Takedown

by Laura Shovan

  “I’ll make us hot chocolate,” Mom says.

  I take my time in the shower. Am I going to tell Mom what happened at the dual meet? What if she yells at me for snitching on Evan? I don’t know if I can handle that. What makes it worse is that Dad was at the match. If I tell Mom what happened and she agrees with Lev, that Evan injured another wrestler on purpose, she’ll be furious with Dad. He should have stopped Evan somehow. If I open my mouth about the match, my parents might get in a big fight.

  Kenna says I’ll do the right thing, but I don’t know what that is. Wrestlers are supposed to be strong, and fearless, but I’m eleven. This is way bigger than I am.

  By the time I’m in pajamas, I’ve decided. I’m going to tell Mom what I saw and that’s it. What Lev thinks is his own business. But when I come downstairs, she’s standing in the kitchen in her pink bathrobe, arms wrapped around Evan. He’s not supposed to be here tonight. His red head is bright against Mom’s shoulder. Is he crying? I stop in the doorway.

  “Dalia broke up with him.” Mom pats his back.

  “Mom, I need to talk to you. You promised.” It’s not fair. Evan left to go live with Dad. He can’t show up and take Mom whenever he feels like it.

  Mom hands Evan tissues. He wipes his eyes and gives me a sad smile. “Hey, Mighty Mite. I’m a mess.”

  Part of me wants to run over and wrap my arms around his middle, the way I always do. The other part wants to scream, What about me? I’m a mess. I need Mom too.

  Cody walks into the house. He’s about to throw his wrestling bag on the floor when he freezes and stares at all of us. He puts up his hands and backs down the hall. “Whoa. I’ll come back later.”

  “Give me a few minutes with Evan,” Mom says to me.

  I pound up the stairs. Cody is right behind me.

  “Why does he do that?” I ask my brother.

  “Do what?”

  “Take over. Evan has to be the best. He’s a better wrestler than us. He’s cooler than us. Mom loves him more than us.”

  Cody follows me to my room. He’s grown so much, he fills up the doorway. “Okay. I’m Next Man Up. Talk to me.” Cody pushes his sweaty hair out of his face.

  “Fine.” I sit cross-legged on the floor.

  Cody sits too, his knees up against mine. “Mickey, Mom doesn’t love Evan more than us. She just misses him.”

  “She lets him get away with stuff. Everyone lets him get away with stuff.”

  “How do you think I feel? I’m stuck being the middle kid between Number One Son and the Little Princess.”

  I throw my plushie hedgehog at him. “I am not a little princess.”

  “I know. You’re Mighty Mite. I think you’re tougher than any of us.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” He tosses Spike the hedgehog back to me. “You can tell me, you know. I’ll listen.”

  “You’re not going to like it.”

  “Try me.” Cody leans against my bed. His sweaty, disgusting St. Matt’s Wrestling shirt is touching my bedspread, but I let it slide. I tell him everything that happened at Evan’s dual meet, what I saw, and what Lev thinks. I tell him how Lev skipped a practice and wouldn’t partner with me tonight.

  “Lev thinks Evan hurt that Glenmont wrestler on purpose. And now he’s mad at me, because I’m sticking up for my brother.”

  Cody whistles. “And Dalia goes and breaks up with him. That is way too much drama.” He pulls my bare feet into his lap and pinches my big toe. “What do you think? Did Evan hurt that kid?”

  I fill my chest with air and blow it out. “Maybe.” I look at Cody. “Should I tell Mom? Dad was there. He saw what happened and didn’t say anything. It could get ugly.”

  Cody tilts his head to his shoulder. “Mom might not even believe you. She doesn’t always think straight when it comes to Number One Son.”

  I nod, relieved. Cody understands.

  “I could tell her for you.”

  “Thanks,” I say. Cody’s trying to protect me. It makes me feel better, knowing he would do that. “I think I have to tell her myself.”

  He swings his arms and pops up to standing in one motion. “You’ve got this, sis. You’re a tough kid.”

  I hold up my hedgehog. “Spike says you’re a good brother, Cody.”

