Prologue

“What just happened?” I’m thinking with horror. I can hear my coaches shouting, the sound of their voices overpowered by the sound of my labored breathing. “Did I just blow it?” I can’t remember anything that happened since my last peek at the scoreboard, which indicated that I was ahead 4-2 with thirty-nine seconds left in the match.

Now I’m on my back looking at the ceiling lights, and the referee is counting back points.

I realize with dread that my plan of stalling out the last half-minute has failed.

I fight with all the strength I can muster, and somehow manage to flip onto my stomach.

I look at the scoreboard again and see that the score is tied. There are now eleven seconds left in regulation time. A lot has happened in twenty-eight seconds.

Unless something changes, this match is heading to overtime. I’m gripped with an intense fear because I am completely spent. My panic is compounded by a feeling that my opponent getting stronger and more confident even as I wither. I know he’s relishing the thought of wrestling into overtime just as I’m cowering from it.

The seconds seem like years. Now there are just eight seconds left in regulation time.

Although I’m no longer on my back, I’m still wrapped up tightly in my opponent’s cradle. I know there is no way I can end the match by scoring the tie-breaking points

myself. His hold is too tight and the time remaining is too short, even if I somehow find the resolve to try.

Another second ticks by. Soon it will be too late to avoid overtime. But I can’t go on. I

think of all the hard work and sacrifices I’ve made over the past three years to get to this

point. I have an opportunity to go further than anybody thought I could, especially my

own teammates. If I lose this match, nobody will ever remember that I’d come within

thirty-nine seconds of making it to the state tournament. But none of that matters. I just

can’t go on. I thought I had what it takes but now I realize I don’t.

There is only one alternative to overtime. It’s unthinkable, but in my state of despair the

unthinkable has become reasonable.

I look at the clock again and see that there are now only seven seconds remaining. It has

to be now, or time will run out with no change in scoring, sending the match into overtime. I know I can’t score, and the only way my opponent can score to break the tie is to put me on my back again. But it has to be now.

Chapter 1 -- Idea

“I wonder if I could get back into high school and wrestle again,” I remarked. After I

said it I watched Brad’s face closely.

Brad had been my best friend for years. He was nineteen years old already; I would

turn nineteen in September. We had met in elementary school and stayed close through

high school. After graduation he enrolled at East Carolina University. I stayed closer to

home at North Carolina State University, where I had just completed my freshman year.

I had planned the seemingly off-the-cuff remark to Brad for weeks. It was designed to

sound like it was made in jest, but I was quite serious. Ever since the idea had dawned

on me I’ve been looking for just the right opportunity to say it out loud. Brad was my

best friend but I didn’t know how he would feel about it, so I sent it up as a trial balloon.

The idea first came to me during the winter. I was watching a local high school match in Raleigh. Neither of the teams was very talented and the bigger guys seemed to be particularly bad on both sides. I compared my ability to theirs, and decided that I could probably beat every wrestler on both teams. Whether my judgment was correct was unimportant. What mattered was that suddenly I was envisioning myself down on the mat, wrestling against one of the athletes who were there legitimately. My idea was born.

I wondered what would have happened, what the people in the bleachers would have

thought, if I had emerged from one of the locker rooms in a uniform, and took to the mat.

They wouldn’t have even batted an eye, I had decided, because I knew I looked at least as young as any high school kid. I knew, because people told me all the time, never realizing how offensive it was to me.

I thought about it for the next few days, modifying the fantasy bit by bit to make it more realistic. Soon, I had myself in the starting lineup of a high school team, winning match after match over every opponent who crossed my path. After a few weeks, it had turned into more than a fantasy, and was well on the way to becoming a plan.

There was a reason why I fantasized about something so strange. I had left something undone in high school, because of a momentary lapse of courage that had haunted me ever since. It was what had ended my high school career.

Late Saturday afternoon during the regional tournament in my senior year I wrestled the most important match of my life. A win meant a berth in the state tournament, but a loss meant my season and high school career were over. My opponent was a beatable senior from Vanceboro who had been seeded 6th.

I wrestled well, and scored a takedown in the first period. During the second period I picked up two more points on a reversal that took nearly the entire period to earn.

Heading into the third period I had a solid 4-0 lead. Knowing I would start on top, I planned to kill as much time as possible, surrender a two-point reversal if I had to, and then run out the clock. This strategy of building a lead and then sitting on it had been effective for me throughout the season although my coaches hadn’t been happy about it.

Initially, things went according to plan in the third period. With forty-five seconds left in the match, I gave up the reversal when my opponent was pressing. I looked at the clock and saw that there were thirty-nine seconds remaining. With a two-point lead, all I had to do was stay off my back, and victory would be mine. It didn’t unfold that way. A few minutes later I found myself sitting against a cold

gymnasium wall, covered with perspiration, with my head in my hands. As I struggled to

regain my breath I was despondent over blowing a four-point lead and losing what turned

out to be the last match of my high school career. I looked up long enough to hurl my

headgear high into the crowded bleachers, without concern about whom or what was in

its path. Without bothering to watch its flight, I again buried my head as my agony

intensified.

I had relived the final moments of that match in my mind a thousand times. Nobody

but me, of course, knew that I had chosen to give up the third back point to end the match

rather than continue into overtime. I never told anybody, not even my best friend. It

stayed with me, though. I never went more than a few days without experiencing the

pain that goes with remembering. If I’d had the fortitude to go into overtime, what could

I have accomplished? No matter what, it was a painful ending that left so many questions

that I had been tortured by ever since.

Brad just laughed at what I had said. He probably hadn’t even heard me clearly, or

didn’t realize that I was completely serious. How could he? I asked him again. It was

important to me to know how he felt.

“I’m not joking, Brad,” I said. “What do you think? Could I go back?”

The smirk disappeared from his face after I repeated it. It was then that he knew I

wasn’t joking, and was seriously considering the idea. Nevertheless, he needed one more

confirmation. “You’re serious? What do you mean, ‘go back’? How could you do it?

Don’t you think somebody would recognize you?” “I’ve already thought it out, of course,” I replied. “I couldn’t do it here. I’d have to

move away, and become a different person in a different place.”

“Oh, now it makes sense,” he said sarcastically. He shook his head in a mixture of

amusement and dismay. “I need to hear you say it. Are you serious about this?” He

paused for a moment. “This is just about wrestling, right?”

“Brad, I blew it my senior year,” I pleaded. “You know that. I should have gone much farther. Most guys get two or three years on varsity, so a mistake like that isn’t fatal. It isn’t fair that I only had one year. I was up a weight class, too. I had no business being at 167, but I still pulled out a lot of wins. Just think if I could have stayed at 155.”

I didn’t even mention my mother. She had passed away midway through that season,

as a result of injuries suffered in a car accident. Even though we had known her death

was inevitable during the weeks that she spent in the hospital, I never felt like I completely focused on wrestling after she died.

Brad sighed. We had brought this up many times, but really just danced around the edges of how I felt. This was probably the first time he knew how deeply I felt about it.

“It’s all I think about,” I added. “Still.”

He obviously didn’t like my idea, as I had expected. “Let’s say you had won all those

matches, and even won the state tournament. Would your life be any different today?” he

asked.

“Probably not,” I admitted, “except that maybe I wouldn’t be so obsessed.”

He sighed with exasperation. “Here’s something else,” he said. “That was almost 2

years ago. How do you know you could still wrestle at all?” “You know I’ve never stopped wrestling since then,” I said. It was true, and it was

part of my obsession. Just a few weeks ago I had entered the open division of an AAU

tournament and had placed third against a mix of high school and college wrestlers. I had also wrestled intramurals at N.C. State, and had made it to the finals of that tournament.

At N.C. State I had befriended some wrestlers and had actually worked out with the team.

Those guys were all far better wrestlers than I was, but I was sure that it had helped me to

improve. Physically I was in better shape than I had ever been, having become a more

dedicated weight lifter. I was much more devoted now to personal training, both strength

and cardiovascular. Yeah, I told Brad, I thought I could still compete at the high school

level.

“You actually think you could pull this off?” he asked with understandable skepticism.

“You think that you could pop up in some town someplace, sign up at the high school and

fake your way through as a student? There’d be more to this than the wrestling, you

know. You’d have a whole life to fake.”

He had just stated my plan in its entirety. “I look the part, you know that at least,” I

said.

“Yeah, after all the times everybody thought you were my son,” laughed Brad. He

had the opposite problem. His hair was already thinning, he always seemed to have a

five o’clock shadow, and he had put on some weight since we started college.

“Have you picked a place to go yet?” he asked.

“Yup,” I answered. “New Jersey.” “Joisey,” he said. “Let me ask you this, Ben,” he said, turning serious. “What would you do when this is over, assuming you aren’t in jail? Would you turn back into yourself? Then, you’ll have two disappearing acts to cover up.”

I hadn’t thought about that, but didn’t want to admit it. “I’ll just play it by ear,” I said

simply.

“What about all the friends and family you’ll be leaving behind?” he asked,

continuing to play devil’s advocate.

“I’ll stay in touch,” I said. “They have phones up there. I don’t really have that many

friends here, except for you. My dad isn’t here anyway; I’ll just be calling him from a

different place.”

After my mom died, my father had retired. He sold the house in North Carolina and moved down to live in Florida. I had thought that most of the Florida retirees were there

to escape harsh winters, and so it seemed odd that he chose to move there, given that

Raleigh winters were pretty mild. I figured he just wanted to get away. He always blamed himself for the accident that ultimately killed Mom, because he was driving. For me it would make things easier. I could maintain my schedule of weekly phone calls and occasional visits from anyplace.

Money wouldn’t be a problem, as I explained to Brad. My father was as disinterested in me as he was about everything else since the accident. He was, however, pumping money for college into my bank account without asking very many questions. It would

be enough for me to live modestly, as long as I could stand myself as I deceived him. I

really didn’t think he cared about anything anymore anyway. It was only after careful consideration that I had decided that New Jersey would be the

place in which I would resurface. It was densely populated and I thought that maybe

there was less chance of being noticed. It was also one of the top wrestling states in the

country.

There was another reason why New Jersey was a good choice. The eligibility

regulations for high school athletics varied from state to state. In that state, an athlete

who turned nineteen after the school year had begun was eligible to compete for that

entire school year. I didn’t plan on revealing my true age anyway, but somehow it gave

me some comfort to know that I wouldn’t be violating an age restriction. There was

even a chance that I might go against somebody my own age.

A few weeks earlier I had gone to the library at N.C. State to do some research. I thought that a school with a large student body would make it easier for me to blend in as a new student. I also wanted a place that was middle class, where I would fit in easily, so

I looked up economic figures in the almanacs. After a few hours I had found what I wanted.

Chapel Forge Township, which was South and East of Philadelphia, seemed to offer

all the qualities I needed. Furthermore, it turned out that the local high school had a good, but not a great wrestling program. This also seemed ideal for me. If the team had too much visibility, somebody was bound to ask questions about an experienced wrestler who popped up out of nowhere.

“So you’ve already started setting this up?” Brad asked. I could tell that he was

annoyed. “Is it a done deal?”

“Pretty much,” I answered. “What do you think? Can I pull it off?” He shrugged. “The first question isn’t can you, but should you? This is a zero sum

game. Anything you win, some kid loses. How can you make that right?”

I knew exactly what he meant. I felt cheated because I was only given one varsity

season to reach my goals, whereas most wrestlers got more. But who had cheated me, if

indeed I had been cheated? Whoever or whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t the teenager

whose roster spot I would be taking now. It certainly wasn’t be the kid whose spot on the

state tournament podium that I hoped to take. Was it right to take these things from a

current-day wrestler? If anything had been stolen from me, it hadn’t been by any of them.

We continued to spar over the matter. I couldn’t get him to give an outright blessing

to my plan, which troubled me. He was my best friend, and that went back long time. I knew he wouldn’t turn his back on me even if he didn’t approve. Was that good enough for me?

After a few more days of thought, I was pretty sure that it was. Although there is no

single culprit, I was cheated. If I’d been able to wrestle varsity for even one more year, who knows what I could have accomplished? Maybe nothing, but I didn’t think that was

the case. So before it’s too late, I would take that varsity season back. My victim would

be a current-day teenager. It wasn’t fair. It was immature. It was completely illegal, and

despite my mental acrobatics, completely immoral.

The pain I had felt on nearly a daily basis, though, was real as well. It hadn’t shown

any signs of fading, and I knew that it wasn’t going away. I had reconciled all of this. I did a long time ago, actually, but I never knew what I could do about it. I decided never to think about whether it was right or wrong ever again. My decision

had been made, and it was final. I was going to do it.

For the next few months I secretly worked out the details of my plan. It was relatively

easily to gather all of the false documentation and paperwork I would need. Some local

high school students helped me contact somebody who, for a price, came up with school

transcripts, a driver’s license and a few other forms of identification that I would need to

launch my new life. He didn’t see much risk of being caught, because I wasn’t trying to

steal anything or flee from anybody. He even supplied me with a new name. In August I

would make the drive north. Somewhere along the way I would cease being Ben Pietrak,

and would become Ben Petrovic, a high school student who had relocated from North

Carolina to New Jersey.

I traded in the jeep my father had given me on a used Ford Escort. In my new life I wanted to attract as little attention as possible, and a flashy red jeep didn’t fit that bill.

The used Escort I purchased was as nondescript as it gets. Surely nobody would think

anything of a high school junior driving around in one of those.

On the last day of July I hopped into my blue Escort and made the long drive north. I

had brought a single tape with me to listen to on the way. As I eased onto the highway

listening to “Fields of Gold” by Eva Cassidy, my state of mind alternated between

apprehension and exhilaration. How would this turn out?

A few weeks earlier I had driven up in a rental truck containing the little bit of

furniture that I had picked up. During that visit I rented a small condominium in a

development called Tanglewood in Chapel Forge Township, and moved the furniture in.

I had a really strange feeling after I crossed the Delaware Memorial Bridge and drove under the huge “Welcome to New Jersey” sign. I was home, I thought to myself with a

laugh. The most shocking thing to me was how green everything was. After all the New

Jersey jokes I’d heard and told, that was the last thing I expected.

The following day, I nervously entered the high school for registration. It turned out

that there was no need to worry, because my plan worked flawlessly. I had a complete

set of all the required documentation, including my false identification papers. In

addition, I had a copy of the condominium lease agreement as well as a full set of utility

bills. As I had expected, the staff was quite busy and harried because this was the last

day of registration. That was exactly why I had waited until that day to register. I

explained quickly to a vice-principal that my father was unable to get away from the

office in North Carolina and so I was staying with friends until he arrived. I pretended

not to understand some of the paperwork I was presenting, to seem more like a high

school student. My North Carolina accent, which matched my transcript, seemed to help

assure the vice-principal that all was on the level. She made a cursory examination of my

paperwork and approved the registration.

After that, I met with a guidance counselor to select classes. That took a bit longer,

but also went smoothly. The only thing that concerned me about the entire morning was

that I was signed up for an advanced Algebra course. Math had never been my strong

subject. What’s worse, I was on track for Trigonometry the next year, if I was still here.

That’s something I had successfully avoided until then. I wished I had come up with a transcript that wasn’t so strong academically.

A few days later I decided to try out my new life. It would be difficult to be a teenager until I had some friends but I needed to get out of the condo. What did kids do in New Jersey? I had read a feature article about the Jersey Shore the previous night in

the newspaper. That would be a good place to start. Having spent many a summer day

on the Outer Banks of North Carolina, maybe a trip to the coast up here in New Jersey

would make me feel more at home.

The first stop was the gas station. It turned out that there were no self-service gasoline

stations in New Jersey, so I was forced to wait until the overworked pump attendant was

able to pump the gas. Then, of course, I had to wait again after the tank was full, to pay for the gas. Wondering how I would ever get used to fifteen-minute gas-ups, I pulled

onto the Atlantic City Expressway and headed southeast towards the ocean.

I followed the traffic across the bridge into Ocean City. As soon as I could, I parked the car, coughed up five dollars for that, and then ambled over to the boardwalk. I’d

never seen anything quite like it. The boardwalk was like a three-mile long strip mall.

I’d never seen so many t-shirt shops, miniature golf courses and pizza parlors. Somehow,

though, I liked being there. It was fun, there were a lot of people to watch, and of course

the Atlantic Ocean was only one hundred yards away. I had walked the entire length of

the boardwalk before I knew it. Then, I decided to check out the beach itself.

Not having any place to go, I walked over to one of the many stone jetties that jutted

out into the surf. Next time, I’d bring a chair, but for now I satisfied myself with walking

on the jetty, and watching the fishermen. When I returned to the sand I found one of the

few empty spaces and sat down. Drawing my knees to my chin, I sucked in a chest-full

of salty air and enjoyed my surroundings.

