by Laura Shovan
“So Evan says they’re rescheduling. He thinks you should wrestle.”
“You talked to Evan?”
She twists her braid around a finger. “We’re not going out, but that doesn’t mean we’re not friends.” Dalia hands me her phone. “Here. He sent you an email.”
“You’re letting me use your phone.”
“Just read it. I trust you.” Dalia tousles my hair and leaves me alone to read Evan’s message.
Hi, Lev.
Mickey told me you quit Gladiators. If you want to quit, fine, but don’t do it because you lost control and can’t figure out how to fix it. When they reschedule the last qualifier, I hope you get yourself there. You told me you wanted to make it to States. You stood up for my sister. Now be a man, and stand up for yourself.
Your pal,
Evan
I read the email five times. At first, I’m mad. Why should I listen to him? Then I remember what Mr. Van said. You’ve let go of your black-and-white thinking. Evan is trying to fix things. I let his words sink in. It’s time to stand up for myself, leave it all on the mat, and see what happens.
I put on track pants and running shoes. Dalia and Mom are sitting at the kitchen table with a bunch of college brochures. Dalia raises an eyebrow at me. I give her back her phone.
“I’m going for a run.” I pull a knit cap over my headphones.
“The sidewalks aren’t clear. It’s too slippery to run,” Mom says.
“I’ll be careful.”
It’s bright out. Snow covers the neighborhood. Grover stands in the doorway and whines.
“Not this time,” I tell him. I punch up AC/DC on my phone and set off into the cold.
I run through slush, around icy patches, past the basketball hoop at the end of Bryan’s driveway. The freezing wind makes my ears ache, but there’s blood pumping through my muscles.
Abba said one way to look at the story of Jacob’s dream is that he’s wrestling with himself. I’ve been wrestling with myself too. Out here, running with nothing to look at but blank snow, I know I can get back on the mat. And when I do, I’ll know what’s right for me.
* * *
When I get home, Abba tells me the last qualifier has been moved to next Saturday. I have no team, no coach, and five days to get ready.
Mickey’s stuck at home too. We set up a video chat.
“Coach Billy wants you back,” she says. “You needed a break. It’s okay. Everyone understands.”
“That’s not going to work. I need to focus. I can’t do that around Josh and Isaiah.”
“But who’s going to coach you? Your dad?”
“I was thinking maybe Evan.”
I see Mickey smiling on my screen. She nods. “I like that idea. He’s at my dad’s today. There’s a practice mat in the basement. It’s perfect.”
That afternoon, the roads are clear enough that Abba can drive me to Evan’s house.
* * *
There’s no school on Tuesday, or Wednesday. Plows are still clearing some of the roads. Every day, I meet Evan right after breakfast and stay at his house until dinner. There’s no Gladiators practice, so Mickey trains with me.
Evan has a clipboard with a plan for each training session. We drill in the basement for hours, take breaks to eat and play a few video games, and then we’re back downstairs.
On Wednesday, Mickey brings her girls’ Folkstyle championship trophy to show me.
“Do you think I have a chance at States?” she asks.
I pretend to scrub my goatee like Coach Billy. “You win right here in the practice room, Delgado.” She punches my arm, but not too hard.
Evan shows me how to get out of defensive mode, how to attack my opponent with control. “It’s something I’m working on too,” he says. We haven’t talked about the Glenmont dual meet. But when Mickey and I work on cross-face, Evan says, “You’re hesitating, Lev.”
I sit back and let Mickey up. “I don’t want to hurt her.”
Evan kneels down. “Take top,” he says. I rest my chest against his broad back.
Evan takes my right arm and pulls it across his forehead. “You’re aiming up here. If you’re just slamming your arm around, you could hurt her, but you’re not going to do that. You know why?”
I shake my head.
“Because you’re a thinker, always planning your next move.”
Mickey nudges Evan’s butt with her wrestling shoe. “Tell Lev.”
