lot. My mom doesn’t hold me. She’s too angry. I can tell because she’s stomping.
Once we’re outside in the late October cold, we all stop moving.
Mrs. Franklin speaks first. “Don’t waste your breath speaking with the league, Suzanne. I don’t want Kenna wrestling for that man.”
Mom puts a hand on Mrs. Franklin’s elbow. “I feel responsible,” she says. “We’ve always trusted John. He was a good coach for the boys. I’ll find another team. One that’s more welcoming.”
I tug Mom’s sleeve. “What other team? The Gladiators are the only other travel team in the county. They’re our rivals. We can’t join the Gladiators. Right, Kenna?”
But she won’t look at me.
“I’ll call you tonight,” Mrs. Franklin tells Mom.
In the car, Mom is so quiet that I know she’s still arguing with Coach Spence in her head. I press my face to the cold window and stare at the passing lights.
When we get home, Mom’s phone rings. She goes into her room and closes the door. I hope it’s Coach Spence, calling to say there was a mistake. He does want me and Kenna to be Eagles, after all.
Finally, Mom calls me into her room. After Dad left, she redecorated. She said she wanted her room to look like a summer garden. The walls are a warm shade of peach. The bedspread has a pattern of flowers.
When I sit next to Mom on the bed, she pulls me close. “Mikayla, honey. Kenna wasn’t sure about wrestling this year. Did you know that?”
I shake my head. My eyes crinkle. That can’t be right. Kenna is as excited about moving up to travel as I am, except for the Wonder Woman singlets.
“Mrs. Franklin is worried that other coaches are going to be like Dr. Spence. That they’ll give you girls a hard time.”
“But we have each other. Anytime a boy doesn’t want to practice with us, we have each other.”
“She thinks wrestling travel will be too stressful for Kenna. Starting middle school is a big enough transition.”
Tears start to slide down my cheeks. “She’s my partner. She can’t quit.”
“You can go back to rec,” Mom says. “It’s not too late. You know how highly Coach Brandon thinks of you.”
I have to make a decision.
I have always followed behind my brothers. Much as we tease and beat on each other, it’s all play. I’ve always done what my parents told me. Mom’s got enough worries, and I’m afraid if I tell my dad no or speak my mind, he’ll get mad and won’t see me. At school, I do every piece of homework, study for tests, and follow the rules. And at wrestling, if Coach says to do twenty push-ups, I do all twenty.
But being a rule follower and a hard worker, that’s not enough for Coach Spence. I have to ask myself, am I going to give in, go back to my rec team, as if being the best wrestler isn’t important to me? I can either give up now, before the season starts, or push ahead, with or without Kenna.
I pull away from Mom and stand up. “I’m wrestling travel. Even if I can’t be an Eagle.”
Mom runs her hand down my braids. “We’ll find you a good coach. But I’m not going to lie. Wrestling is a small world. Coach Spence will be at to
urnaments. You’ll compete against Eagles wrestlers. It’s going to be a tough season.”
“I am tough, Mom.”
She rubs her temples. “What are your brothers going to say?”
“Coach Spence has bigger problems than my brothers.” I pop a bicep.
Mom laughs and kisses the tip of my nose.
A plan is already forming in my head. While Mom finds me another team, I’m going to work on Kenna. Dealing with the Coach Spences out there will be a whole lot easier with my best friend by my side.
When Abba and I get to the school gym, I look for Josh Kim and Isaiah Oliver, my best friends on the Gladiators. Coach Billy calls us the Fearsome Threesome. Isaiah and I nicknamed him Billy the Kid because he’s one of the youngest coaches in our league. Coach Billy is Josh’s uncle, and Josh makes a huge deal about being respectful. He hates it when we call Coach Billy the Kid, even when he shows up to tournaments in jeans and flannel shirts. Mom says Coach missed his calling. He dresses like a country music singer.
But tonight Coach is ready to wrestle. He’s got on red shorts with the Gladiators helmet logo, and an old gray T-shirt. He’s busy pushing a mop around, disinfecting the mats. He stops and leans against the top of the handle when he sees me, putting out a hand for a shake.