A few minutes later, I endured another New Jersey culture shock. It turned out that

unlike any beach I’d ever seen, there was an admission fee. Two teenagers with black knapsacks were walking from group to group. As they came closer I was able to hear that they were asking about “beach tags”. When I saw money change hands, I quickly realized what was going on. In my new home, visiting the beach was not free. I didn’t have much cash and was ready to leave anyway, so I got up and returned to the boardwalk. Before driving back to Chapel Forge Township I ducked into a pizza joint for two slices of greasy pizza.

I thought a lot about my trip to the beach over the next few days, during which I had very little to do. Except for the admission charge, I felt very comfortable and at home there. If I ever felt a need for the familiar this would be a great place to escape to.

Chapter 2 -- School is in Session

Over the next few weeks I made several trips back to Ocean City. I simply had

nothing else to do or any other place to go. The second time there I was forced to

purchase a beach tag, which I obediently pinned to my shorts. One thing I had no

shortage of were things to think about. The first day of school was rapidly approaching.

I was quite nervous, and increasingly so as the day grew closer.

When that day arrived I had already lived through it in my mind many times, in a

deliberate attempt to identify problems and issues that I had overlooked. As far as

clothing, I had checked out what kids were wearing in the weeks since I’d been here. I

decided to wear what I always had the first time I was in high school, a tee shirt and

jeans. I wouldn’t be a fashion plate, but there were plenty of kids wearing clothes like

that and I wouldn’t stand out. I had let my hair grow a little bit longer, but still just barely over the ears. Hair didn’t seem to be a problem at all. The hairstyles of today’s

kids were incredibly diverse, from shaved heads and crew cuts to long dreadlocks. When

it came to hair, it was a relief to know that I couldn’t stand out if I tried.

I would have preferred to drive to school in my own car. However, to park in the

school lot I needed a parking sticker, something that I hadn’t managed to acquire. That

was probably something I should have asked about at registration, but that had gone so smoothly that I had wanted to get out the door as quickly as possible. Now, having ignored the problem, I had no choice but to ride the school bus, which made one stop at

the entrance of the Tanglewood condominiums.

Only one other student was at the bus stop, a girl who I estimated to be a sophomore.

I stifled my urge to introduce myself, because that isn’t what I would have done when I was in high school the first time. Instead, we grunted at each other and then stood silently. When the bus came it was crowded, but there were a few empty bench seats toward the middle. I slid into one and locked my eyes into a view out the window. Right then, in my state of agitation, I didn’t trust myself to talk with anybody.

I reported to Mr. Leopold’s classroom for homeroom. While taking attendance he

noticed that my name was unfamiliar, and asked me the obvious. “Are you a new

student?”

“Yes,” I replied. “I moved up from North Carolina this summer.”

“Welcome to Chapel Forge,” he replied, before moving on. He was a friendly guy,

and I felt less nervous after the exchange. I’d just gotten through a conversation with a

teacher and had remained unscathed. Even though it was the briefest of conversations,

and there was virtually no chance of anything going wrong, my confidence in escaping

detection rose significantly.

Next, I headed to Chemistry class, taught by Mr. Adams. He was another friendly

sort, sauntering about the classroom in a white lab coat dispensing orientation materials.

In the back corner of the class there was a small group of boisterous students. I checked them out casually; they appeared to be the standard group of jocks and a cheerleader.

They were all dressed similarly in the latest casual fashions. Only the colors were different. I laughed to myself as I realized that they probably considered themselves to be independent and bold in their choice of clothing. To me, their clothing was so similar that it almost appeared that they were wearing uniforms. That’s probably no different than it had been in my day or any other day.

After Chemistry I worked my way through crowded halls to find my advanced

Algebra class. As I had been in Chemistry, I was quite intimidated by the class material.

These were classes that I had struggled through before and saw no reason for things to be different now. Somehow I hadn’t been planning on having to put too much effort into schoolwork. With all the other complicated arrangements that I had to make, that had slipped my mind. As I listened to Mrs. Carbuckle review the topics we would cover, I realized for the first time that there was hard work ahead for me.

Academically speaking, my day got easier after the first two periods. I had a typing course after Algebra. I entered the classroom and took a seat behind an IBM PC clone, as other students were doing. The only difficulty I had expected in this class was hiding my advanced typing skills, since the class was for beginners. Judging by the flying fingers of the other students, however, I realized quickly that this wouldn’t be a problem.

English class, taught by Miss McKinley, was next. I would spend the first two quarters of the school year in this class, learning about American literature. Secretly, I knew that I would enjoy this class immensely. Some things, like appreciation of quality reading, are out of reach for most real high school kids. I distinctly remember hating this class the first time around. This time, I was looking forward to the authors that Miss

McKinley talked about. We’d be reading a wide variety, from Emerson, to The

Leatherstocking Tales, and Jack London’s The Call of the Wild. Midway through this period a lean-looking student in the front of the class turned

backwards to say something to a classmate. Across the front of his shirt was printed

“Chapel Forge Township Wrestling”. Immediately I tried to guess his weight. Was this

a rival? He seemed to be a weight class or two lower than I was. For the rest of the class

period I tried in vain to learn what his name was. It didn’t really matter. I’d know it in

good time.

Lunchtime was a bit difficult. I was happy to be aloof, like I’d been all day, but it was

hard to find a space to do that in. Trying to appear as uncaring as possible, I found a half-

empty table that appeared to be occupied by other loners. I had brought a sandwich and a

bottle of water, and was able to eat in solitude.

After lunch I had American History, taught by taciturn Mrs. Nelson. The most

interesting part of this class was a girl across the classroom. I had tried to keep my eyes

to myself all day, but this time I allowed them to roam. Somehow she seemed “above”

the other students although she appeared to be the same age. There was something about

her that drew my attention. It might only have been that she was showing a demure

interest in me. At one point while Mrs. Nelson was discussing examination procedures, I made eye contact with her. Both of us quickly looked away.

Throughout the rest of the day I encountered the usual cast of characters. Although I

tried not to prejudge anybody, I thought I recognized the jocks, nerdish kids, the druggies

and the artsy musician types. Amazingly, I neither spoke to nor was spoken to by

anybody else. What a rigid, cutthroat world high school was, I found myself remembering. In the post-high school world, a newcomer would be embraced, in words at least, and made to feel welcome. Of course, once those formalities were over with, the newcomer would be left to become part of the scenery. That didn’t necessarily provide the foundation for intimate relationships, but it made life less awkward. In high school, I was reminded, there was no such protocol. Any student would carefully weigh the pros and cons of approaching a stranger, and most of the time would choose to stay away because there was danger in the unknown. That was how I remembered it and it’s just how my first day went at Chapel Forge.

After the school day was over I dumped some books into my locker and located my bus. This time there were plenty of seats. Apparently there were a lot of kids who found another way to get home after school. My bus stop friend from the morning was nowhere to be seen. Not that it mattered. I was mentally exhausted when I was dropped at

Tanglewood. I spent the rest of the day alone in my condo, reflecting on my first day back at school.

Maybe it was because it had been the first day of class, and perhaps the fact that I was embarking on a major fraud had something to do with it, but I couldn’t get over how emotionally draining the day had been. I felt like I experienced more anxiety and elation in this one day than I had in the entire prior year of my life. It had all been quite exhausting. I was in bed asleep before nine o’clock. I can’t imagine any of my fellow juniors at Chapel Forge Township High School could say the same thing.

With surprising ease, I settled into the high school routine after a few weeks. I went to school and back on the bus, and then hid in my condo at night and on weekends.

Occasionally I drove down to the beach just to get out. The schoolwork wasn’t as challenging as I had feared. My grades were good, even in Algebra. Of course, there was a reason why my academic performance was stronger than the first time around in high school. This time, I had the maturity and discipline to hit the books every night, even if just for a few minutes, and forced myself to absorb the new material as it was presented. During my first time in high school I already knew that was the proper way to learn but instead I managed to get by with spotty studying and last minute cramming.

It wasn’t difficult to remain un-entangled in anything but casual relationships with other students. I was friendly with the kids I encountered, and they with me. I had already told myself not to allow it to progress beyond that and my fellow students were happy to oblige. Nobody seemed interested in developing a friendship with me anyway.

Most likely this was because I was deliberately avoiding it. I’d traditionally had a very small circle of friends and had never needed more than that.

I did end up learning more about the girl I had noticed in history class. She walked past the table I was sitting at during lunchtime one day during the first week of school.

She acted as though she had been surprised to see me sitting there, but I was pretty sure it was no accident that she had been passing by. “Hi,” she said. “We’re in History class, right?” she asked.

She ended up sitting down with me. I introduced myself, and she told me that her name was Judy Voorst. Next I had to explain why she had never seen me around before.

“That explains your accent,” she said. I noticed that from time to time she looked over to a group of girls at another table. They must have been her friends, and they were watching closely. Like Judy, they didn’t seem to be part of the popular crowd. They wore plain clothing, and unlike some girls, hadn’t spent much time in front of the mirror working on makeup and hair. I remembered those kinds of people from my first time in high school, but now I had an appreciation I hadn’t had then for somebody who had enough self confidence that they were not excessively concerned with their appearance.

“Is that all you ever eat for lunch?” Judy asked, referring to the orange that I had been

peeling. Apparently she’d been keeping track of my diet.

“It’s a long story,” I answered.

“Can I hear it?” she asked.

“Well,” I began. “It isn’t really too long, actually.” Suddenly, only for a moment, I was conscious of my accent, now that she had mentioned it. Was I ‘drawling’ or

speaking too slowly, the way southerners were often caricatured in other parts of the

country? “It’s just that I’m going to be on the wrestling team, hopefully, and I’m trying

to keep my weight down.”

“Oh,” she said. “I don’t know much about wrestling. You look like an athlete.” I

found it interesting that she said ‘athlete’ rather than ‘jock’, or ‘sport’, or any other word

that seemed at all derogatory.

She came over to eat lunch with me from time to time after that, and I began to learn

about her too. She was in the National Honor Society, on account of her academic

credentials. When I pushed her she admitted that she was hoping to be the class valedictorian when the class graduated. Her true passion, though, was acting. She was an active member of the Drama Guild, the school organization that put on several plays each school year. I was touched by the animation she took on when talked about it. I think my genuine interest struck a chord with her at the same time.

There were many aspects of high school life that I had forgotten about and now found

appalling. There was a cruel, rigid pecking order among students, who were free to abuse anybody below them in the social order with impunity. There was nothing new about this. I remembered it well from my high school days. I not only remembered it, I had participated in it.

The oddest part of it to me, now that I was 2 years removed, was that the pecking order had no logical basis. I knew what the other students couldn’t know. After high

school, the pecking order would be rendered meaningless. I often hear cliches about the

social reshuffling that occurs after high school. Most of them imply that the “jocks” who

“ruled the school” end up pumping gas, while the “nerds” end up “ruling the world”. In

my life experience I hadn’t found this to be true. What really happens after high school,

in my limited experience, is an evening out. Most people find their level, aspire to it, and

reach it. The popular crowd in high school, whose culture usually revolved around

athletics, comes down to earth, while the less noticeable students begin to stand out more

based on the natural abilities they always had but never showcased. In the end, maturity

leads most kids in all social circles to eventually realize that they weren’t so different

than anybody else. Feeling pretty sure about how things would turn out, it was a shock

for me to be back in the rigid social world of high school where everybody believed and

acted as though the pecking order would remain in place forever.

I witnessed one example of this day after day in gym class. There were several

football players in the class, and they were without a doubt the best athletes in our group.

When this group was together, which was most of the time, they treated other students

with outright cruelty. During one period, when we were running laps around the track, they collected pebbles from the side of the track. Then, when some students passed by, the football players pelted them in the back with these pebbles. They didn’t even try to stifle their laughter. One of the victims was a kid named Kyle Downs, who seemed like a

pretty good guy to me. It happened so often that eventually Kyle didn’t even bother to

acknowledge it.

This went on day after day, and I watched with anguish. I had come to believe by

then that Kyle was far tougher than they realized. He was a good student but not a good

athlete. Yet here he was, working as hard as he could on the track to improve, in the face of ridicule. That kind of determination and courage would take him a long way once he got out of high school. Knowing that, it was all I could do not to tell Kyle what would happen and urge him to stand up to the pebble-throwers.

If I did that it would be to avail and I knew it. It was a rare student, regardless of the

position they occupy, that ever dared to go against the pecking order. That was the most

frustrating aspect of returning to high school for me because I knew how flawed it was.

When I was in high school the first time I would never have gone against it either. I

would never have considered hanging out with any “brainy” kids, or dating the girl who

liked to paint and sang in a jazz band, because that just wasn’t done. The pecking order

was our master and hardly anybody ever considered deviating from it.

Even now, although I wanted to do what was right and stop these guys from treating

Kyle this way, I felt a pressure to conform. It wasn’t fear; I was a pretty good-sized guy,

in the best shape of my life and don’t think that any of these guys would have challenged

me. It was the pecking order. Its power over me was much diminished but it still had

some influence.

I felt strongly enough that I couldn’t watch another day of this. Rather than confront

the rock-throwers directly, I decided to run with Kyle to see how I would be treated. Would they throw rocks at me too? If so, that would give me pretext for sticking up for

Kyle, because I’d also be sticking up for myself.

“Mind if I run with you today?” I asked Kyle. We were in the locker room, preparing

for class. “Wrestling season starts next month and I really need to push myself.” It was

somewhat of a lie. Kyle worked harder than most of the kids in the class but he still didn’t run at a pace that would benefit me. I’d been doing a five-mile run three times a week since coming north, at a much faster pace than Kyle was doing in class.

“Sure,” he stammered as he sized me up. “No problem.” I couldn’t tell how he felt

about the idea. He seemed wary. Most likely he was worried that it was a setup for

another gag at his expense, I figured. Oh well, I thought. He’d see soon enough that I

was sincere.

The class straggled outside and onto the track the same way it did every day. Kyle and I were the first ones on the track. When we rounded the turn onto the backstretch I

saw the usual group of tormentors assembling. I wasn’t able to see whether or not they

had collected any pebbles the way they had done every day that week prior to that day. I

started to feel a little nervous after we finished our first lap. They were loping along

about a quarter lap ahead of us. Were they lying in wait, I wondered?

If Kyle was nervous he didn’t show it. He was huffing and puffing a little bit more

than I was but didn’t seem concerned about what was ahead. Either he was resigned to

his fate or he knew something I didn’t know.

The tormentors refused to yield the inside of the track so we moved outside to pass.

As we passed I braced myself. At the same time I slowed slightly, so I was a half step behind Kyle. That way I could see if any rocks flew. None did. I was quite sure of that. When we were about twenty feet ahead, I heard voices among them, but couldn’t make out what they were saying.

About five minutes later we lapped them again. This time, as we passed, one of them

called out, presumably to me. “Do you play football?”

“I’m a wrestler,” I called back over my shoulder. And that was it. They never

picked on Kyle again. It’s amazing how a little perspective and maturity on my part had

made such a difference. I tested them at the end of the next week. On the way to the

track I told Kyle that I was sore from wind sprints on the previous night and that I was

going to take five minutes to stretch. He headed out to the track without me, with his

usual lack of fear and apprehension. As I stretched I watched carefully. Nothing was

thrown at him by anybody.

That gave me a strange feeling, like I’d changed history. If I hadn’t “time-traveled”

back to high school, would Kyle have been given a free pass on the track that day? I

wondered if he even realized what had happened.

Kyle ended up being the first friend I had at Chapel Forge. I kept my distance because

I had a secret to guard, but we got closer nevertheless. He was well rounded, participating in a mix of extracurricular activities because he felt that would be attractive to colleges. Eventually he encouraged me to join some activities too. I liked Kyle but I didn’t think it was in keeping with the low profile I needed to maintain. “I really need that time to train for wrestling,” was how I deflected these suggestions.

One day Kyle told me that it was a girl on the yearbook committee who was pushing him to convince me to sign up. Even though I was determined not to have anything to do

with any girls, my interest was piqued. “Who is she?” I asked.

He wouldn’t tell. “It’s somebody in one of your classes,” he told me. “That’s all I can

say, she made me promise.”

I guess I was still a high school kid at heart, because I was intrigued. The next day I

stealthily scanned my classrooms, trying to determine who she was. At the same time, I

found myself thinking a little bit too much about whom I hoped she was. I was

weakening and it was barely October. It didn’t take much effort to learn that Judy Voorst

was on the yearbook committee along with Kyle. I secretly hoped that it was Judy who

had taken an interest me because I had taken one in her.

In mid-October I decided to go see the wrestling coach, Mr. Miles. He was a science

teacher but I wasn’t exactly sure which discipline. I’d never heard of him teaching

Physics or Chemistry, just “Health” classes. I was quite nervous when I swung by his

classroom during lunch. So nervous, in fact, that part of me hoped that he wouldn’t be

there. The previous night I had reviewed the simple story of my wrestling background,

designed to discourage him from looking into it.

“Hi, Mr. Miles?” I began. Apparently I startled him, because he jumped. Then he

looked up from what looked like a stack of papers that he was grading.

For no logical reason I was surprised that he was a Black man. It was just the law of

averages, I was pretty sure, that had made me expect that the coach was White. Had he

noticed that I was surprised? Already, I felt like I had gotten off to a bad start with somebody who was going to play an important role in the next few months of my life.