Evan and I both sit up. “I emailed that kid,” he says. “The one from Glenmont. I didn’t mean to hurt him. I lost control.”
Mickey nudges him again. “Evan offered to pay his doctor bills.”
“You did?”
“I’ll have to get a summer job. It was a clean break, no surgery, but yeah.”
Evan says he’ll lend me an old singlet for the qualifier, since I can’t wear the Gladiators one. “What if it doesn’t fit?” I ask.
“You can borrow my Wonder Woman singlet,” Mickey says.
I chase her around the mat until Evan claps his hands and sets us up for the next drill.
* * *
On Saturday, I wake up to the sound of rain. There’s mist from the evaporating snow. For the first time this season, Dalia is coming to a tournament. Evan’s meeting us at the Naval Academy’s athletic dome. All the kids who still hope to earn a spot at States are here.
I weigh in, put my headphones on, and warm up to AC/DC. Evan’s job is to watch the match numbers and manage my bracket. My job is to stay focused.
Across the dome, I see Spence running stairs on an empty set of bleachers. He comes over while I’m putting on my headgear.
“Did you think about what I asked you, Sofer?”
“Yeah. I haven’t figured anything out yet, but I’m working on it.”
“I’m going to crush you today.” He grins. “No hard feelings.”
I put out my hand. “May the best wrestler win.” Nick grips my hand and we shake.
No matter how I feel about wrestling tomorrow, today it’s good to be back. I’m wrestling well. I win my first match by a major decision.
As I warm up for my bout against Nick, Coach Billy comes over. He’s here with a few Gladiators who still hope to earn a spot at States. With his beat-up ears and big shoulders, he looks like an actual gladiator.
I’m not mad at Coach anymore. It’s not his fault I lost to Nick last year. He was right, I was wrestling defensively, waiting for the other guy to make the first move. If I hadn’t taken a shot, the ref would have called me for stalling and given Nick a point.
Coach puts an arm around my shoulder. “You’ll always have a place on my team, Lev,” he says. “Once a Gladiator, always a Gladiator.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
“Go get him.” Billy the Kid slaps my shoulder.
I put on the red ankle cuff. Spence is across from me. He puts the green cuff on, then bounces up and down, slapping his thighs. We set in neutral.
The whistle blows. Nick puts a palm on my forehead and I grab the back of his neck, pushing my elbow into his chest.
In my mind, I hear Coach Billy’s voice. Don’t let him get in your head. I understand what that means now. Think for myself. Wrestle by my own code.
Nick tries to grapple with me, but I pop his elbow up and duck underneath his arm. I hold tight to his head, spinning him to the ground.
“Two!” the ref shouts.
I keep his head locked up and drive my knee into his butt. Nick’s face hits the mat. He points to his nose. The ref stops us, signaling blood time.
My gut drops. I look at Evan.
“It’s okay,” he says. “Stay cool.”
Dr. Spence is plugging Nick’s nose in the other corner.
I can’t help it, I’m cautious for the rest of first period
and into second. Nick gets a reversal on me, tying the score, 2–2.
I hear Abba and Dalia shouting my name from the stands, but Evan’s voice is the one I focus on. “Control,” he says. “Be aggressive, with control.”
I’ve got one minute to do this. From down position, I move on the whistle, stepping a foot up until I’m standing. Nick’s hands are clasped in the middle of my stomach. I dig my thumbs into his grip, pushing his hands apart.
“Break that!” Evan shouts.
I feel Nick’s hands slipping. He tries to hold on, but I’m out.
“One!”
It’s a point for me. I turn to face Nick, but the buzzer sounds. It’s over. We meet in the middle of the mat and shake hands.
“Good match,” Nick says. I pat him on the back. Then the ref is raising my hand.
I did it. There’s no big celebration. Evan shakes my hand. Abba nods at me. I can tell he’s proud.