I haven’t seen Coach since the end of last season. Am I still mad at him for telling me to take a shot against Spence, for making me lose that match? My stomach clenches like a fist. Yep. Still mad.
“We’re expecting a great season out of this guy,” he tells my father. Coach reaches down to mess up my hair. “Getting a little shaggy there, Sofer.”
I shudder, but Abba laughs. He’s been after me to cut my hair for weeks.
Josh and Isaiah aren’t here yet, so I head up to the top of the bleachers to put my wrestling shoes on. But when I open my bag, the first thing I touch is my notebook.
I’ve had a wrestling notebook since rec league. I used to get really nervous at meets. Once, I chewed the collar of my T-shirt until the stitches came loose. Mom asked my rec coach to come to our house and talk it over. I remember how small Abba’s coffee mug looked in Coach Harvey’s big, dark hands.
“A distraction between matches is good for the little guys,” Coach Harvey said. “Keeps their minds busy.” He noticed my drawing of Grover on the fridge. “Hey, you’re a good artist, Lev. Why not try a sketch pad?”
The next night, Abba gave me an extra Hanukkah gift, my first wrestling notebook. I started writing down the things I saw, drawing cartoons of people at tournaments, and making lists of moves I wanted to learn. Coach Harvey was right; the notebook does keep my mind off being nervous. Seeing the words and pictures on paper means the thoughts aren’t in my head.
I close my notebook and lean against the cement wall. Up here, I can watch everyone coming in. I see Isaiah’s mom, Mrs. Oliver. She’s tall, like Isaiah, and dressed in her Gladiators Mom shirt. Mrs. Oliver tracks who’s going to which tournaments and who’s in what weight class, and keeps the whole team organized. If she’s here, Isaiah is around somewhere.
Finally, I spot him. Isaiah and Josh are swinging Isaiah’s little brother, Devin, by his wrists and ankles, like a hammock. Devin laughs as they drop him to the mat, then pile on top of him.
I’m so happy to see them, it pushes the old, angry thoughts about Coach Billy out of my mind. Yeah, I’m going to work hard and kick Spence’s butt this season, but with Josh and Isaiah here, I know I’m also going to have fun. They’re a big part of why I keep coming back, practice after practice, even in February when it feels like the season will never end.
I’m about to run down there and join them, when a girl with two long braids pulls herself to the top of the bleachers.
“Nice view,” she says. She’s wearing an Eagles Wrestling sweatshirt. I ignore her and pull the ankle straps on my shoes tight.
“I’m new,” she says.
Wait. She’s new. As in, new to our team? I give her sweatshirt the eye. “Could’ve fooled me.”
She looks down at the Eagles logo on her chest. “It’s my brother’s.”
“Okay,” I say. But my voice makes it clear, it’s not okay.
“What weight class are you?” she asks.
“Don’t know yet.”
“Yeah, right. Wrestlers always know.”
I size her up. She looks about my weight. Maybe a little taller and skinnier.
“I’m Mickey. Who are you?”
“Lev.” She sure asks a lot of questions. But I’ve got one for her. “Why aren’t you wrestling with your brother?” Wrestlers are loyal. If you’re lucky enough to be from a wrestling family, every kid wrestles for the same team.
“I’ve got two brothers. I thought I’d be an Eagle like them, but the coach won’t let me join.” She puts her elbows on her knees and leans forward. “No girls allowed.”
I’ve wrestled girls a couple times, but that was back in the rec league. There aren’t many girls wrestling travel. And we’ve never had a girl Gladiator before. Still, I say, “That stinks,” because it does. If I had a brother, I’d want to be on the same team as him. “Are your brothers moving to Gladiators too?”
She shakes her head. “They’re in high school. Cody wrestles for St. Matt’s Prep. Evan, he’s the oldest, he used to go to St. Matt’s, but now he’s wrestling for Clifton High.”