This before he had even had a chance to utter a word to me.

“Yes,” he responded. “What can I do for you?” Except for his skin color he looked exactly like what I expected. He wore wire-

rimmed glasses, and sported a bushy mustache. He had no grey hair but was showing

signs of male pattern baldness. I guessed that he was in his upper thirties. Although I

knew that his first was William, the nameplate on his desk read “Scrubbert T. Miles”. I

supposed that I would come to understand that later. It was a strange nickname.

“My name is Ben Petrovic. I’m a new student, I just moved in from North Carolina,”

I explained.

He looked me over from head to toe while stroking his chin. “171-pounder, right?” he

asked.

He had guessed why I had come. I knew, because I was told frequently, that I ‘looked

like a wrestler’, so I wasn’t surprised that he had me figured out. “Uh, that’s about right.

I could probably make 160 or 171, wherever there’s a spot.” There really wasn’t much

else to say because he now understood why I was there.

“What grade are you in?” he asked.

“I’m a junior,” I replied.

“Just so happens that we’re pretty thin at 171,” he said. My heart leaped when I heard this. One of my biggest concerns was that I might take a spot away from a deserving

wrestler. In fact, my plan was to go out of my way to adjust my weight to avoid doing

so. That was one reason why I was already cutting down on how much I ate.

“Did you wrestle last season?” Coach Miles asked. As he spoke, he opened a desk

drawer and rummaged through some file folders. After a few seconds he pulled out a

form and pushed it across the desk toward me. “Well, no actually,” I said. “It’s kind of funny,” I stammered. I’m not sure why I said that. It hadn’t been part of the plan and there really wasn’t anything humorous about the story I had concocted. He looked at me with furrowed brow, as if he too was wondering how this could possibly be funny. That made me laugh. I guess I was nervous.

“I wrestled for years in the junior program,” I explained, “but when I got to high school I decided to concentrate on football.” This cover story seemed reasonable to me, but Coach Miles seemed disappointed.

He gestured at the paper he had placed on the desk. “That’s a questionnaire that all my wrestlers fill out. Even the returning guys. I’ll need you to fill it out and get it back to me. You’ll also need to have a physical exam. Are you playing football here?”

“No, I had enough to do with the move, and all,” I told him. My story came out perfectly, I thought.

“How long has it been since you wrestled?” he asked.

“I missed two seasons,” I told him. “But I remember everything, and I’ve stayed in pretty good shape with football, and all,” I said.

“Well we can use the help, especially at your weight,” he said. “I’m sure it’ll all come back to you.”

“I’m not worried,” I agreed.

“We have a meeting on Monday, November 10, after school,” he explained. “We like to have everybody who is coming out for the team come to that meeting. Practice starts on Friday the 15th.”

“OK, Mr. Miles,” I answered. “Make sure you get that questionnaire back to me before the meeting,” he called to me as I walked out the door. “And don’t forget that physical.”

It had gone perfectly. My questionnaire would describe a solid but unspectacular career in a junior wrestling league. There would be nothing in it for Coach Miles to question, or to be even mildly interested in. I was certain that he would accept it all on face value. The way was now paved for my quiet re-entry into the world of high school wrestling.

Chapter 3 -- The Season Begins

I took my physical exam on Halloween. The first thing the nurse did was to weigh me. When she told me to step on the scale without any mention of shedding any clothing, internal alarms went off. Stepping on a scale fully clothed, especially with shoes on, was sacrilegious to anybody who’s ever been involved in wrestling. To heap on even more sacrilege, she carelessly flicked at the metal weight, moving it along the bar, and settled on a weight far before the balance had reached equilibrium. The weight she wrote into my file, 188 pounds, was completely meaningless as far as I was concerned. There was no way that I weighed anywhere near that much. At least that’s what I hoped.

On November 10, as Coach Miles had told me, there was a team meeting. He had done his homework reading over the questionnaires, and was able to introduce all of the new wrestlers. That included about fifteen freshmen, and one junior—me. As the meeting progressed, a signup sheet was passed around, onto which each wrestler was to list his name, class and weight. There were many names with 160-ish weights, but only one other in the vicinity of 171. I felt sure I could make 160 if I needed to. In view of the traffic jam at that weight class, however, I made the decision on the spot to go 171 for the year. If things went well, and I was back the next year as a senior, I could cut to 160.

It turned out that I was right. Although this was an experienced team, there happened to be only one kid who was the right size to wrestle 171. He was a sophomore, Steve Vogel. I knew immediately after watching him at early practices that he wasn’t ready for varsity anyway, which lessened my guilt about taking the varsity spot away from him.

He was shorter than I was, and a bit overweight. Now I realized why Coach Miles had seemed intent on slotting me at 171. He had a quality senior, Nick Schmidt, at 160. 171, on the other hand, looked like a weak spot.

Once we started wrestling live in practice I was surprised at how well I did. Come to think of it, so were most of the people in the room because nobody knew anything about me. I was able to score points against everybody, and that included Robert Mendez, the heavyweight, who tackled me from behind during a break.

After the season started I became eligible for a parking sticker. These stickers were available to students who participated in extracurricular activities that required them to stay after school later than the last bus. This was a great relief to me because riding the school bus had been getting tiresome.

There was one kid on the team who was better than I was in just about every way.

That was Schmidt, who would be wrestling 160. Besides being the best wrestler he was obviously the team leader. He was a senior and the captain, and I gathered that he was expected to contend for a state title. I was relieved that there was somebody better than I was on the team. That way, I would attract less attention.

It seemed strange to me that I was able to beat most of the starters on such an experienced team. The team was heavily laden with juniors and seniors, each with several seasons of varsity experience. It shouldn’t have been so easy for me even though

I had the physical advantage of being older and more mature. I came to think that part of why I did well was confidence. I expected to do well. Was that enough? Had I already

learned an important lesson?

By early December I had the customary mat burns at the usual locations on my face.

An old girlfriend had called them “people burns”, actually, because most of mine were

the result of rubbing against my opponent, not the mat. It all felt so familiar, and

strangely exciting. All the same conditions were there including mat burns, soreness, a

bit of hunger, and nervousness.

Nick Schmidt turned out to be one of the most intense wrestlers I’ve ever come in

contact with. That, of course, was why he was so good. At practice he never stopped

moving. As soon as he realized that I was the best workout partner for him he latched on

to me. When we drilled we went through the motion twice for every time the other guys

did once. When we pummeled, or engaged in any other “live” drill, we went one

hundred percent at all times. When we went out of bounds during live wrestling he

barked at me to hustle if I wasn’t returning to the starting position quickly enough. I was

intimidated, impressed and enthralled all at the same time. So this was how it was done!

I’d never been so close to a guy like that. I’d watched them in matches, wondering how

they stayed on such a high level. Now I was seeing the attitude and hard work that was

required to do that.

High school was very different for me the second time around away from the wrestling room as well. When I was in high school the first time, I occupied roughly the same social position that I had walked into at Chapel Forge. I was a member of the wrestling team and that was it. Back then, though, I wasn’t treated with the respect and attention that I felt walking through the halls at Chapel Forge, and the season hadn’t even started yet. I don’t think it was the fact that I was on an athletic team that led to how I

was seen by other students. It was something bigger than that: confidence and attitude.

That’s not to say that my being on the team had nothing to do with it. Things did start

to happen in school once the season started. In a word, I became suddenly more popular

because I was now “somebody”, and not just “the quiet new guy” anymore. I imagined

that word had gotten around that I was a pretty good wrestler. Kids who used to pass me

in the halls without even seeming to notice me now seemed to acknowledge my

existence, and maybe even nod to me in a gesture of approval.

I don’t think it was just the wrestling that drew attention to me, because it started back

in September. I think that I projected an image of self-confidence. Those kids didn’t

know anything about me, and probably most didn’t know or care that I was going to be

on the wrestling team. It was how I carried myself, or the expression on my face, or

something along those lines. I was astounded at how heads turned towards me as I

walked down a hall. At first I thought it was just curiosity but when it continued into

October I changed my mind. It was all about attitude and self-confidence. The other kids

were picking up on my self-assuredness. Because of this, I believe, they were

subconsciously drawn to me.

I did truly have a confidence and self-assuredness about me as I walked through the

halls. It was based on something they couldn’t know, of course. I was older and wiser then they were, and knew more about them and their high school world than they knew themselves. Unlike during my first time in high school I was pretty sure I knew what everybody was really thinking, why they did what they did, and how all of them would turn out after high school. This knowledge was what made me look so confident and commanding. I was coming to believe that attitude was everything.

I wasn't universally liked. One day at lunchtime I walked into the cafeteria and sat down at an empty section of table. Before I had finished peeling my orange, Kyle and another kid sat down with me. They both had trays of hot food, having just emerged from the lunch line. “Sorry,” Kyle laughed, looking at my orange. He knew that was all

I would be eating.

“No, it’s cool,” I said. “I could eat if I wanted to. I’m not cutting much weight.”

Kyle’s friend seemed annoyed. “All that so you can roll around with another guy,” he said disgustedly. Kyle must have told him about me.

It was nothing I hadn’t heard before, and I didn’t let it bother me. I continued eating my orange in silence, and they too began to eat their lunch.

“This is Terry,” Kyle told me through a mouthful of pizza-burger. “Terry, meet Ben.”

If Terry was pleased to make my acquaintance, he wasn’t willing to show it. “Hey,” he grunted. I sensed hostility towards me.

“Eric was talking about you in shop,” Kyle said. I assumed he meant Eric Caldwell, who would most likely be wrestling at one of the middle weight-classes this season.

“You know Eric?” I asked.

“Well, he wasn’t actually talking to me,” Kyle admitted. “I just overheard him. He was talking about ‘the new guy’ but I knew it had to be you.”

“And?” I asked.

“He says you’re pretty good, that you can beat Nick Schmidt,” he said. I laughed out loud. “No way,” I said. “I can’t touch him. But neither will anybody

else this season.” I looked at Terry quickly enough to catch a sneer on his face. So that

was it. He hated sports, and probably didn’t care too much for the people who were

involved in them. Funny, he had long hair, and his clothes hung off of his frame in a

most non-athletic way, but I could tell that he was in pretty good shape despite his

apparent disdain for athletes. His face went back to a neutral mask as soon as I looked

his way. He knew I was sizing him up and probably didn’t like it.

“Did you decide about yearbook committee?” Kyle asked. “If you’re going to sign up you won’t be able to wait much longer.”

“I’m too busy with wrestling,” I replied. “I really wouldn’t have the time.”

“Really?” he said, with eyebrows raised. “It’s your loss, you know.”

I knew just what he meant, but I fully intended to stick to my original plan. That meant having nothing to do with any girls.

Wrestle-offs for varsity spots started on Monday, December 15. Our first regular season action, a tournament at Moorefield, was only five days away so we needed to settle on a lineup. Steve Vogel declined even to challenge me for the 171 spot. He was disappointed, I could tell. I felt a little badly about that. If it hadn’t been for me he’d

have been a varsity wrestler. I knew, though, that he belonged on the JV this year. He’d

have been eaten alive on varsity and he wouldn’t have gotten any better by being blown

away in match after match. On JV he’d get some good mat time against wrestlers closer

to his own ability, which would help him improve.

Nick Schmidt’s little brother Tom was the only wrestler in the 103-pound weight

class. He didn’t need any wrestle-off matches to prove anything to anybody anyway. I was impressed with his ability, especially considering that he was a fourteen-year-old freshman. He’ll be as good as his brother, I predicted.

At 112 there were two freshmen competing for the varsity spot, neither of whom

looked big enough for the weight class. Connor Lynch ended up winning the wrestle-off.

Connor was a frail-looking kid, so much so that the older wrestlers called him “Flinch”

rather than Lynch.

Reggie McKenzie won the 119-pound wrestle-off. That was no surprise, apparently.

He was a junior who had been a starter during both his freshman and sophomore seasons.

Reggie was a well-built little guy, brimming with what I called “personality”. He walked

around school wearing a “do-rag”, listening to rap music on his walk-man between

classes. Despite his carefree appearance, Reggie was intense and driven when it came

to wrestling. He had attended several camps over the summer and Coach Miles seemed

to expect big things from him this year.

125 appeared to be one of our weaker weight classes. Mike Rebardo, who won the

wrestle-offs, was a senior with no varsity experience. Essentially, he was an average

wrestler who had put in his time in the wrestling room and was finally getting his turn to

start. Coach Miles seemed relieved that he had won a spot. I guess he’d have felt bad

otherwise, having watched Mike serve as a practice dummy for three seasons all for

nothing. I didn’t imagine Mike Rebardo winning very many matches.

The reason that Rebardo hadn’t made the starting lineup in the past was the presence

of Tim Bergman, a junior. Bergman had beaten Rebardo out for the past two seasons.

Now, Bergman had grown out of Rebardo’s weight class and would be the starter at 130.

He was a very basic wrestler, I saw. His technique was good although he rarely took any risks. I had seen many wrestlers like Bergman. They win most of their matches but

when tournament time came around there were always better wrestlers who they couldn’t

beat. The mistakes and obvious openings would no longer be there at that time of the

season. He would pile up plenty of team points during the regular season but would

quietly fade away in the district or region tournament.

The fiercest wrestle-offs took place for the 135-pound spot. The competition for this

spot was so desperate because neither wrestler, Eric Caldwell nor Jim Malone, could

come close to beating Joe Eckert at 140. Nor could either cut the weight to get down to

130 to compete for that spot. Both were simply too big. I thought Caldwell, who was

only a sophomore, showed more promise than did Malone, who was a junior. Caldwell

was the best friend of Reggie McKenzie. Malone was a quiet guy who kept to himself. I

got the impression that nobody felt very comfortable around him.

They split the first two matches, with Caldwell winning the deciding wrestle-off on

Thursday, the day before the first day of the season. I imagined that Malone would be

challenging Caldwell again for the spot as soon as he was allowed to. It would probably

go on all season long. Unfortunately, although this was the right way to decide who the

starter was in each weight class, I knew that the competition between two wrestlers who

were evenly matched could sometimes tear a team apart.

Joe Eckert was unchallenged at 140. He had earned a starting spot last season after

wrestling JV during his freshman year. Eckert had come on strong during the second half of the season. It was as if he finally “got it”, Nick Schmidt had told me. Despite ten losses, most of which were sustained early, he had gone on to place in the regional tournament and had earned a trip to the state tournament in Atlantic City. Hoping to continue his fast ascent, Eckert had wrestled all summer in tournaments and had hit the weights hard. Everybody expected another trip to Atlantic City for Eckert this season.

A big freshman by the name of Kevin McGuire ended up winning the 145-pound varsity spot in the lineup. It isn’t often that a freshman started at one of the higher weight classes, but there really wasn’t much competition. McGuire beat out Paul Ragone easily.

Like Rebardo, Ragone had put in three years with the team hoping for his chance.

Unfortunately for him, McGuire showed up and spoiled Ragone’s plans. I felt kind of bad for Ragone and I think that Coach Miles did as well, but there was nothing anybody could do about it.

John Flanagan, better known as Jack, would wrestle at 152. He beat off the challenge of two sophomores, both of whom would be better off on the JV anyway. He was a junior who was cracking the varsity lineup for the first time. For the prior two years he had served as Nick Schmidt’s understudy and that had toughened him considerably. He was an unknown outside the wrestling room but he looked to me like he would win a lot of matches.

There were no wrestle-offs after 152. Nick Schmidt, of course, won the 160-pound spot unchallenged. I too won my spot at 171 without a challenge since Vogel decided not to try. Dennis Ruchinskas, Sam Hartman and Robert Mendez would man the 189, 215 and heavyweight classes, respectively. None of the trio was a threat to place in the state tournament, but they were all solid wrestlers who I thought should win at least twenty matches apiece.

The starting lineup was set. It was a pretty good lineup but the truth was that I really didn’t care how well the team did in dual meet competition. It wasn’t my team, really. My team had competed a few years earlier. Here at Chapel Forge I was wrestling only

for myself.

The night I earned my starting spot I called Brad back home. He would want to know about it. We talked for a few minutes about the team and what it was like to be back in

the wrestling room. Then I changed the subject. I wanted to talk about what it was like

to be back in school and what I thought I should try to do differently this time.

“Brad, I feel like I did high school wrong. I mean, I know I can do it better.” This, of

course, made no sense. I tried to explain. “Do you ever look at our yearbooks from high

school?”

“Once in a while,” he said, “If I’m trying to remember somebody’s name or

something.”

“Well, I’ve been looking at it more and more lately,” I said.

“You have it there?” he asked incredulously. “You better hope nobody catches you

with it, dude. That would blow your cover right there.”

“Nobody will find it,” I assured him. “Anyway, when I flip through the pages I see all

the pictures of kids we hardly knew, or didn’t know at all.”

“Our school was huge, that’s all that is,” Brad said.