My next match is a close one against a girl from Navy’s youth team. We go two rounds without a score. At the start of the third period, I’m down man. I sit out and get one point for the escape. I can grapple and stall for the rest of the period, or use what Evan taught me and go on the attack.
I take a shot on her leg, pull it against my chest. She reaches for my ankle, but I’m too fast. I trip her standing foot. She’s falling. For a second, I hesitate, make sure she lands safely.
“Short time!” Evan calls. “Get your two.”
I catch the girl around the neck as she goes down, pulling her into a cradle. My arm hits the mat, cushioning her head. She’s more flexible than a boy, but because I trained with Mickey, I know what I have to do to get the takedown.
When the match clock buzzes, the ref is holding up two fingers. I look at the judges’ table: 2–0.
People in the stands are cheering, but not for me. “Great match, Jules!” the Navy parents yell.
I shake hands with her. “You’ve got fans.”
She smiles. “They think girl wrestlers are tough, even when we lose.”
I shake hands with her coach, then jump into a hug from Evan. He lifts me off the ground.
“You did it! You’re in! State championships, here we come!”
“I’ve got one more match, Evan.”
He picks me up again and shakes me. “States! States! States!”
Dalia is jumping up and down. “You two make a great team,” she says to me and Evan. As my sister hugs me, I remember what Dalia told me. Evan is always trying to measure up to the wrestler he was in eighth grade. I get that now. This is my best moment, I tell myself.
“Do the Gladiators parents cheer for Mickey like that?” Dalia asks me.
“Yeah, but they’re not that loud.” Maybe they should be. An idea is forming in my head. I find my pen and write a few lines in my notebook, so I don’t forget.
Evan sits next to me.
“You’re a good coach,” I tell him.
“You’re easy to work with.”
“You should coach wrestling. For real.”
He pushes back his red hair. “I do need to earn money this summer. Maybe I’ll help out at a wrestling camp. But first, we’ve got to get you and Mickey ready for States.”
“Will you be mad if I don’t go?”
Evan’s head snaps back in surprise. “Why wouldn’t you go? You earned it.”
I don’t know how to explain it. I pushed myself harder than ever this week. But now I’ve done it. I earned my spot at States, beat Nick Spence. I came back and showed myself I could wrestle hard and win. If I go to States, it’s going to be more of the same.
“I just—I don’t want to wrestle.” As I hear myself say the words, all the tightness in my chest relaxes. I gave it another chance and figured out I’m done. I don’t want to wrestle. Not next week. Maybe not ever.
Evan nods. He’s always taken me seriously. “Okay,” he says.
* * *
There’s one more person I have to tell. Bryan.
I used to think it would be the coolest thing, competing at States with Bryan there to see what a great wrestler I am.
On the school bus, I tell him I’m skipping the big tournament. “I know we had a deal,” I say. “Don’t be too disappointed.”
“No worries,” Bryan says. “But if you ever go pro, I want ringside tickets. Free ones.”
“Hey, can I ask you something?”
“You want me to manage your pro wrestling career?”
“I’m serious, Bry. When I wrestle with you at the bus stop, and in front of school, is that okay?”
Bryan shrugs. “Not really. When we were little it was kind of fun.”
“You didn’t say anything.”
“You never asked me before.”
“From now on, if I have the urge to tackle you and push your face in the dirt, I’ll ask first. Deal?”
Bryan smiles. “Deal.”
The night before States, I sleep over at Dad’s house. Ever since I qualified for the tournament, he’s been coming to Gladiators practice once a week, helping Coach Billy get our team ready for States. Early tomorrow morning, Kenna’s coming over to braid my hair. Then Dad will drive us to the tournament.
Evan’s out tonight, so Dad and I sit alone at the kitchen island, eating bowls of cereal for dinner. Dad’s place is okay. The furniture’s fine, but everything is brown and navy blue. The walls, the carpets, even the shower curtain. His idea of decorating is putting his jujitsu bag in the corner. When I’m here, I miss Mom’s colorful couch pillows and the vase of flowers she keeps by the front door. It’s cozier at home.