  What I told Mickey, that I’m running out of steam, is true. I could never say it to Josh or Isaiah. They’d think I was weak, or start quoting Billy the Kid at me. “Give it all you’ve got.” It’s the Gladiators’ motto. I don’t know if I’ve got enough strength to finish this season.

  Mickey’s the only person who might understand, but instead of listening, she yelled at me, said I think I’m better than everyone.

  For a long time, I convinced myself it was everyone else’s fault that I didn’t make States last year. I blamed Nick for taunting me at tournaments, teasing me at school because I cried after a hard loss. I blamed Coach Billy for telling me to take a shot when I wanted to turtle up and stall. But now I see that was my fault too. Last year, at the end of my first travel season, I had no fight left when it came time to beat Spence.

  I trudge up our front steps after practice. When Abba opens our front door, the smell of chicken soup rushes out to greet me. Mom has a rule. She doesn’t cook after eight p.m., but there she is, in the kitchen, wearing her cupcake apron. There are carrots and a carton of eggs on the counter. A big soup pot sits on the stove.

  “It smells good,” I say.

  “You smell like teenage boy,” she complains.

  I catch Abba shaking his head and frowning at Mom. He’s telling her, Bad day. Don’t tease Lev. They do this all the time, talk to each other without words. Will I ever know someone well enough to do that?

  Abba looks in the pot. “Saaba’s matzo ball soup?” He grabs a chunk of carrot off the counter and lobs it into Grover’s waiting mouth.

  I’m confused. “We only eat matzo ball soup at Passover.”

  “Dalia needs comfort food,” Mom says. She slides an elastic off her wrist and pulls her hair back. “She broke up with Evan. It’s too late for candles, but we are going to sit down and have Shabbat dinner, even if it’s ten o’clock at night.”

  “Why’d she do that?” I ask, but I think I know the answer.

  “Shower first,” Mom says. “Then we’ll eat, and we’ll talk.”

  Abba dips a spoon into the pot and takes a sip. He kisses Mom’s cheek. “I’ll check on Dalia,” he says. He pushes me up the stairs. “Go shower. The steam will be good for your headache.”

  He’s right. The rushing water drowns out the ringing in my ears, chasing away the noise of practice, the rubber smell of wrestling mats. But it can’t change the fact that I was mean to Mickey, that I’m not any closer to making States and proving I’m better than Nick Spence.

  You think you’re better than everyone, Lev Sofer.

  Dalia and Abba are still upstairs when I get back to the kitchen, dressed in my pajama pants and T-shirt.

  “I’m glad she broke up with him,” I tell Mom.

  She turns her Future Guidance Counselor eyes on me. Maybe Mom thinks if she looks at me long enough, she’ll get X-ray vision and see inside my head. “Why would you say that, Lev?”

  I lean down and press my face against Grover’s soft ears. “Evan’s not safe.”

  “Come sit.”

  I follow Mom to the table and rest my head on my arms like a pillow.

  “Dalia told me about the meet,” Mom says. When I don’t say anything, she lifts my chin up. “It’s not going away, honey. You can’t sleep it off, or wrestle it away.”

  My stomach is tight. “Mickey says it was an accident. But that’s not true. I saw him do it, Mom. The ref missed it.”

  She takes my hand and wraps it in her palms. “That’s okay. It’s what Mickey needs to belie
ve,” she explains. “Evan is her brother. As much as it hurts you to see that Evan isn’t perfect, think how your friend must feel.”

  I hold my breath for a second.

  “Give her time to deal with it her own way.” Mom stands up and smooths her apron. “Ready for soup?”

  I nod. Maybe this counseling stuff Mom is learning isn’t all bad. She might actually be good at it.

  Dalia and Abba come to the kitchen. We sit at the table long after blessings, long after our soup bowls are empty, and Dalia explains what happened with Evan. It wasn’t the dual meet. That was only the last thing. On the night of the party, Dalia saw the way Evan argued with his father, then stormed out of the house.

  “He would’ve left me there, if I hadn’t followed him,” she says. “And then he wouldn’t go back and work things out. We drove around half the night. It took him hours to calm down. I don’t have time for that.”