“Yeah,” I agreed. “But that isn’t exactly what I mean. I think that I missed out on

meeting some really good people.”

“Same thing, isn’t it?” he asked. “I’m sure we all did. You can’t know everybody in

a school that size,” he said. “Yeah, but with some kids, I didn’t even try. There are so many clubs and groups in the yearbook that I never even heard of,” I said. “Water Monitoring Club, do you

remember that?”

“Well, actually, yeah,” he said. “Not that I knew anybody in it,” he added.

“Not me, I’ve never even heard of it to this day. I was looking at the faces in these

club pictures, and I just know I missed out on something. These were good people that I

ignored,” I said.

“You thought they were nothing but a bunch of misfits back then,” Brad pointed out.

“Exactly,” I agreed. “I just feel like I missed out on knowing some great people.”

“Why does it bother you so much?” he asked. “It turned out OK didn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I said. “We all grow up enough eventually to see people for what they really

are without the labels. Maybe I didn’t treat everybody as well as I should have.”

“Old people have been saying that about young people forever, Ben. ‘Youth is

wasted on the young’, or something like that,” he said.

I thought about that. There are lots of clichés out there that mean the same thing. The

gist of most of them was that young people don’t have the wisdom to know to take every

opportunity available. By the time they got a clue, it was too late, and the moment had

passed. Breaking out of that conundrum was slowly evolving into a new purpose of my

plan. So it wasn’t just about wrestling. This was the first time that was sure of that.

“And here’s something else,” I went on. “When I read over what people wrote in my

yearbook, I feel like I must have been some kind of buffoon back then. So many of them

talk about how funny I was, stuff like that,” I complained.

“So?” Brad countered. “Funny is good.” “It isn’t that kind of funny,” I explained. “It’s more like ‘The way you acted was a scream’, or ‘I got a real kick out of watching you, what a riot, barrel of laughs.’ I didn’t realize at the time that nobody took me seriously. They were laughing at me, not with me. Do you remember Holly Pellham?”

“Yeah, real bookish girl, right?” he asked.

“Right, bookish,” I said. “I thought I had a pretty good friendship with her. We had homeroom together for six years, and once in a while we had another class. Guess what she wrote in by yearbook?”

“You’d better be careful if you have that yearbook with you,” he repeated. “If somebody gets a hold of that you’re in deep trouble.”

“She wrote ‘We haven’t had any classes together in a few years, but you’ve been entertaining in home room’,” I said. “There are tons of autographs like that.“

“Who freakin’ cares,” Brad said. “Nobody took anybody seriously back then. We were high school kids.”

“How about Jeannie Reyes, do you remember her?” I asked.

“Yeah, she was a lot like Holly Pellham,” Brad said.

“I never knew her at all, until the summer after we graduated,” I explained. “We worked together at Hardee’s. I knew who she was though, and it turned out she knew all about me. She wrote something like ‘I’m glad we finally got to be friends, you’re a nice guy and a great wrestler.’ I was surprised that she knew anything about me. Now, why couldn’t we have been friends all the way through high school? Why did we segregate ourselves the way we did? She was right. We did finally get to be friends, but then we never saw each other again.” “Dude, you’ve got issues,” he said, and we both laughed. I wasn’t joking, though, about any of it. There were a lot of things that I was suddenly learning about, and most of them had nothing to do with wrestling.

Chapter 4 -- Moorefield

We were scheduled to have our first taste of competition during the week before

Christmas. We practiced harder than ever, in preparation for a weekend tournament.

After Thursday’s practice I showered and dressed quickly because I had plans for the evening. I was attending a play. The Drama Guild was performing “A Christmas Carol” in the school auditorium at seven-thirty. It would be my first chance to see Judy act. I had just enough time to drive home, straighten up a little bit and check the mail. Then I headed back to school for the play.

The show was entertaining. Most of the student actors were rather ordinary in terms of ability, but several of them did have some talent. I included Judy in this group. Those were the ones that I enjoyed watching. When the play was over I was glad that I’d come.

Besides the entertainment value, it kept my mind off eating. I had to be careful about making weight for the tournament the next day.

“You’ll be getting some snowy-grams,” Tim Bergman told me as we approached the locker room door. “I was sorting them last night, and I saw that there were some for you."

It was Friday morning, the day our first tournament was to begin. After school we would be taking a bus up to Moorefield. Tim and I were heading to the scale in the locker room for a last-minute weight check. If either of us weren’t on weight we had the entire day to do something about it. “What the hell is a snowy-gram?” I asked. Oops, I thought. I’ve been making an effort not to swear but that slipped out.

“You don’t know what a snowy-gram is?” he asked. “It’s a fundraiser we do in the

Key Club.” Tim was a member of the Key Club. I didn’t know how it got its name, because it seemed to be a group that did nothing but raise money. “You can send a message on a little snowman guy to other students. It’s like a telegram except it looks like a snowman,” he explained. “We do the same thing at Easter.”

“Don’t tell me. Bunny-grams?” I asked. “And I’m getting a snowy-gram today?” I asked.

“More than one,” he told me. “I think it was two. You’ll get them in homeroom.”

“Can’t wait,” I said. “Who from?”

“I didn’t notice,” he replied. “You’ll see.”

Tim’s weight was fine, and so was mine. We weren’t receiving any weight allowance, and so I would have to weigh in at or under 171 pounds. That morning I tipped the scales at 170.5 pounds, so I had nothing to worry about. That was even lower than where I needed to be, considering that weigh-ins were about ten hours away. Tim was still a pound over but seemed unfazed. “I’ll check it again at lunchtime,” he said. “I might have to run a few sprints in the gym, that’s all.” As I pulled my clothes back on and headed to Mr. Leopold’s for homeroom, I couldn’t help being filled with curiosity and excitement about those snowy-gram things. What was this all about?

Sure enough, Mr. Leopold was walking among the desks when I arrived, handing white cards out to various students. Apparently I had missed the first pass but after a minute or two he approached my desk. “I’ve got two snowy-grams for you, Ben,” he said cheerfully. He dropped them onto my desk and then made a notation on his

clipboard before moving on.

In front of me were two cards made of construction paper in the likeness of a

snowman. They were decorated in identical fashion on the front side, right down to an

orange carrot nose and black top hat. I flipped them over and found that each was hand

written, obviously by two different people. By the handwriting it was obvious to me that

a female hand had written both of them.

I was much more excited about these things than I should have been. I picked up one

of them and read it. It read as follows:

Hi Ben

Good luck in your tournament, I hope you pin your guy.

I’d sure like to hook up with you! How about Saturday Night?

signed “Embarrassed“

I knew I’d spend the rest of the day looking from face to face in all of my classes. I

put that one down and picked up the other. This one didn’t have my name, nor did it have any type of signature. It did say:

Hope you have a great Christmas and Happy New Year.

Oh, and, good luck!

The handwriting on the second one was much less flowery than the first.

Interestingly, the handwriting on this one looked somehow familiar. Tim had told me

that I’d know who sent the snowy-grams. Apparently he hadn’t noticed that neither was

signed. All day, I was preoccupied with curiosity. Naturally, nobody was revealed as the

sender, and I had no insights as to who had done it. I hoped that one was from Judy but it

seemed a bit out of character for her to do something like that.

Before I knew it the school day was over. The team had been told to meet in the

lobby outside the main gym and so I grabbed my gear and headed down there. Once all wrestlers and statisticians were accounted for we climbed onto the bus and departed for

Moorefield.

At that point I suddenly became very nervous. With all the excitement over getting

away with my scheme I had almost forgotten that there would be a point in time where I

would actually step onto a mat to wrestle. On that bus ride I made up for lost time, and

put in a few months worth of worrying. Even though I had wrestled well in practice, I

hadn’t wrestled competitively as part of a team in a long time. What would happen?

I learned one of the disadvantages of being unknown shortly after we arrived at

Moorefield. I was the twelfth seed in a field of twelve. That meant, of course, that I’d

be facing one of the top seeds in the first round. It turned out that none of us received

very high seeds, not even Nick Schmidt. Nick had won this tournament last year so

Coach Miles was upset. He complained some to the tournament directors but as

expected, nothing was changed. It could end up being a difficult opening round for us.

I was excited about putting on a team uniform, something I hadn’t done in years, and

that was even before I saw the uniforms of my new team. I had seen black-and-white pictures of the Chapel Forge singlets and warm-ups in old yearbooks. When I saw them

in living color the night before the Moorefield tournament, I was impressed. The singlets

were a brilliant metallic red color, with “CFTHS” emblazoned across the front in white.

The warm-ups comprised of dark blue pants and jackets that were red on the upper half

and dark blue on the lower half. They were made of nylon, and so every move we made

was accompanied by a distinct swishing sound. I had put mine on at home the night

before and spent nearly an hour admiring myself.

I couldn’t believe my eyes when my first opponent, Ken Brown of Collington,

stripped his sweats off before our match. I’d never seen a chest so huge on any guy of any size. Some of my teammates laughed when they saw my eyes widen to saucer-size.

“We forgot to mention Ken Brown,” Robert Mendez said. “He’s pretty strong,” he said, in what I expected was the understatement of the year.

Besides his incredible physical attributes, Brown was quite an accomplished wrestler,

having placed fourth in the state the prior March. I had my work cut out for me.

However, I didn’t allow myself to be intimidated. I had thought heavily about this. I

knew I would still be nervous before every match, but I was determined to avoid

projecting an image of a scared wrestler.

After we shook hands and positioned ourselves for the first period I deliberately

placed my feet a half step closer to Brown than the rules allowed. I knew the referee

would instruct me to back up, and he did. Perfect. That was just the image I wanted to

project: a wrestler so anxious to attack his opponent that he had to be restrained by the referee. When the whistle blew Brown immediately shot for a single leg and stood up with it.

I managed to grab on to him and hop out of bounds. As soon as the whistle blew and

Brown released my leg I walked quickly back to the center of the mat, making sure to get

there before he did. Again, I was trying to build the image of a confident, anxious wrestler who couldn’t wait to get started again. I already felt very comfortable on the mat, as if I hadn’t had a two-year hiatus at all.

The next time I shot first, executing a perfect double-leg. Instead of taking him to

the mat I picked him up, intending to turn his back toward the mat as I put him down.

This was a maneuver that had always been effective for me but Brown would have none

of it. Somehow, and I still don’t know how, he used his fantastic physical strength to

straighten his body and escape from my grasp while I was holding him in midair. The

next thing I knew he was throwing a headlock. I thought I was near enough to the edge

of the mat that I could roll through the headlock right out of bounds so I let him throw it.

Again, he used his phenomenal strength to stop me cold halfway through my roll.

Instead of throwing myself harmlessly out of bounds, I was on my back with points being

counted off against me. When the period ended, I was trailing 5-0.

The rest of the match was uneventful. We traded reversals in the second period, which ended with my trailing 7-2. In the third period I was on bottom. Now I saw

Brown’s Achilles heel, which was conditioning. He was completely gassed. I scored another reversal but was unable to turn him over. The match ended with me on the short end of a 7-4 score.

My teammates all clapped me on the back. “He was fourth in the state last year!”

McKenzie crowed. “He couldn’t do anything with you.” I did feel pretty good about the match, knowing that Brown had done so well during the previous year. If that’s one of

the toughest kids I catch this year, I should be able to win a lot of matches. Honestly, I didn’t understand how somebody who was so badly out of shape could have placed in the state tournament. Maybe he just hadn’t started work on conditioning yet.

After the first round ended we all packed up and went back home on the bus. The

tournament would continue the next day. I would have preferred to wrap the entire

tournament up in one long Saturday but this one was being stretched over two days.

That’s just how they did things up here, I guessed, and kept my mouth shut. When there

are twelve teams in a tournament there were a lot of matches to be wrestled.

The next day, Saturday, we met at the gym again and bussed off to Moorefield. My first consolation bracket opponent was Frank Gormley, a senior from Moorefield. He had been the fifth seed and was pinned by the fourth seed the night before. Coach Miles told me that Gormley was a first period terror but would fade quickly after the second period started.

“Just get through the first period,” he advised me, “and you won’t have any problem.”

As soon as I saw Gormley I saw right through him. That was one of the advantages of

my age. Unlike most of Gormley’s opponents I could see clearly that he was nothing but

a blowhard. He strutted around before the match snarling at everybody, including me. I

winked at him when he did that, which confused him momentarily because it was a

deviation from protocol. I was either supposed to back down or return the gesture of

hostility. By the time he regained his composure I had turned and walked away, ready to

start stretching in preparation for the match. “I’m going to put this clown away in the first period,” I declared to my new teammates Mendez and Bergman. It was false bravado. I didn’t know whether I could do it or not, especially in light of what Coach Miles said. During my first time in high school I would have run from Gormley for the first period. This time around I wanted it to be different. Facing challenges was the whole reason for getting back to high school in the first place. Gormley had annoyed me with the staring routine, trying to scare me like

I was some high school kid, which, of course, he thought I was. I wanted to make him pay for that mistake. I was angry.

At the opening whistle I went right at Gormley. I tied up and tried a snap down, just

to try to show him and everybody else that I wasn’t intimidated. He responded by wrapping his arms around me in a body lock. When he squeezed, I realized how incredibly strong he was. For the second match in a row I was in danger of being out- muscled.

The only counter I knew to a body lock was another body lock, so I threw in one of

my own. Then I arched backwards at the waist, hooked the back of his left leg with my

left, and pivoted him down to the mat, right onto his back! My hands were still stuck

under him, and that was the only thing keeping Gormley from being pinned. After my

three back points were counted off I worked on extricating my hands.

When I pulled one hand out Gormley managed to turn to his stomach. He had escaped

from that pinning combination but I quickly put him back in danger. I allowed him to

work back to his base, on his hands and knees, but just before he was set I sank a near

side cradle. Using my head in his side I bulled him onto his back. Only the end of the period saved him this time. I had failed to pin him in the first period as I had predicted, but I did have an 8-0 lead.

For the second period I chose the top position. I wanted to go for the pin now. When the whistle blew I went back to the near side cradle and turned him over again. This time, he had nearly two minutes before the buzzer would save him. I dug my knee into his side, just below the rib cage. A moment later I felt a puff of air as the referee slapped the mat. I had won by pin at 2:23. Gormley angrily threw my hand away after we shook hands back at the center of the mat. His anger made my victory feel even better.

Hopefully I had embarrassed this goon in his own gym.

After that I was matched with Lewis Paulsen. Nobody knew anything about Paulsen, since that he was on the team that had come down from Manhassett High School on Long

Island in New York. He had been seeded second but was easily beaten by the seventh seed the night before. Apparently the seeding committee was as in the dark as everybody else about this guy.

Paulsen was very tall. I decided to stay low and attack his legs. I found that I was able to take him down without too much difficulty. Once I had, though, I had a hard time riding. He was so long that I couldn’t hold him down when he stretched out. I ended up taking him down and releasing him quite a few times. When the third period began I led

8-5.

For the first time in the tournament I was feeling very fatigued. Giving in to fatigue was not an option, though. Not this time. I didn’t go to the trouble of coming back in to high school in order to quit matches the way I had in the regional tournament so long ago. When the second period ended I hustled back to the center and got set in the down

position, trying desperately to hide my exhaustion. I tried a switch at the opening

whistle. It didn’t work because I failed to clear my arm and he chopped me down. I did

manage to kill about 40 seconds of clock as I continued to try the move with futility.

Paulsen knew that time was running out so he started to take some chances. As I was

returning to my base he threw a leg in. He hadn’t been careful enough when throwing the

leg, and his hips slid down. Years before one of my coaches told me that regardless of

who initially threw a leg, the wrestler whose hips are higher actually has the leg thrown,

and is truly in control. Now, mine were higher and I took advantage. I reached back

around his waist and pulled him down beside me. I clearly had the advantage and I quickly cross-faced him onto his back. I could never pin him with the hold, but I held him long enough to pick up two more back points to go along with my reversal. The next thing I knew, the match was over. I had won by a score of 12-5.

Next up was third-seeded Brandon Norgaard of Burlington Catholic. He had been

beaten in the quarterfinals but had won his first match in the consolation bracket. Coach

Miles began giving me a scouting report on Norgaard, but I politely waved him off. “I’d

rather just try to wrestle my own match without knowing anything about him,” I said.

Miles nodded approvingly. “Alright, I like that,” he said. The truth was that I figured

that if there was a scouting report on him, he must be good. The more I knew, the more

nervous I’d be.

It turned out that I was better than Norgaard, at least that day. Halfway through the first period I took him down with a double-leg take down. While I thought about what to do next I put in a two-on-one to drive to his stomach. Then I stuck in a half nelson on one side and an arm bar on the other, the way I used to do so long ago. Now I had two

handles with which to turn him over. Usually I picked the one that “felt” better and went

with it. This time it was the half nelson that felt better. It was in rather deep. I

relinquished the arm bar but kept that wrist, then stepped out to the side. He went to his

back easily. After thirty or so seconds had passed the match ended with another pin for

me. Things were going well today.