That’s Dalia’s school. I look at the girl. Her face is familiar, even though her hair is brown, not red. “I know a guy who wrestles at Clifton. Evan Delgado. He’s my sister’s boyfriend.”
“That’s my brother! You know him?”
I nod. “You’re lucky. Evan’s the best. I wish I had a brother.”
“Some brother. I didn’t even know he had a girlfriend.” She leans against the wall and crosses her arms.
“Well,” I say, hopping off the bleachers. “Welcome to the team.” Why didn’t Evan tell me his sister was joining Gladiators? I decide to set her straight. “Coach Billy’s not going to take it easy on you just because it’s your first practice.” Just because you’re a girl is what I don’t say.
She hops down too. “Bring it on.”
I find Isaiah and Devin sitting in a pile of wrestling bags. Devin lunges at me, but I grab his arms and lean down to grapple with him. He’s a six-year-old version of Isaiah, same long, skinny legs. Devin slips away from my hold, but he falls on his butt. Isaiah and I laugh so hard, I don’t notice a hand grabbing the back of my neck.
“Josh!” I shout. I spin to face my wrestling partner. He gives me a noogie before letting me loose.
“You ready?” Josh says. Last season, we were all in the same weight class. That’s when Coach started calling us the Fearsome Threesome. Josh is about my height, but he’s heavier. I bet he’ll wrestle 100 or 110 this year. Someday he’ll be built like Coach—thick chest, wide shoulders, strong legs.
“Ready,” I say.
Josh shoves Isaiah. “You’d better stop growing,” he jokes. “There’s a height limit for the Fearsome Threesome.”
“My dad wants me to partner with one of the older kids this year,” Isaiah says. “I’m supposed to challenge myself.”
“What? We’re not challenging enough?” Josh says.
Isaiah catches him in a headlock. “Next question?”
One of Abba’s favorite sayings is You’re only as good as your partner. He said the same thing as Isaiah’s dad, that I should ditch Josh and find a more experienced wrestler to train with. Maybe later in the season. Right now, I’m happy to be back with my friends.
The three of us join our teammates jogging around the wrestling mats.
Josh jabs my shoulder. “Is that a girl?”
I look around the room for Mickey. There are kids near her, but they move around as they pass, never getting too close. “Stick your eyes back in your head,” I say.
“You know that Delgado kid, the one who was on the Eagles?”
“Yeah?”
“She’s his sister.”
“Bet she’s good,” Isaiah says.
Coach blows his whistle. “Skip!”
Fifty wrestlers, from tiny six-year-olds to eighth graders with facial hair, skip around the mat. The youngest Gladiators are mostly brothers of boys on the team. They’ve been around the sport and skipped rec league.
“Roll to a shot!”
I duck into a somersault. As soon as I’m right side up, I lunge forward and stretch both arms in front of me, as if I’m grabbing an invisible opponent. Mickey’s across the room. She’s watching me, doing what I do. I don’t care, as long as she stays with the other new kids.
By the time Coach calls, “Bring it in!” I’m wiping sweat off my forehead. The team stands in a circle around him.
Coach’s eyes move from boy to boy. “Wrestling is the sport of philosophers and kings,” he says. “A Roman emperor once said, ‘The wrestler must ever be ready on his guard, and stand firm against the sudden unforeseen events of his adversary.’ ”
I straighten up. I’m ready. On my guard against my adversary. Look out, Nick Spence. I’m coming for you.
Coach describes what he expects in the preseason, which is drilling, drilling, and more drilling. “That’s how you build the muscle memory you need to perform on the mat,” Coach says. Then he looks right at Evan’s sister. “Mickey, front and center.”
I can tell she doesn’t want to be singled out. She looks at the mat, braids hanging over her shoulders. On the bleachers, she seemed tough, but she looks small next to Coach.
“I got news for you guys,” Coach says. “This kid has more courage in her little finger than the rest of this team put together. I’m going to say this one time and one time only. Mickey is a Gladiator. If I catch you mouthing off to her, going easy on her, if I catch you treating Mickey like anything other than your teammate, you’re running laps. Understood?”