  I lean against Mom.

  “Bed for you,” she says.

  “Not yet.”

  Dalia says, “This is what I want.” She spreads out her hands and waves them over the table. “I want to sit at the table and talk. We can be mad at each other and eat soup and work things out.”

  Abba laughs. “That’s why they say chicken soup is good for the soul.”

  This is what I want too. More family dinners on Shabbat. Fewer Saturdays stuck in a gym, pushing myself to break some kid down until he’s flat on the mat. But I can’t break up with wrestling the way Dalia can with Evan. I’ve been part of the sport since I was seven years old. It’s who I am.

  Mom comes to my room first thing on Saturday. She sits behind me on the bed, braiding my hair for the tournament.

  “I’m sorry about last night, Mikayla. We never had a chance to talk.”

  “I noticed.”

  Mom’s coffee breath is comforting and familiar. If I don’t say anything, we can stay like this. Me, Cody, and Mom get along fine. So what if Evan comes home every couple weeks and sweeps us all up in his problems?

  Mom begins to hum. It’s “Edelweiss,” a song from The Sound of Music. She used to sing it to me when I was small. And that’s when I know, no matter what I say, Mom loves me.

  I turn to face her. “I have to tell you something. It’s about Evan. You’re not going to like it.”

  Mom’s face tightens. She rolls her shoulders. “I’m ready.”

  When I lay out the whole story for her, all she does is nod.

  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner, Mikayla?”

  Spike the hedgehog sits in my lap. I squeeze him in my hands. “I was afraid. You say I have to be loyal to our family no matter what. And you and Dad always put Evan first.”

  Mom starts to protest, but I stop her.

  “Okay. Not always, but you do. When he messes up like this, gets so angry or upset that he doesn’t think straight, you make excuses. It’s not good for him. And you push me and Cody out, but we know what’s happening.”

  Mom looks in her lap, instead of at me, so I put my hand over hers.

  “Is Evan going to be okay?”

  “He’s going back to Dad’s today.”

  “Oh.”

  “It’s not perfect,” Mom says. “But Evan needs Dad. Your father may be obsessed with sports, but underneath he’s a gentle man.” She closes her eyes. “I’m glad you told me, honey. You’re right. We have to make some changes. I’ll talk to your father. Speaking of which”—Mom stands up, full of energy again—“he’ll be here in thirty minutes.”

  “Dad’s taking me to the qualifier?”

  “He insisted. He said this is The One.”

  I hope Dad is right. If I place in the top three today, I’ll be the youngest Delgado ever to make States. Maybe, now that I told Mom what’s been bothering me, I’ll be able to focus and wrestle.

  Dad and I are quiet in the car. I asked Mom not to speak with him until we get back. It’s an hour-long drive to Frederick. I listen to the playlist of songs Kenna and Lalita made for me at the beginning of the season. Dad drinks his coffee. We get there with plenty of time to weigh in. I’ve been creeping up on 95 pounds this month. Dad raises his eyebrows at me. I have to make sure I stay under 95 for a couple more weeks. I don’t want to be like Josh Kim, struggling in a higher weight class right at the end of the season.

  I climb to the top of the bleachers, but Lev’s not there. The buzz of the tournament feels far away, like I’m standing on a tall building. All the people and their noise are far below, where they can’t touch me.

  So this is why Lev likes it up here, I tell myself.

  When Dad comes to get me for my first match, he waves a hand in front of my face. “Find your focus, Mickey. Whatever’s bothering you, put it aside.”

  “I’m fine, Dad. I’m ready.” I’ve been holding so many things inside. I can’t wait to get on the mat and take it all out on someone.

  My first bout is close. I lose by one point.

  “You should’ve had that,” Dad says. I pull off my headgear and hair cap, but before I can shake my braids out, Dad puts his hands on either side of my head. “You’re wrestling sloppy.”

  I’ve seen him get in Evan’s face, and Cody’s, at tournaments, but he’s never done it to me. Dad’s nose is close to mine. I see his red-brown stubble and the tight muscles in his neck. My eyes prickle. I can’t cry at a tournament.