Dad puts his elbow on the counter, inviting me to arm-wrestle. I grab his hand with both of mine and force his arm down with all my 95 pounds.
He whistles. “Look out! Mickey Delgado is gonna storm the state championships.”
“You’ve got that right,” I say. “But, Dad, can you call me Mikayla?”
“No more Mickey?”
“It’s babyish. And I’m tired of having two names.”
Dad clears away our bowls and spoons. “Your mother will be thrilled.”
“She’s coming tomorrow, right?”
“Everyone’s coming. Mom and Cody. Evan’s going to pick up Lev. You’ll have your own fan club.”
I take a deep breath. If I was brave enough to talk to Mom about Evan, I can be brave enough to remind Dad of our deal.
“Dad? I know you’re Evan’s team manager right now, but can it be my turn next season?”
“What do you mean?”
All I want is for Dad to treat me the same as my brothers, to be a member of the Delgado Fearsome Foursome. “You said if I showed you I was serious, that I could compete with travel kids, you’d help coach my team. You’d be great. You know way more than the other dads who volunteer. And you promised.”
Dad kisses the top of my head. He hasn’t done that in a long time. It was like a switch flipped in his brain when I finished elementary school. I wasn’t his little girl anymore. I don’t think I’m anyone’s little girl, but it’s nice that I don’t have to feel like a big kid all the time.
“You’re right. It’s your turn,” Dad says. “Evan’s got to figure things out on his own. I’ll talk to Billy. Also, I have a surprise for you.”
I sit up tall at the counter, trying to peek as Dad pulls a red gift bag out of a cupboard.
“Open it.” Dad’s trying not to grin.
The bag is light. I reach past the tissue paper and pull out a white T-shirt. On the shoulders, DELGADO is printed in knife-sharp letters.
“Are you crying?” I ask my father.
“What if I am?”
“I love it.” I get off the stool and give my father a gigantic hug.
* * *
In the morning, Mrs. Franklin drops Kenna off. Da
d makes Kenna hot chocolate while she does my hair.
“I’m super proud of you,” Kenna says. “No matter how you do today.”
I close my eyes and feel the familiar pull and tug of her hands on my hair. It’s like things used to be, the two of us getting ready before a tournament. When it’s time to leave, we sit in the back seat of the car, sharing my headphones so we can both listen to the tournament-day songs she and Lalita chose for me.
The state championships last for two days. My age group wrestles today. Little guys like Devin get their turn tomorrow. With nearly a thousand kids in this tournament, it’s not easy finding Lev. It still doesn’t feel right that he’s not wrestling. He earned the right to be here. Lev is my friend, but that doesn’t mean I understand him.
Kenna and I walk the loop around the top of Towson University’s basketball arena, taking it all in—the bright lights, the yellow seats. Music blares over the sound system. Eight mats cover the basketball court from end to end.
“This place is huge,” she says. “I’m glad you’re the one wrestling and not me. Look at all these people.”
Lev runs up to us. “Whoa! Cool shirt,” he says. “It looks just like Evan’s tattoo.”
“Kenna, this is Lev,” I say. Yeah, it’s awkward. We’re middle schoolers. The way Kenna’s looking at him, trying to figure out if Lev matches all my descriptions. Brown hair, freckles, funny ears. He’s wearing jeans and a grass-green polo shirt. It looks good on him, but I realize I was hoping he’d change his mind, that I’d walk into the arena today and Lev would be wearing his Gladiators singlet and red shorts, that we’d be warming up together with the rest of the team.
I’m relieved when Lev starts talking.
“I’ve never wrestled in a stadium like this,” he says. “It’s the big time. You must be pumped.”
“I am. And freaking out. This place is enormous. Did you see the upper level?” I turn to Kenna. “The top of the bleachers is the best place to sit at a tournament. Lev taught me that.”