By then it was late afternoon. The match-ups in the finals had already been

determined, and the consolation semifinals would begin soon. Three Chapel Forge

Township wrestlers had made the finals: both Schmidt brothers and also Joe Eckert. In

addition, five of us were still alive in the consolation bracket. If I won my next match, I

would wrestle for third place that evening.

In that match my opponent was a freshman from High Bridge, who we would be taking on in a dual meet later in the season. I had a surprisingly easy time with him. The

score was 7-0, and it wasn’t even that close. After the match, sitting in the bleachers, I

had my first pangs of guilt. At the age of nineteen I had just beaten a fourteen-year-old

kid. The guilt soon gave way to shame.

At that point there was a break while all but one mat was removed from the gym. The consolation finals, for third place, were scheduled to begin at six o’clock p.m. After that would be the finals.

Until about that time the gym had been less than half full. As preparations for the

finals were being made, fans began filing in and seating themselves in bleachers. For the most part they were bunched according to the school they supported. A group of Chapel

Forge students was beginning to assemble behind the area that we had staked out as our home base. As I went off to the warm-up area to do some pre-match stretching, I

casually scanned the faces in that group and saw several that I recognized.

One of the faces I saw surprised me. I knew her immediately. It was Judy Voorst, the

honor society actress and valedictorian-to-be from History class. I wouldn’t have thought

of her as a wrestling fan. As a matter of fact I was absolutely sure that she wasn’t.

Friends hadn’t dragged her there either. I watched her for several minutes from across

the gym as I stretched. She had come alone.

I couldn’t help hoping that she had come to see me. I had already admitted to myself

that I was somewhat taken with her. She was attractive enough, although not a natural beauty, and certainly not a slave to fashion. She had blond hair and a slim face, with intense green eyes. I knew from the time we had spent eating lunch together and also from her participation in history class discussions that she was very bright with a sharp sense of humor. She had a distinct set of friends but she was friendly with everybody.

That was one of my favorite things about her.

I forced myself to turn my thoughts back to the task at hand. My opponent in the

consolation finals was a familiar one: Ken Brown, who had beaten me 7-4 in the opening

round. After that match he had advanced to the semifinals before losing. Now he had

dropped into the consolation bracket and wrestled his way to a rematch with me.

This time I was determined not to give up big points early, the way I did the first time.

I had seen that he tired late in the match and wanted to keep it close until then. Instead of

shooting first I tied up and circled for most of the first period. So did Brown. At 1:40,

we were both hit with stalling warnings that were well deserved. This didn’t bother me as much as it should have bothered Brown. I felt sure I had the stamina to avoid another stalling call, whereas he had to have doubts.

After the stalling call I took my first shot, a single-leg. I was able to grab the leg but

was unable to do anything with it. I knew I had to work fast before he used his athletic

ability to shake me off and score. I hooked his ankle with my leg, shot my arm between

his legs to block his far leg, and drove through him. It was a perfect navy trip that

resulted in 2 takedown points at the buzzer, giving me the lead.

For the second period Brown chose the top position. I tried but couldn’t remember

what he done in that situation the first time we wrestled. It turned out that this time he

stuck to basics, driving me to the mat with an ankle ride. He didn’t seem to be getting

tired yet. I fought back to my base and tried to stand up. Before I could stand he yanked

my leg back and turked me. As he stepped through I was turned onto my back, and

couldn’t free myself from the grip that he clamped onto my shoulder. I didn’t think that

he could pin me with what he had, but I was stuck. I fought for over a minute to avoid the pin. When the period was over it was me who was exhausted, not Brown. More importantly, I was now trailing 3-2, and would start the third period on top. That meant that to score I would have to turn him over, or else release him and take him down.

I was surprised by the skill with which he had used the turk against me. After the first

match I had concluded that he had placed in the states only because of tremendous

natural strength and athletic ability. Now I saw that he was more skilled than I had

realized. When the third period started, I decided to give myself only thirty or forty seconds to

try to turn him over. If I couldn’t I’d let him go, giving up 1 point, and try to take him

down to tie the match.

Things didn’t work out as well as I’d hoped. He immediately sat out at the whistle.

When he stopped momentarily instead of rolling through I thought that maybe I could cradle him. Instead, while I shifted, he resumed turning in. He still had my wrist. With his left arm he hooked my leg and turned me with a peterson roll. I was able to avoid giving up back points but he had scored a reversal, increasing his lead to 5-2. In the last minute of the match I kept trying to stand up, and Brown kept back-tripping me to the mat. The match ended with no further change in scoring.

The margin was the same, but I didn’t feel nearly as good about this match as I had

about my first loss to Brown. I thought I had him on the run as the match ended the night

before. This time he controlled the match from start to finish except for the navy trip I

executed in the first period.

Still, even though I had suffered two losses in as many days, I didn’t feel I had any

reason to feel discouraged about the first matches of my comeback. I was a high school

wrestler again. I had a record of 4 wins and 2 losses, and a fourth place finish in my first

tournament. Both of my losses were reasonably close, to a returning state placer. Really,

in terms of wrestling, I had nothing to feel bad about. It was actually safer for my season

to start this way. If I had run up a big winning streak questions would start to be asked

about where I had come from.

I pulled my warm-ups back on and rejoined my teammates. Dennis Ruchinskas, Sam

Hartman and Robert Mendez were also in the consolation finals so I cheered them on. Unfortunately they all lost, as I did. That meant that Chapel Forge Township took fourth place in the four highest weight classes.

There was a fifteen-minute intermission between the consolation finals and the finals.

The wrestlers on the gym floor, including the group of Chapel Forge wrestlers I was part

of, melted away into the lobby or up into the bleachers. Suddenly I was milling around

alone in the corner.

I really didn’t have any place to go, but there was one place I wanted to go. Judy was

still sitting by herself but the seats around her were beginning to fill up. There wasn’t

any harm in sitting with her, I thought. That really isn’t violating my rules. Besides, I

didn’t really have any other place to go.

In my younger days, I would have gone to great lengths to make my appearance seem

accidental to Judy. That day, I simply grabbed my wrestling bag from the bottom row of

the bleachers and walked up to where she was sitting.

“Hi Ben,” she said cheerfully as soon as I was close enough. “You had a good

match.”

“A good loss, huh?” I asked with a half smile. “Thanks. That’s the second time he

beat me in two days. Are you a big wrestling fan?” I asked.

She hesitated. That told me a lot. “I saw the tournament in the paper and thought I’d

check it out. School spirit, I guess. Besides, you came to see us so I thought I’d return

the favor.”

How had she known that I was at the play? I had thought I was just another face in the crowd. She knew what I was thinking. “Somebody told me you were there,” she said with a laugh. “I wanted to come see you after the show but I couldn’t get away. You didn’t come early enough,” she teased.

“Yeah, well, I’m glad you came tonight, Judy,” I replied. After that, there was nothing more to say. The public address system came alive as the finals session began.

We settled in to watch. As the bleachers continued to fill in, Judy and I were forced to move closer and closer together. I didn’t mind a bit.

Chapter 5 -- Winter Break

After the Moorefield tournament we had no matches until after Christmas. It sounded

like a longer break than it was. Actually, we would begin our dual meet schedule next

weekend. In the meantime we had two days of school and practice before Christmas, and

we would likely have a grueling practice on Friday after we returned. On Saturday we

would face Wenonah.

I spent Sunday in my condo watching football and doing homework. Of course, I also

spent a good deal of time thinking about Judy and examining the snowy-grams I had

received. How could I find out if she had sent one of them? I was being presumptuous.

Without any logical reason I was sure that she had come to the tournament to see me, and

based on that I was hoping that she had also sent the snowy-gram.

I made my weekly phone call to my father. By then I had learned to lie to him without

upsetting myself. Occasionally I was forced to make up a few details how college was

going. This worried me because I hadn’t really made much of an effort to keep track of

the lies I had told them. I would need a little luck to keep from crossing myself up by telling conflicting lies. I did mention that I would be coming down to Florida for

Christmas but I would only be able to stay one night. We had wrestling practice the next day. “I’ve got to get back to register for a new class,” I told him. Lying to my father hurt but I comforted myself by remembering that he was hardly listening anyway. I also called Brad during half time of one of the games I was watching. To him I was

able to tell the complete truth, since he had always been in on my scheme. He had

stopped passing judgment on what I had done and actually seemed interested in the

details. I knew he disapproved but it was a relief to hear that he had some interest.

He did raise an interesting point, one that made me uncomfortable. “What would you

do if your new life took you to a place where your old one already was? Like, say your team entered a tournament down here in North Carolina. Wouldn’t somebody recognize you?” he asked. “Or what if you win the states, or do something great on the mat, and it gets written up in the paper? Don’t you worry that somebody in your real life might figure out who you are and what you did?”

He was right, of course. I had thought about that in the past few months. All I could

do was try to minimize the chances of the collision of my worlds as much as possible.

For instance, if the team entered a tournament in North Carolina, as Brad had suggested, I

would have to find a way to miss it. Generally, though, it was out of my hands. There

was no way that I could control the flow of information or who saw me living the life of

Ben Petrovic. There was always the danger that somebody could discover that I was Ben

Pietrak. The best I could was to minimize the chances of that happening.

Before homeroom on Monday I stopped by Tim Bergman’s locker to talk, but not

about anything in particular. A few minutes later Robert Mendez appeared. I was fast

becoming part of a group even if it was only comprised of wrestlers. This went against

my better judgment because the closer anybody got to me, the easier it would be for my

secret to be discovered. Even so, it was nice to be part of a group. Unfortunately, I was involved in an incident on Monday morning that ran counter to

my plan to keep a low profile. For weeks on the way to math class I had noticed a classic

case of bullying. Scott Cole was the bully and Hugh Alexander was the victim. Scott, a

senior, was a popular kid. I didn’t really know why. I could see that he had a good

sense of humor but he used it in a negative way. He was well known for making biting

sarcastic remarks at the expense of other kids.

Not content with verbal abuse, Cole had taken to surprising Alexander in the hall near

my math classroom at the same time every day and knocking Alexander’s books out of

his hands. Whenever this happened everybody who witnessed it laughed at the red-faced

Alexander as he crawled around the floor picking up his belongings.

I detested what Cole did, and even more that nobody did anything about it. At the

same time I knew that at that age I wouldn’t have done anything about it either. Now,

though, it was galling to me. At first I was able to restrain myself from intervening,

knowing that it was more important to protect my secret by attracting as little attention as

possible.

That day, however, I couldn't help myself. I was standing outside my math classroom

waiting for the bell to ring. When Hugh passed by he greeted me. I had befriended him a few days earlier out of pure sympathy after seeing the conflict with Cole play out day after day. Hugh always knew that Cole was lurking nearby but wasn’t always able to spot him in time. On this day, as often happened, Cole had ducked down behind a group of girls who knowingly screened him from the victim. I could see what was going to happen. After Alexander passed the group of girls Cole was going to spring out and knock his books to the floor. At that point all of the other characters in this one-act play that had been performed so many times would dutifully laugh, and none would come to

Alexander’s aid.

This time it would be different. I was unable to stifle my compulsion to stand up for

my new friend Hugh. As he approached the spot where Cole was hiding I walked

quickly to the same spot. By the time Cole emerged I was behind him but within an

arm’s length. As he reached out toward Hugh, I reached toward Cole. With a forceful

jerk I yanked him backward by his shirt collar. I used so much force that I heard his shirt

tear. Cole was about the same size as I was but he didn’t have the strength or reflexes of a wrestler. Besides, I was a man and he was a boy. He lurched wildly toward me before

I relinquished my grip and he regained his footing. On his face was a look of shock. A similar look graced the faces of nearly all the kids who were watching. I had become either a hero or a pariah. I wasn’t sure which.

I felt like I had to say something. “Leave him alone!” I commanded.

“What’s your problem, man?” he yelled back at me, as he tried to adjust his shirt back

to its original configuration.

I instantly regretted calling attention to myself but it was too late. I couldn’t back

down. “You are. Don’t ever bother him again,” I said.

Cole was regaining his composure, and was struggling to retain his dignity. “It’s between me and the dweeb here,” he snarled, “so butt out!”

“Hugh is my friend so that makes it my business,” I informed Cole calmly, as I folded

my arms across my chest. I knew what none of the other kids, or maybe even Cole

himself, could be sure of. Cole would back down. He knew I meant business and

suddenly couldn’t think of anything to say. Before either of us spoke again somebody else ended our confrontation. There was no doubt in the mind of anybody present about

who was the winner and who was the loser.

“Knock it off, you two!” boomed an approaching voice. It was Mr. Loomis, a

geometry teacher whose classroom was nearby. Mrs. Carbuckle, my algebra teacher, came out from her classroom at about the same time, to see what the commotion was about. “Everybody get out of here, get to class,” Mr. Loomis said loudly. The hallway cleared quickly.

Just like that, the incident was over. I never saw Cole bother Hugh Alexander again.

The funny thing was, Hugh never said a word to me again, either. He was probably too embarrassed for not standing up for himself. As for me, I regretted what I had done, even though it was morally right. It was important to avoid as much attention as possible, I reminded myself for the umpteenth time.

There was another reason for which I felt some regret. My presence here was

unnatural. I didn’t belong. Was it right for me to take unnecessary actions that affect

other people so directly? I recalled a book I had once read in which modern day historians communicated through a time travel device with Christopher Columbus and

caused him to change his plans so drastically that he never reached the New World in

1492. In a way, I was traveling back in time into an adolescent world. Was I changing

things I had no right to change? For example, would Hugh Alexander now fail to learn to

defend himself because at a crucial moment, I had intervened?

All of this was so abstract that I brushed it aside. What did I know about time travel

or the laws of nature? Besides, it was hypocritical for me to think that way. I had already stolen a varsity lineup spot from Steve Vogel, and I fully intended to steal some wrestling awards from legitimate high school wrestlers. My entire scheme was all about

rewriting history, and not just my own.

My palms were sweating later as I made my way to history class. Judy would be there

and I was nervous. I hoped that things between us wouldn’t always feel so awkward.

She was already in her seat when I entered the classroom. She spied me immediately

and gave me a nice wide smile. “Hi Judy,” I said.

“Hi Ben!” she said cheerfully. “How are things?”

“Alright, alright,” I said. I patted her on the shoulder as I headed to my desk across

the room. Well, we were now better acquainted than we were on Friday, at least. Even

so, I couldn’t help feeling disappointed. I had hoped that when we saw each other again

it would be warmer than it was.

Some of the guys were ribbing me about Judy that afternoon at practice. My sitting with her during the finals hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Who was that chick, anyway?” asked

Eric Caldwell. “I never saw her before.”

“Eric,” I said in jest. “You’ve got to broaden your horizons. There are other girls

besides the cheerleaders, my friend!” We both had a quick laugh. Then we got down to

business and had a challenging practice. The walls were dripping with condensation

before we called it quits. Coach Miles wasn’t happy with the conditioning of some of our

guys and apparently was planning to do something about it.

We didn’t have school on Christmas Eve day but we did have a morning wrestling

practice. It was another tough one, which is just what we needed. In the locker room

afterwards some of the guys were discussing plans for Christmas. “How about you Ben,

what are you doing?” asked Nick Schmidt. “Where do you live, anyway?” “I live over by the apple orchards, at Tanglewood,” I said. “After practice I’m flying

down to Florida to see my mom.”

“She lives in Florida?” somebody asked, puzzled.

“North Carolina, I mean,” I said with hesitation. “Did I say Florida?” What had I told

these guys already? I didn’t want to give away too much, nor did I want to contradict any of my earlier lies. “My parents are divorced and I moved up here with my father.” After

I said it I couldn't figure out why I told them that my mother was divorced rather than dead. That became just another lie to keep track of.

I actually did fly to Florida after practice. It was a strange schedule and I hardly knew

why I did it. It wasn’t until late in the evening that I arrived, and my stay would be short

because I had to return for practice the day after Christmas. It was great to see my father

though. I think he needed it. I’d never been away from him for so long, even during my

year in college. Telling the increasingly complex web of lies was painful because I had

always been so close with him, at least until the accident happened. As soon as I walked

in the door I had to make up a new set of lies to explain something I hadn’t thought of.

“Ben,” Dad asked, “What happened to your face?”

How could I have forgotten? Besides the usual scattering of abrasions and rough

patches, I had an ugly raw mat burn beside my left eye, and a small scratch running

across the bridge of my nose. These were pretty much the same spots where I was

marked up back in my first high school career.

I had to think fast. “Well, I met the local wrestling coach, the high school guy,” I said,

trying to sound as calm as possible. “We got to talking, and he ended up inviting me to practice whenever I can get there. I don’t really have much else to do, so I’ve been

going.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said. “You’re no kid anymore; it could be

dangerous rolling around with those young guys.” Of course, he didn’t know the half of

it and it had to stay that way. Luckily he was satisfied with my answer more so than with

the appearance of my face, and the subject was dropped.