  “You didn’t wrestle to win. You’ve got to convince yourself you can win, no matter who’s across the mat from you. Doesn’t matter if it’s a boy, a girl, or a hedgehog.” He puts a hand on my forehead and smirks. “You got me?”

  I blink the tears away. “Yes, Dad.”

  “You’ll have to wrestle yourself out of a hole if you want third place.”

  Dad sits in his canvas chair and types notes about my match into his phone. Dad’s paying attention, real attention, for the first time. He can be harsh, but I know he wants to help me get better.

  I come up behind the chair and put my arms around his neck. “When’s my next match?”

  Dad hands me the phone. I look over the bracket again. I see Lev’s name, and Nick’s.

  “I’m going to find Lev.”

  When I’m sure Dad’s busy with his phone, I duck out to the concession stand, buy a pack of Twizzlers, then climb up the bleachers.

  This time, he’s there, sitting in his usual spot.

  “Nice view,” I say. Lev doesn’t answer. “I wasn’t sure you were coming until I saw the bracket sheet.”

  I hold out the Twizzlers. Lev pulls a couple of red twists from the pack. We lean against the wall, staring at the crowd while we chew.

  “My father was the one who got Evan into wrestling,” I tell him. “He wrestled too, when he was in high school. It was the one thing he and Evan kept doing together, after Dad moved out.”

  I nibble the end of my Twizzler. I can’t tell if Lev’s paying attention, but I keep going. “Then Cody started. All the custody time Dad was supposed to spend with us on weekends? It was at wrestling tournaments. I used to have a Wonder Woman backpack for tournament days. It had coloring books, Go Fish cards, and a sleeping bag. Evan would make a bed for me across the bleachers and half the time I fell asleep.”

  “Why did you start wrestling?” Lev asks.

  “I wanted to be like my brothers. Being a Delgado means being a wrestler. What about you?”

  “I used to get occupational therapy, when I was little,” Lev says, without looking at me. “I couldn’t handle loud noises, or lumpy foods like mashed potatoes and bananas. But I liked crashing into stuff. I was always banging into kids on the playground. The OT told my mom I should try wrestling.”

  We’re quiet for a minute. “Evan’s not a bad person,” I say. My eyes are prickling again.

  “I know.” Lev grabs another Twizzler from the pack. “It st
ill wasn’t right, what he did.”

  “I know,” I say, “but it’s complicated. When you’re on the mat, when your head is trapped between some kid’s sweaty arm and his ribs, it’s hard to think about right and wrong. I just want to get out. I want to get out and beat him, no matter what it takes.”

  “I don’t know if I’m like that,” Lev says. “If that’s what it takes to win, maybe I’m not a wrestler, after all.”

  “You are a wrestler, Lev. I’ve learned so much from being your partner.” I stand up. “I have a match soon. Want to warm up with me?” But Lev is already leaning over his notebook.

  * * *

  I win the next match. When I check the updated bracket sheet, I see that Nick lost to the same kid who beat me this morning. That means he’s my next opponent.

  I jog back and forth along the mat, where Josh Kim is wrestling a kid from the Gold Medal team. The ref raises Josh’s hand. I step up to the judges’ table. A mom with long black hair and a Gold Medal Wrestling shirt blinks her big mascaraed lashes at me.

  “Aren’t you precious with your pink wrestling shoes and knee socks? What’s your name, sweetie?”

  I refuse to smile at her. “Delgado.”

  Isaiah’s mother takes the timekeeper’s seat next to Lash Lady. Lev runs up to the table carrying a duct-taped towel. He nods at me. He must be helping to keep time. His dad is busy volunteering on another mat.

  In our corner, Coach Billy picks me up by the shoulders, the way Dad always does when he’s coaching me or my brothers. He squeezes me, stretching out my shoulders until my feet leave the floor.

  Nick Spence checks in at the judges’ table. He looks to the Eagles’ corner. Dr. Spence has his arms crossed over his chest. I’m surprised to see Nick’s sister there too. She tugs on her father’s sleeve and says, “That’s the girl with the pink shoes.” I smile and give her a wave.

  I hear Nick tell the judges, “I forfeit.”