On the afternoon of Christmas day I had a long phone call with Brad. I told him everything. He seemed very interested, and the tone of disapproval was gone as he

questioned me about parts that I had left out. There was no way that he had changed his

mind about what I was doing, but I appreciated that he was now keeping his opinion to himself.

Friday’s practice was also in the morning, and so I left Christmas night, flying into

Philadelphia International Airport where I had left my car. I felt guilty about how anxious I was to leave. High school was difficult and could be painful at times, but it was more exciting and interesting than what I would be doing if I were back in my old life. I couldn’t wait to get back.

Chapter 6 -- Wenonah

On Saturday we traveled to Wenonah for our first dual meet. Wenonah was a solid

team, from what I heard, and we would be hard-pressed to win. Neither they nor we were

among the South Jersey elite but Wenonah was closer than we were, being ranked

eleventh in the latest poll. Coach Miles had been hyping this match to us as a way to break into the rankings ourselves. After practice the night before the match we all weighed in again. He told us all to make our own weight the next day, but also to be prepared to wrestle up a weight class.

The Wenonah coaching staff really knew how to run an entertaining match. The

Warriors ran onto the mat for warm-ups with the AC-DC tune “Hell’s Bells” blasting over the public address system. Had I known they would do that I would have suggested

that we return to the locker room after we had our own warm up. Instead, we sat on the

bench and watched as they did a few calisthenics and worked some moves while the music blared. Some of our younger wrestlers may have felt a little bit intimidated by that spectacle, and by the large crowd of Wenonah fans that filled most of the bleachers. I made a note to suggest to Coach Miles that we stay in the locker room next time and that maybe we should adopt a warm-up song of our own.

Wenonah didn’t have a 103-pound wrestler. That seemed odd considering how good

their program was. Tom Schmidt earned six team points for us just by walking on the

mat. We only had one 103-pounder ourselves. If we had another Coach Miles could have used the backup to take the forfeit. That way, Schmidt, who was better than our

regular 112-pounder, could have wrestled the 112-pound match, increasing our chances

of winning that weight class as well.

Instead, Dan Garfield, one of Wenonah’s best wrestlers, manhandled Connor Lynch.

Lynch managed to keep from getting pinned but he lost by technical fall, 16-1. That earned five team points for Wenonah which made the score 6-5 in our favor.

In the 119-pound bout Reggie McKenzie showed why his name had begun to pop up

in the individual rankings. He toyed with his opponent for all three periods, taking him

down at will. Unfortunately, he was unable to come up with a pin. That was

McKenzie’s only weakness, I thought. He lacked the physical strength to lock his

opponent into a lethal pinning combination. Once it was apparent that McKenzie

couldn’t pin his opponent Coach Miles directed him to come away with nothing less than a technical fall, which would earn us five team points. McKenzie used his considerable skills on his feet from the neutral position to build the fifteen-point lead required to do that. The match was stopped when the score became 21-6 and we took the lead over

Wenonah by 11-5.

Mike Rebardo, at 125, was one of our weakest wrestlers. Wrestling in his first year on

varsity, he didn’t win a match at the Moorefield Tournament. Secretly I thought that

Coach Miles should have wrestled McKenzie up a weight class in place of Rebardo, with

McKenzie’s backup filling in at 119. After Rebardo’s match started, I could see

immediately that Wenonah wasn’t very strong at this weight class either. Maybe Coach

Miles had known this all along. Even so, unfortunately, they were stronger than we

were. Their 125-pounder was a better athlete than Rebardo, if not a better wrestler. He was able to earn a takedown over Rebardo halfway through the first period. Before the period was over, he somehow managed to turn Rebardo over and pin him. Now, heading into the 130-point match, the team score was tied at 11.

Tim Bergman didn’t fair very well at 130. Tim was a solid wrestler but lacked outstanding skill at any single aspect of wrestling. I knew from experience that he would beat every bad wrestler but lose to every exceptional one. That was exactly what happened that day. Only his strength and body control kept Tim in the match although he was never able to score a point and the outcome was never in doubt. After he was beaten 6-0 the team score stood at 14-11 in Wenonah’s favor. Based on the little I knew about South Jersey wrestling the score was much closer than it was expected to be at that point in the dual meet. We were not supposed to be that close.

Coach Miles had specifically mentioned the middleweights the night before when he mentioned that there could be some lineup juggling. Wenonah didn’t have any of their best wrestlers coming up. Miles gambled by moving each middleweight wrestler up a class so he could squeeze out the inexperienced freshman Kevin McGuire at 145.

This meant that Jim Malone wrestled at 135 pounds in place of Eric Caldwell. Mile’s strategy backfired here even before it had a chance to succeed. Malone was mystery, and not just to me. He had never before wrestled a varsity match. On that day, at least,

Malone did not show that he had much ability and was beaten decisively. It may have been the result of nervousness but he was completely outclassed on the mat. The final score was 12-0, which earned four more team points for Wenonah. Now their lead was up to 18-11. The strategy continued to go awry at 140 pounds. Eric Caldwell was about the right

size for 135 but he looked surprisingly small in comparison to Wenonah’s wrestler at

140. Every time Caldwell looked to be finishing a move his opponent muscled his way

out of it. It was an entertaining match but in the end Caldwell was beaten on strength,

and lost by a 6-3 score. This made the team score 21-11. If we didn’t get any better

results soon, we would be mathematically eliminated from winning the match.

Joe Eckert moved up a weight class and wrestled in place of Kevin McGuire at 145.

After finishing strong the previous season he had picked up where he left off when this

season started. At Moorefield he had pinned his way to the finals, where he won an easy

decision for the championship. He might be giving away a few pounds at 145 but it was

going to take a good wrestler to beat him that day.

Sure enough, Eckert won the match by an impressive 10-0 score. He came close to

scoring a pin twice but was unable to finish his larger opponent off either time. It was

still an impressive victory that narrowed the team score gap to 21-15. Already we had

surpassed expectations in terms of points scored.

Miles went back to the original lineup starting at 152. Jack Flanagan had good size

for this weight class. He was probably big enough to wrestle at 160. It was misleading to view Flanagan simply as a first year wrestler. He had been good enough to wrestle varsity at some schools before that season but was stuck behind Nick Schmidt. I thought before the season started that he could surprise a lot of people. At Moorefield he had placed a respectable third, not a bad start considering his lack of varsity experience. As it turned out, that wasn’t the day that Flanagan would start surprising people. He was immediately overwhelmed by his Wenonah opponent, and trailed 7-2 after the first period.

“Who is this guy?” I asked Dennis Kuchinskas as we warmed up behind our bench.

“That’s Chick Weaver. He went to states last year,” Dennis told me.

“Chick?” I responded. Odd name, I thought, but I quickly turned my mind back to

wrestling. Flanagan continued to take a beating before finally being pinned early in the

third period. The team score now stood at 27-15. We had a lot of points to make up, and

that would be difficult because Wenonah still had some good wrestlers on the bench

waiting for their matches.

I expected Nick Schmidt to pin quickly. As he shook hands with his opponent I

stripped off my warm-ups, pulled my singlet up over my shoulders, and snapped my

headgear on. After a couple of single-leg takedowns against a phantom opponent I

deemed myself ready. As I watched Nick wrestle I paced back and forth behind our

bench.

The match didn’t go as expected. Schmidt scored an early takedown but then wasted

the entire first period trying to work some type of front headlock. I knew nothing about

the move he was trying except that he tried it on me incessantly in practice, never

succeeding even a single time. In the second period he scored one set of back-points on a

tilt, but that was all. He was far better than his opponent but only led 5-0 heading into the

final period.

Nick scored an immediate escape, and then a takedown in the third period, but that

was the end of the scoring. He had won four team points for us with a major decision. I felt privately that he had let the team down by not pinning an opponent to whom he was far superior, which would have earned us six team points rather than four.

It was my turn to wrestle so I didn’t dwell on Nick’s match. I knew from Coach

Miles that my opponent wasn’t very good, and I intended to leave the mat with nothing

less than a pin. Wenonah had good wrestlers at every weight class after my match, and

so this was the only spot left where we could score bonus points.

I headed out to the center of the mat and prepared to wrestle. When the whistle blew I

advanced and tied up with my opponent. He was stronger than I thought he'd be based on

his appearance. I quickly decided to get out of the tie-up as soon as possible for that

reason. I couldn’t free myself from his grasp until we threw each other out of bounds

after a minute of wrestling. As I walked quickly back to the center of the mat I decided

to shoot for a leg rather than to tie up again.

That’s just what I did. I went for a double-leg but was forced to switch to a single-leg.

He cross-faced hard and slipped behind me as I struggled with the cross-face. I now

trailed 2-0. That was the score when the first period ended.

I was given the choice of positions for the second period. I hadn’t done well standing,

so I chose the bottom position. Repeatedly I sat out, trying alternately to hit a switch or to turn in to him, hoping to come up with a peterson roll or at least an escape. Neither happened. I couldn’t break the tight-waist grip that my opponent held. The period ended with no points being scored. Being on bottom was probably my best opportunity to score and I hadn’t done so. His ability to ride me for the entire two-minute period was impressive and it meant that I had a lot to do if I was going to win the match. For the third period he chose the bottom the same way I had in the second. Miles

yelled to me as we got set. “Ben! You might have to cut ‘em!” I knew what he meant

and I had been thinking the same thing. If was unable to put him on his back, which was

the only way I could score from the top position, I would have to think about releasing

him. He would be awarded one point for escaping but then I would then be in position to

score two by takedown. I told myself that I would release him after forty-five seconds of

trying to turn him over or whenever Coach Miles told me to, whichever came first.

When wrestling resumed I threw in a two-on-one grip to break him down to his

stomach. It worked momentarily, but then he was able to peel my right hand off of his

right forearm as he fought back to his knees. I still had his right wrist in my left hand. A perfect situation for a goofy move I had learned years ago. It probably had different name now, years later and four states away, but we had always called it a Clemson Roll.

I retained my grip on his right wrist with my left, and reached between his legs to

reclaim my grip on his right forearm with my right hand. Now, all I had to do was roll

for the tilt. I lurched hard to my right, throwing my ear to the mat in a tight roll. It

worked! I couldn’t quite see the angle at which his back was exposed to the mat but I

heard the referee counting off back-points. After he had counted off three I knew that all

I had to do was keep him from escaping and I would earn the victory. There were thirty- five seconds left when my opponent was able to fight off his back. I still controlled his arm and intended to make the most of it. I just held on and stayed behind him while checking the scoreboard to make sure that the referee had awarded three back-points to

me. The Wenonah fans were hooting now, yelling at the referee to call stalling. There was

no doubt that I was doing just that. The referee may have been annoyed with the fans

because he waited until there were fewer than ten seconds left before calling it. With

minimal effort I managed to hold out for the rest of the period with no more calls and

escaped with a 3-2 victory.

My opponent was upset at losing in the final seconds and lost his composure. “What

kind of candy-ass move was that?” he growled at me. The referee immediately signaled

again to the scorer’s table, deducting a team point from Wenonah for unsportsmanlike

conduct. Now, with three matches to go, we trailed by 26-22. This had turned into a

very close match, much closer than expected.

I could hardly see straight after my match because I was so exhausted. I didn’t watch

the final three matches very closely as I sat on the bench huffing and puffing.

Ruchinskas, Sam Hartman and Robert Mendez all lost decisions to highly regarded opponents. That made the final score 35-22. We had done pretty well, I thought. There

was a good chance that we could break into the South Jersey top twenty after that match.

Coach Miles seemed pleased with the result and he told us so in the locker room after

the match. My head was still spinning with fatigue when we boarded the bus to return to

Chapel Forge but I was OK by the time we arrived. We would practice once early next

week and then take a break for New Years. “Make sure you get your road work in,”

Coach Miles told us. “Once we get back after New Years, things will happen fast.”

It felt good to get home. I stripped off my jeans and stretched out on the bed. I couldn’t help wondering if Judy had been among the Chapel Forge contingent of fans at

Wenonah. I had scanned the crowd without seeing her and couldn’t help feeling disappointed. At the same time, of course, I knew it was better that way. My plan didn’t

include anybody like Judy and that was for good reason.

I did plenty of running over the next few days. New Year’s Eve was spent alone in my condo watching Dick Clark reporting on the festivities from Times Square in New

York. As Coach Miles had said, the season would heat up quickly after the holidays. I felt like I wasn’t rusty or out of practice anymore, and was ready for whatever came my way.

Chapter 7 -- Leadership

After the New Years break we settled in for the meat of the dual meet season. There

was one aspect of high school wrestling this time around that was different than what I

remembered. On most Saturdays we had more than one match on the schedule. They

weren’t just quad or tri-meets, either, where several teams would come to the same

location and all teams would wrestle each other. Sometimes we’d wrestle a match in the

morning, go our separate ways, and then meet up again for an evening match. Either end

of these “doubleheaders” could be home or away. The morning - evening

“doubleheaders” were difficult for me to get used to because each required a separate

weigh-in. That meant that after making weight in the morning we needed to hold our

weight all day.

After the Wenonah match we had a quick succession of matches against teams that

weren’t very good. I won all 4 of my matches over that stretch, each with a pin. I now had a record of 9-2, and had suddenly appeared number 5 in the South Jersey rankings at

171. That seemed like the perfect spot for me right now. Not high enough to raise

anybody’s suspicions this year, but high enough that it wouldn’t look suspicious next

year if I made a run at the state title.

I thought often, with growing disgust, about how my nine wins represented victories

by a man over boys. I was cheating. It was harder than I expected to be proud of those

victories. My scheme had been set in motion, though, and now it couldn’t be undone. My new life was too enmeshed with the lives of others to drop out now. The decision

about the morality of what I was doing had been made long ago and returning to that debate was useless. It was just too late for that.

As far as schoolwork went, things were going very well. I found that although the

material in some classes was difficult, nothing was insurmountable as long as I was

willing to consistently spend quality time on homework and studying. After I got home

from practice and ate something I always dedicated two hours to schoolwork. If there

weren’t any pressing assignments due I reread chapters, practiced working chemistry

equations or solved trigonometry problems. It was hardly an inconvenience at all

because I didn’t have much to do outside of school anyway. My newfound diligence was

all it took to succeed in school. On both of my report cards so far this year I had never

received any grade except for an “A” in any class. That was astounding because I’d

never been more than a “C” student before.

In mid-January we entered the toughest part of our schedule, where we would wrestle some of the top teams in the area. So far, only Wenonah was on the level of the teams we

were about to encounter. We were a good team, and better than we had been expected to

be, but we weren’t at the level of some of these perennial powerhouses.

Our team had done well so far, losing only the Wenonah match. Even so, I thought we could be better than we were. Many of our wrestlers weren't wrestling the style they

were best suited to. To me, it looked like many of our guys were trying slick, complicated moves when they should have been sticking to the basics. I thought I knew why. Nick Schmidt was now in his fourth year in the varsity lineup, and there was no doubt that he was the best wrestler and the team leader. Although he was a master of basic wrestling moves, he usually didn’t use them. I could hardly remember seeing him

take any opponent down in a match with a single-leg or double-leg, although I was

certain he could have. The half nelson, arm bars or cradles, all among my favorites, were

moves that Nick rarely used. I believed that many of the wrestlers were emulating Nick,

perhaps unconsciously, in their choice of moves and general wrestling style. They were

wasting too much time and energy trying to work moves and tilts that were beyond their

ability. I thought that they should be keeping to the basics and working for pins rather

than tilts. And unlike Nick, furthermore, none of the others had the mat experience and

mastery of wrestling basics to the degree that they should before trying to wrestle such an

advanced style.

I was sure that a lot of our guys were making this mistake. Honestly, I thought that

Schmidt, too, should lose some of the fancy stuff and get back to the tried and true basic moves. There had been many matches I’d seen in which he completely outclassed his opponent but only won by decision. He wasted too much time trying to sink a complicated pinning combination or score with an acrobatic tilt that rarely led to a pin.

I didn’t feel like it was my place, as the new guy on the team, to speak up about how I

felt. However, as my record continued to improve the others began to look up to me

more. By this time I was leading in team points accumulated because I pinned my

opponent so often. One Monday I forgot to hold my tongue.

“Flinch” and Caldwell were wrestling hard during a round-robin conditioning session.

Caldwell, who was bigger and also a better wrestler, was dominating. After a minute of

wrestling, though, he had scored only a single takedown, with no back points. He had

spent most of the period tugging on Flinch’s arm with futility. It was just too frustrating for me to watch without at least making a comment. After they were finished I crawled

over to where they were crouched.

“Eric, nice job riding,” I began.

He was still working to regain his breath. “Thanks,” he gasped. “I just couldn’t turn

him.”

It was the perfect opening for what I wanted to say. “Eric, did you ever think about

trying something simpler to turn the guy? I have no idea what you trying to do with that

arm, and I don’t want to know, because it was never going to work.”

The truth was that I did know what he was doing with that arm, having seen the move

worked a few times recently. He was waiting for a chance to hook his opponent up near

the head, when the opportunity presented itself, so that he could wrench him to his back.

The trouble was that a lot of time seemed to get wasted waiting for conditions that

usually didn't materialize. I thought the time could be put to better use.

A couple other wrestlers had drifted over to listen. That’s what I hoped would happen because this was a problem for many wrestlers besides Eric Caldwell.

I tried to make my case. “Don’t you want to pin people? Nothing works like the

basics. And when you go against the best wrestlers, it’s really only the basic stuff that you can count on.”

“Yeah, maybe you’re right,” Eric said. “I’m wasting so much time and getting no

points.”

“Exactly,” I agreed, thankful that he, and not I, had said it. I was finished, or so I

thought, when Coach Miles yelled across the room in our direction. “Ben, come on up

here!” Uh-oh, I thought. I should have minded my own business. Now what had I done?

“Ben, what exactly were you saying?” he said, loudly enough that everybody on the

team could hear. “I think you just said something important. Could you repeat it for

everybody?”

I was relieved that Coach Miles wasn’t angry with me for shooting my mouth off.

Actually, he seemed pleased that I had spoken my mind. Still, I felt awkward telling my

teammates how to wrestle. I’d only been here a few months.

“Well,” I began, “All I was saying was that I think that a lot of us are wasting a lot of time on fancy moves that usually don’t work. Especially against good wrestlers.” I looked over at Coach Miles helplessly, hoping that he would take me off the hook. He didn’t.

He waved his hand in exasperation, urging me to continue. When I wasn’t sure what

to say next he turned to the rest of the team, which was now watching attentively.

“Team, Ben here has six or seven pins already. In case you’ve forgotten, pinning is the

name of the game. Go ahead, Ben.”

“Well, uh, I don’t mean to try to tell anybody how to wrestle, believe me,” I said.

“But I’ve been noticing something in a lot of our matches. Lots of us are spending way too much time trying to use complicated moves. If we would try the simpler, old- fashioned stuff, I think we’d score more points and get more pins.”

Apparently I wasn’t going far enough. Coach Miles wanted names named, and so

jumped in. “Here’s what Ben is saying,” he said. “Eric here just spent forty-five seconds

trying to turn Flinch over, and the period ended before he did. That means no points.

Eric, or any of you, why don’t you just stick in an arm bar or a half-nelson, and beast him over? If you’ve shown that you can control your opponent, there’s no reason why you shouldn’t be able to pin him. We shouldn’t be going for technical falls. We should be trying to pin,” he concluded.

I could see now that Coach Miles not only agreed with me, but he must have been

thinking the same thing. Was he just waiting for the right moment to say it? Or was he

holding back until somebody else had said the same thing?

I wondered how Nick was reacting to what had happened. He may or may not have

realized that I was talking about him as well. What really concerned me was that he

might now feel threatened by me. This had been his team for years. Even as a freshman he had been the team leader. He was used to ruling the room, and now here I was, trying to tell everybody what to do. What was worse was that the coach had enthusiastically endorsed what I had said.

Unfortunately, there was no way I could avoid Nick. We routinely worked out

together in practice. On that day he seemed even more driven than usual to knock me

around after Coach and I had our say. He didn’t say a word about it but it was

increasingly obvious that what I had said and done had bothered him.

In the locker room after showering I tracked down Tim Bergman. “Hey Tim,” I said,

“Remember those snowy-gram things?”

“Yup, how could I forget? That was a lot of work,” he laughed.

“I was wondering,” I said. “Is there any way to know who sent them if they’re not

signed?”

“No way,” he responded immediately. “That’s the point, kind of. If they could be

traced, what’s the use of it? When they started this they had to be signed,” he explained. “Nobody bought them. When we started letting people send them anonymously, it took

off.”

“I know they weren’t signed,” I countered, “but isn’t there a record of who, you know,

paid for it, and arranged it?”

“Nope. Somebody handed over the three dollars, wrote the message, addressed it, and

handed it back in. We don’t ask for a name,” he said, almost proudly.

“Oh, okay,” I said, disappointed.

Before I left Coach Miles walked past and told me to stop by his office. That was the

last thing I wanted to do. I glanced around the locker room as I crept to the coach’s

office. As I feared, Nick was watching me, and probably knew where I was headed and

why.

As I approached the office door it occurred to me that I should be alarmed at being

called into the coach’s office. Was he finally on to me?

“Ben, I was real happy about what you said to the team today,” he said. “I think

you’re right on the money.”

“I felt a little funny speaking out, Coach,” I said humbly. “It really isn’t my role on this team.”

“You did the right thing. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. If you see anything else

that needs saying, I want you to say it, the way you did today,” he said. “You’re old for

your years, and I want to take advantage of it.”

“I don’t think Nick feels that way at all,” I said.

Miles walked over to the door and closed it gently. Again I cringed, hoping that Nick

wasn’t watching. “What you talked about is exactly Nick’s problem. You know it and I know it,” he said. “I know he’s unbeaten. Nobody’s come close to beating him yet.

That doesn’t mean he’s doing everything right.”

I agreed with Coach Miles but I kept my mouth shut. I had already said enough.

“Nick is second to none when it comes to being fundamentally sound,” he continued.

“He knows more wrestling than anybody in the room, including me. In the past year or

so, he’s gotten a bit uppity. I don’t mean his attitude. He’s got the best work ethic I’ve

ever seen. I mean the way he wrestles.”

Again, I stayed quiet.

“Nick and I have had this same conversation a couple of times,” Miles told me.

“Including once at the beginning of this season. I haven’t gotten through to him but I’m hoping that maybe you did. Maybe he needed to hear it from another wrestler.”

“Maybe so,” I offered. “But I wasn’t really talking about him. Mostly I was talking

about Eric.” It was a lie.

“You were, and you weren’t,” he said cryptically. “Look, here’s the point. Nick’s

good enough to be a state champ, let me tell you. I’ve never had a state champ and I

want it nearly as bad as he does.”

“I agree, he’s good enough,” I said.

“He won’t win it wrestling that style. You said it yourself. When he gets deep into

the state tournament, that cutesy stuff won’t work, any more than it would work on him,”

Miles said. “The same way it never works on you in practice. At that level he needs to

come right at the other guy with good, hard basic stuff.” He got up and walked over to

the door. I took this as my cue to leave. “I know he doesn’t take criticism well,” he said, “but try to work it in, remind him, if you get a chance. In the long run he’ll be glad you

did. He’s needed somebody like you on the team for a few years now.”

I suddenly felt like I needed to get out of there. I knew Nick wasn’t happy about

what I had said at practice, and a secret meeting with the coach only made things worse.

I packed up and left without saying anything to anybody.

“Keep it Simple” became a common phrase in the wrestling room. After what was

said at practice that day, everybody knew what it meant and seemed to be making an

effort to abide by it. I heard wrestlers admonished more and more during subsequent

practices with that phrase. Nobody dared say it to Nick, but it looked to me like even he

was simplifying his style somewhat, the way the others were.

On Wednesday we faced Pine Springs, a non-conference opponent. It was an away

match. We rode for over an hour into what I was told was called the “Pine Barrens” of

New Jersey. There was nothing barren about it. I’d never seen so many evergreen trees.

The roads that took us to the high school looked as though they had been hacked through

the thick forest.

Pine Springs was as good a team as we would face all season, and we knew we were

overmatched going in. The final score was one-sided, but a few of us had managed to

win. I seemed to have drawn the only poor wrestler in the lineup. I used a near side

cradle directly from the neutral position and pinned my opponent in less than a minute.

Nick, too, scored an early pin. I was pleased, and I imagine Coach Miles was as well, that he scored early with a double-leg takedown. I had never seen Nick start a match without tying up and going for something more exotic. I thought about talking with him on the bus ride home but he still seemed to be annoyed with me so I decided to let it go. Instead, I stared out the window, which was leaking enough cold air to make the ride an uncomfortable one. It was after ten o’clock when I finally got back to my condo and collapsed.

Chapter 8 -- Pep Talk

On Saturday Night we were scheduled to host Peach Valley, the defending conference

champions. PV was a favorite to win the title again and probably didn’t expect too much

resistance from us. We would be underdogs as we had been so often this season, but it

felt good that at least it was now being considered an important match.

Since we were expecting a good crowd I thought maybe we should try to put on a

show the way Wenonah had. That could include individual introduction of each

wrestler, something that apparently had never been done at Chapel Forge. I also thought

we should adopt a theme song that we could play loudly at home matches while we ran

onto the mat for warm-ups. On Thursday night I searched my CD collection and ended

up grabbing three Van Halen albums. My CD collection was slightly dated but I thought

that the worst thing that could happen would be that somebody might wonder why I like

old music.

Even though it was my idea I thought that I should check with Nick before taking it to the team. I was already in hot water with him and I didn’t want to try to undercut his leadership again. It would be a good chance to show him that I knew that it was his team

and not mine.

“You sure picked some old stuff,” he said when I showed him the CDs I had brought.

Ironically, it was among the newest music I owned. “These all rock,” he said. “We’ll talk about it after practice if we’re still standing. I

think Miles will probably try to run us into the ground tonight.”

That went well, I thought later. At least we were talking.

After fourth period I picked up my lunch bag with the orange in it and headed for the

cafeteria. Things were much different at lunchtime for me now. In September I had

walked around the cafeteria awkwardly looking for a place to sit that wouldn’t annoy anybody. Now that I wanted to be alone there were plenty of groups anxious to

welcome me to their table.

As I walked between tables I saw Judy across the cafeteria, sitting with a bunch of

girls as she usually did. If Judy hadn’t been sitting on the periphery of the group with an

empty seat beside her I would have stayed away. The available seat simplified things.

She smiled and waved when she saw me looking her way.

“Hi,” I said cheerfully after walking over. “Mind if I sit down?” I knew she wouldn’t

mind, and most people in high school would never even ask.

“Of course,” she said. “This is Ben,” she announced to her friends. She proceeded to

name each of six girls, who greeted me in turn. I was so nervous that I forgot all of their

names even before Judy had finished saying them.

“Nice lunch,” one of them said about my orange after introductions were over with.

“You’re on the wrestling team, right?” I sensed a hint of disgust, or maybe it was just

disapproval.

“Yeah,” I replied. “Could you tell by the lunch?”

“The lunch and your face,” she said. She clapped her hand over her mouth as soon as

she said it. “Donna!” another said. “That’s not nice!” Everybody had a good laugh. I did have

an ugly set of mat burns and I couldn’t blame her for noticing them. When the girls

drifted back into their own conversation Judy turned to face me instead.

“So how are things?” she asked. “I feel like I’ve hardly seen you since that

tournament.”

“I’ve been wrestling, that’s about it,” I said. When I swung my backpack onto the

table the Van Halen CD’s slid halfway out of the front pocket. She cocked her head to

the side to examine them. “Van Halen fan?” she asked.

“Yeah, you could say that.” I explained why I had brought them to school. As I spoke, I realized how silly it all sounded. I imagined her asking herself why a song was needed even after I explained it. But if she felt that way she didn’t show it. She merely nodded, and pushed the CD’s back down into the backpack pocket.

“You’re really into wrestling, aren’t you Ben?” she said. “Everything you do is

wrapped up in it, it seems.”

“It’s hard to do anything else, especially during the season,” I said, feeling a little bit

defensive.

“I mean, I really shouldn’t say that, because I hardly know you,” she said

apologetically.

“Yeah, you’ve hardly scratched the surface,” I said. We both laughed, but she had no

idea how funny it really was.

“So what else is going in there besides wrestling?” she asked, tapping a finger gently on my temple. I liked that she had touched me. “What are you interested in? I know

you’re a good student, but you aren’t in any clubs or anything.” Tough question. I wasn’t prepared for it. “Well,” I stammered, stalling for time. “I do spend a lot of time working out, when I’m not wrestling.” Boy, was I making myself sound like a dolt. She had already pointed out how one-dimensional I seemed and now I was just driving home the point. I couldn’t imagine that I was making much of an impression. Maybe I could recover. “I read a lot, especially history,” I offered.

“Me too, I love to read,” she replied. “Not history so much. I guess I don’t really read

anything in particular. I like pretty much all fiction.”

This conversation was going nowhere. We were both struggling to find things to say,

looking for things we had in common. Even so, it was exciting that she seemed

interested in me, the same way that I was interested in her. All the while I was

remembering that my plan was to stay out of relationships, but I just plain couldn’t help

myself. I really liked Judy.

“Hey Judy, I was wondering. Some of the guys on the team are going to a party after

the match tomorrow night. Do you want to come along?” I couldn’t believe I had just

asked her out. I’d just broken one of my most important rules.

She was clearly taken aback. It looked like it was a first for her. She just wasn’t part

of a crowd that did much dating. Her face immediately flushed and looked alarmed.

Seeing her sudden distress, I wanted to put her at ease. “It’s no big deal, Judy, really,

I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Oh Ben,” she said. “It isn’t like that, you don’t understand.”

I thought I did understand. It was the pecking order problem, pure and simple. The

vice-president of the National Honor Society and member of the Drama Guild did not go to parties with the 171-pounder. It wasn’t done. Even somebody as mature as Judy couldn’t break free.

“I don’t know, I’d be so nervous,” she said, still struggling with it.

“Nothing to be nervous about,” I said, “but it’s OK, really. I’d probably be nervous if you invited me to a party too.”

“Maybe next time I’ll be braver,” she said. Then lunch was over and we headed back to our classes. I had dodged a bullet, really, when she turned me down. I’d try not to make such a mistake again.

Before and during practice we talked about playing music during warm-ups the next night. Coach Miles was OK with it but he wasn’t going to spend any time arranging it.

“Pick a song, and if it’s OK with me, let Lee take care of it,” he directed.

Lee was the student manager of the team. He was a nice guy even if I didn’t understand why he wanted to spend his afternoons washing wrestling singlets and cleaning mats. He must have had his reasons.

We were unable to agree on a song and there wasn’t much time for debate, so it looked like it wouldn’t happen. Everybody wanted something different. Eric and Reggie led the largest contingent, arguing for a rap song. “That isn’t right,” Robert Mendez argued. “Rap is okay in its place, but for this it has to be rock. That’s the only music that says ‘I’m gonna’ kick your ass and there’s nothing you can do about it,’” he said.

Later, Nick caught up with me in the locker room. He seemed to be coming to grips with my growing influence in the wrestling room, and our relationship was getting back to normal. “Ben, let’s pick a song from your CD’s and just do it. This isn’t a democracy. Do you have them with you?” I did. They were still in the pocket of my backpack. Between the two of us, we chose one. Nick took the CD and tracked Lee down to make arrangements. When I woke up on Saturday I knew it would be a long day. We didn’t have any

wrestling until the Peach Valley match, which wasn’t until seven o’clock. That meant

that I had to hold my weight all day. I was right on weight after practice the night before

but had eaten a little too much when I got home. I decided to go for a light run when I

got up just to remove any doubt about making weight. After that I stayed busy with

homework, and ended up taking an afternoon nap.

When I got to the school for the match, just as it was starting to get dark, the school

busses from Peach Valley were already parked outside. The varsity match was two hours

away but there would be some JV matches before that. Nick trotted over to me as soon as I walked into the gym to help roll out the mats.

“It’s all set up, Lee can hook us right into the PA system,” he said excitedly. “This is

gonna be awesome!” It was nice to see him excited about something that had been my

idea. He had been so sullen towards me for a few days after Coach had forced me to talk

to the team that day.

After we had the mats rolled out we started taping the sections together. When the JV guys returned from weigh-ins they took over so we could head for the scales. Everybody made weight on both sides. By then the JV guys had finished with the mats and had come up to dress for their match. We all enjoyed some post-weigh-in food, and then

Coach Miles called us together.

“Guys, we all know we’re going up against a pretty good squad tonight,” he said.

“They haven’t lost in the conference yet, but we’ve only lost one. They aren’t as strong

as last year and there’s no reason why we can’t give them a good match tonight. Does

anybody have anything they want to say?” Nobody seemed to. I watched Nick but he seemed to be self-involved at the moment.

He didn’t have a particularly tough match that night so I wasn’t sure what he could be

thinking so deeply about. Since nobody else had anything to say, I spoke up. I no longer

felt like a mercenary and had developed some strong feelings for this team.

“I do, Coach, if that’s OK,” I said. I glanced nervously towards Nick as I said it but either he hadn’t heard me at all or he was unfazed.

“Please,” he said.

I stood up. “Guys, I know PV is one of the best teams every year, but they haven’t

blown anybody out, at least anybody who’s any good,” I said. That was something I had

overheard somebody saying the day before. “We can win this one. Everybody has to

stay aggressive. Never stop attacking your opponent, not tonight or in any match,” I

said. “And one more thing,” I said assertively. “Leave it all on the mat. You all know

what that means, right? Go as hard as you can for as long as you can. If you can still

stand when your match is over, you didn’t work hard enough.” I paused. “And nobody

gets pinned, we can’t afford it. If you find yourself on your back, fight it with all you

got.” That didn’t seem like a good way to end my statement. “We’re not letting them win in our house without a fight.”

“Yeah!” a couple of guys yelled. It was Mendez and Eckert, at the same time. At

least I had reached somebody. At that moment the door opened and Lee, the manager,

walked in. “They’re ready. Peach Valley already warmed up. If you stop at the doorway

I’ll crank the music right then,” he suggested.

It was a thrilling moment when we burst onto the mat with our song blaring. No team at Chapel Forge had ever done anything like that. Usually only the elite teams tried to pull that off. Everybody in the gym was surprised and that definitely included the PV

wrestlers, who were hanging around their bench. We circled the mat, and Nick, as

captain, took his place in the center to run the warm-ups. It was exciting.

My probable opponent was a good wrestler just as Nick’s was, and so I was

determined to keep my focus on wrestling. During some of our exercises I scanned the crowd. Was Judy here?

It appeared that Peach Valley had more fans there than we did. They filled the seats

on the visitor’s side of the gym and had begun to occupy a corner of the side on which

Chapel Forge fans traditionally sat.

The match started out well for us. It was a battle of freshmen at 103 pounds, but we had the far better freshman. Tom Schmidt, looking like a little spider with his thin body

and long arms, traded shots with his shorter but stockier opponent. Nick, who was sitting

next to me on the bench at the time, told me that these two had been butting heads for

years. “That’s Brandon Nicholson. These guys have wrestled each other a thousand

times. Tom usually beats him.”

I didn’t know if Tom was remembering my suggestion about attacking and being

aggressive, but that’s how he wrestled. He suddenly tied up and slipped a headlock in.

As he squeezed he turned to try to flip Nicholson onto his back. For a few seconds it was

unclear whether the headlock would work. Just as it looked like Nicholson would be able

to pop his head out and steal the takedown, Schmidt found the strength needed to pull

him onto his back. Once there, the headlock was in so tight that it was only a matter of

time. As Nicholson alternated between bridging and trying to roll through the headlock,

Schmidt tightened the hold expertly. With 19 seconds remaining in the first period the referee signaled the pin. We had drawn first blood and took a 6-0 lead over Peach

Valley.

The next match was one of the most important. We thought we would need points here if we had any chance to win. Connor Lynch was one of our least experienced wrestlers. There was a great opportunity here, however. Peach Valley’s 112-pounder was a junior, but hadn’t won many matches. As a matter of fact, he sported an identical won-loss record as “Flinch” did: 2-8.

The match at 112 looked exactly like we expected: two wrestlers who almost seemed

to be trying to give the match away to the other. The first period ended in a scoreless tie.

The second period was exciting, as they traded reversals and back points. Neither had the

strength or skill to keep the other under control for long. Going into the third period it

was tied at 7. Flinch had the choice for starting position. When he looked over to the

bench for guidance he saw about twenty people signaling emphatically that he should

choose the bottom position. From there, all he would need to do to score was escape.

When the PV wrestler had a problem with his headgear the referee was momentarily

distracted with it. Coach Miles motioned Flinch to come closer. I heard exactly what he

told his wrestler: “Don’t escape until a minute has passed.” Flinch nodded, and returned

to the center of the mat.

It was a slick piece of advice. It would be better to wait until the final period was half

over before trying to escape. That way, if he was able to escape, there would be much

less time left for him to be taken down for two points by his opponent. It was the same

principle that a football team was banking on when it tried to manage the clock so they

had the ball last. Whoever had the last chance to score would probably win. That was how the match played out. Flinch moved around on bottom to avoid the stalling call, but was really trying to do nothing except stay off his back. After a minute the referee looked like he was thinking about hitting him for stalling. Right about then he began working for an escape. He repeatedly stood up and ran, but his opponent had been able to hold on long enough to force Flinch out of bounds. Finally, on the fourth attempt,

Flinch broke free. The PV wrestler made a desperate lunge at Flinch’s ankles but it didn’t work. With twenty seconds left, Flinch led 8-7.

Coach Miles yelled to get Flinch’s attention, and barked more instructions: “Back out until you get a warning!” He didn’t even try to hide from the referee the fact that he was ordering is wrestler to stall. Again, it was perfect advice. There were only twenty seconds left. Flinch could kill at least half of that by moving backwards to avoid a takedown, until he received a stalling warning.

The warning came as the wrestlers crossed out of bounds right in front of our bench.

Another stalling violation would cost a point, equaling the score and sending it into overtime. “Tie up!” Schmidt yelled to Flinch. He did, and was able to kill the last eight seconds. Understandably, the Peach Valley fans booed our stalling tactics, but we didn’t care. After two bouts we were ahead 9-0.

Reggie McKenzie kept our momentum going with a surprising 10-5 victory at 119 pounds. His opponent had beaten him twice the previous year but that night McKenzie led the entire match. He wrestled aggressively from the opening whistle, never giving his opponent enough time to set his moves up. Again, I couldn’t help thinking that he had heeded my advice the same way I thought Tom Schmidt had. We knew how good Peach Valley was in the middle weights, but the team points we

were piling up would help us hold them off until the upper weights, where we had a good

chance of winning some matches. The PV coaches were huddled together before the

125-pound match. My guess was that they were considering bumping their middleweight

wrestlers up a class to try to take away some of our upper weight advantage. They must

have been very surprised that this match was turning into such a dogfight.

Knowing that we were weak at 125, where we had the winless Mike Rebardo, the PV

coaches began their bumping there. The logic was simple: why waste their skillful 125- pounder, Liam Loughlin, against Rebardo? Instead they threw a JV wrestler out against

Rebardo, and would undoubtedly bump Loughlin and several of their next wrestlers up a

weight class. In that situation Coach Miles would have done exactly the same thing.

The strategy paid off immediately for PV. David Roogow, the JV fill-in at 125, easily

defeated Rebardo. Mike courageously managed to avoid the pin but surrendered four

team points in a lopsided 9-0 match. After that match our lead was reduced to 12 to 4.

The down side of PV’s strategy was that they would now have to choose between

pulling one of their starters out of the lineup or send wrestlers out against guys who

outweighed them. Since the heart of their lineup was coming up we knew that they

would choose to do the former rather than sitting one their best wrestlers.

I thought that PV had made a mistake. Loughlin would have had a sure pin against

Rebardo, for six team points. At 130 against Tim Bergman that was less likely.

Bergman was one of the most stubborn wrestlers I’d ever seen. Even when outmatched

he seldom lost by more than a decision. As expected, Loughlin dominated the match but Bergman was just too savvy and too

strong for Loughlin to turn him to his back. After Loughlin’s victory, by a score of 7-2,

the team score had tightened to 12-7.

As he had in some earlier dual meets, Coach Miles decided to insert Jim Malone at

135, bump everybody else up a weight, and squeeze out Kevin McGuire. This was especially appealing because Peach Valley had already committed to bumping at these

weights. That way we could keep McGuire out of the lineup without being faced with

size disadvantages.

Our strategy appeared to backfire at 135. Malone was facing the Peach Valley 130-

pounder, but since Malone was not cutting any weight there was no visible size advantage for him. Unfortunately, there was a talent advantage for PV. Pete Sizemore from Peach Valley had an easy time with Malone, pinning him in the second period. For the first time PV took the lead, 13-12. Coach Miles kept our spirits up by reminding us that we were halfway through the best part of their lineup and we were much closer than anybody could have expected. This was somewhat less true than it might have seemed, I thought to myself, since PV had bumped each guy up a class.

In the end, the 135-pounders from each team did meet but it was in the 140-pound

match. Eric Caldwell was nervous, I could tell. I knew nothing about his opponent,

Dean Stinson, except that he had a pretty good won-loss record. It turned out that he was

exceptional from the neutral position. As soon as the match started he showed his

prowess. By the end of the first period he had taken Caldwell down four times and had an 8-3 lead. Caldwell had the choice of position for second period, and he deferred. I thought this

was unwise. It was a certainty that Stinson would choose to start from the neutral

position, which he did. If Caldwell had chosen to start on top, or even bottom, perhaps

the pace and nature of the match would change. As it was, nothing changed at all. After

the second period ended Caldwell trailed 14-5. He was in grave danger of giving up a

technical fall, which would add five more points to PV’s total.

Caldwell chose to start the third period on bottom. It wasn’t clear that Stinson had allowed him to escape purposely or not, but within fifteen seconds, Caldwell escaped for one point and the two were in neutral position yet again. We urged Caldwell to hang in there and find a way to avoid the technical fall.

Either Stinson tired or Caldwell stiffened his resistance, but the pace of the match

slowed at that point. Stinson managed another takedown but that was it. The score now

stood at Peach Valley 17, Chapel Forge Township 12.

Joe Eckert, the regular 140-pounder, moved up to face Joe Staley, Peach Valley’s 140-

pounder, in the 145-pound class. From what Coach Miles had said, these two were

evenly matched, and this match was a key to the outcome. Again, I couldn’t help

thinking that it was to our advantage that we were surprising them by hanging so tough.

Peach Valley hadn’t had a close match all year until that night.

Staley easily handled Eckert, as it turned out. The final score was 9 to 3, with Eckert bravely avoiding giving up bonus team points by scoring in the last minute. We now

trailed 20 to 12, and couldn’t really afford to lose any more matches. The good news

was that we had survived the toughest part of Peach Valley’s lineup and were still in the

match. That had to have some people worried on the other side of the mat. From that point I hoped Miles would wrestle everybody straight up rather than try any more lineup juggling, because now it was our side that would begin to put our best wrestlers on the mat. We had taken their best punch and we were still standing. Now they would need to survive ours.

Peach Valley needed to decide when to stop bumping wrestlers up too. They certainly didn’t want their 152-pounder to have to bump up to 160 to face Nick Schmidt, one of the state’s top wrestlers. Instead, they left their 145-pounder on the bench and took their chances with their regular 152-pounder at his own weight class. I considered this a strategic victory for us because Peach Valley’s 145-pounder was a good wrestler with lots of experience. The end result of the strategic bumping was that he would not affect the outcome at all.

At 152, Jack Flanagan surprised some people by beating Peach Valley’s Lance

Appleman by a score of 10–6. The match score now stood at 20-15 in Peach Valley’s favor, with five matches to go. It was definitely within reach for us. Miles called the five of us together quickly to remind us of that.

Nick needed no prodding. As a senior in a mediocre program, this was probably his first time being involved in an exciting and meaningful dual meet. He tore into his opponent with everything he had. He started with some basic moves, including a double-leg takedown and a far-side cradle. Later, he piled up some points with some of the tilts he loved so much. In the third period he got down to business. His opponent, who had lost as many matches as he had won, unwisely attempted a headlock. Nick easily rolled through it and threw in a headlock of his own. The PV wrestler was pinned instantly. Suddenly we were ahead again by a score of 21 to 20. Now, I was up. I had deliberately avoided thinking about my opponent, Dave Charter.

I did know that he was a senior and had won most of his matches this year. When I went

for the handshake during introductions I noted that he was several inches taller than me.

We circled each other warily as the match started, each knowing that the outcome was

important to our own team. I shot first, with bad results. I grabbed a leg but he sprawled away, kicking his legs backwards and landing most of his weight on my back. With my face exposed, he slammed me with a vicious cross-face. I thought it was flagrant but the referee didn’t, so I continued to struggle. I had his leg but he was still cross facing hard and was slowly leveraging his body behind me. My nose hurt badly from the blow I’d received but I tried to block that out. After twenty more seconds I couldn’t hold him back any longer. He whipped behind me and earned two points for a takedown.

At that point I became aware that my nose, which had born the brunt of the cross face,

had begun dripping blood. I looked up at the referee to show him and he immediately called for injury time. I had only wrestled a minute but I was already out of breath as I walked back towards the bench.

The trainer checked to make sure my nose wasn’t broken, and tried to stop the bleeding. Then she pushed some cotton balls up my nostrils to try to contain any more blood that flowed. This would contribute to my fatigue because it would make breathing more difficult. I tried to talk with Coach Miles as best I could but it was difficult with the trainer checking my nose. As all this was going on I watched someone I didn’t recognize clean my blood off the mat with a towel and a spray bottle. I’d bled more than I had realized.

“I don’t think I can go six minutes with this guy,” I gasped. “I’m already beat.” “You’re just not getting much air is all,” he said. “We need something here, Ben.

You’re better than he is,” he said firmly. I wasn’t so sure.

“He’s so big. I’ll have to try to end it early, that’s the only way,” I said without

bravado, still breathing hard.

I knew exactly what I wanted to do. Having been taken down, I was on bottom. I

managed to stand up, and Charter stood with me, locking his hands around my waist.

Perfect, I thought. I took four steps forward, increasing in speed, making him think that I

was trying to break free or simply heading out of bounds for a fresh start. Then I grabbed

his right wrist with my left hand and pivoted hard to my right. As I swung around I stuck my right arm between his legs while retaining my hold on his other arm. Simultaneously

I sat towards the mat. He had no choice but to follow my motion, first forward and then

face-first toward the mat, because he hadn’t had a chance to let go. It all happened in

only a second or two.

I had executed a perfect standing switch and Charter hadn’t seen it coming. How

could he? In my day switches more common, but of course the standing switch less so.

Just two years later not many high school wrestlers were using the move. I hadn’t seen a

standing switch in a long time. I hadn’t even tried one in practice all season, let alone in

a match. I’m sure my own teammates were as surprised as everybody else to see it.

The beauty of a standing switch was the whipping action that sent the other wrestler

face first into the mat at lightning speed. As that was happening he would instinctively

be concerned with self-preservation rather than continuing his attack on me. If I had

caused his body to slam to the mat under almost any other circumstances I would be penalized for it. In this case, however, there was no penalty warranted. He chose to hold on and so “followed me to the mat,” as it was stated in the rule book.

The jolt usually provided a brief window of time for the switcher to attack an opponent who has dropped his guard. Not only that, the force with which he strikes the mat momentarily stuns the wrestler, making him more vulnerable. That’s what happened that night. Charter slammed into the mat and came to rest on his hands and knees. I went in for the kill as he paused to regain his senses, throwing in one of my favorite pinning combinations, a nearside cradle. I felt little resistance until he was on his back, and by then it was too late. The referee had called the pin. Two consecutive first period pins had put us in the lead by 27 – 20. The gym got really loud after the pin was called.

As I came off the mat I was desperate for air. I frantically pulled the bloody cotton from my nose and threw it to the floor. More blood began to dribble out, and the trainer ordered me to lie down on the mats behind the bench. As I lay there I noticed that one side of the gym had grown very quiet. Meanwhile, my nose and one of my cheeks were throbbing with pain.

We never relinquished our lead. In fact, we won two of the final three matches after mine. In one of the most shocking upsets of the season so far, Chapel Forge Township beat Peach Valley convincingly by a score of 33 to 23.

PV lost a few more matches that year. It turned out that this was their weakest team in years. We didn’t know that at the time so that didn’t take away any of the luster from our win.

There was a lot of whooping and hollering in the locker room but not by me. I couldn’t believe my nose wasn’t broken, and even went back to the trainer. She assured me that it wasn’t broken but warned me that it would be quite sore for a week or so.

“You’ll probably have a black eye in the morning, if not two,” she said. She handed me a

fresh baggy of ice, which I gently applied whenever I had a spare hand while showering

and dressing. As I was leaving Robert Mendez reminded me about the party that most

team members would be at later. “You’re coming, right?” he asked.

“I’ll see how this feels,” I said, lifting the bag of ice off of my nose, “but if I’m alright

I’ll be there.”

“Are you kidding?” he said. “I wish I had a face like that tonight, the girls are going

to eat you up! Make sure you bring the bag of ice,” he laughed.

I left the locker room in high spirits. My entire face hurt, not just because of the

cross-face but also because some of my mat burns had been rubbed raw. None of that

mattered at the moment because we had won a big match. I would go home, clean up, and actually drop by that party.

When I turned the corner in the gym lobby, I was startled. Judy was there, by herself,

leaning against the wall. “Hi Ben, you were so great tonight!” she gushed. “Is your nose

still bleeding?” When I got close enough she seemed surprised at my swollen nose and

the ice bag that was in my hand. “Are you okay?” she asked, with what sounded like

genuine concern. I assured her that I was.

It felt unbelievably good to know that she had come to the match after all. The fact

that she was outside the locker room meant that she’d come mostly to see me. That felt

even better. “I’m so glad you came,” I said. “I looked for you but it was hard to see,

there were so many people.” “We came late and we ended up sitting in a bunch of fans from the other team. We

had to keep kind of quiet,” she laughed. “Are you sure you’re OK?” she asked again, the

concern returning to her voice.

“Yeah, I’m alright,” I said. “Who’d you come here with?” I asked, looking around.

There didn’t seem to be anybody with her.

“My friends Karen and Paula,” she explained. “They already left. I was kind of

hoping you could give me a ride.”

“Of course, I’d love to,” I said with all honesty. I was touched that she had come, and

even more so because she had waited for me afterwards.

“Are you still going to that party?” she asked shyly.

“Yeah, I just told the guys that I’d be there after I cleaned up,” I said, suddenly

hopeful.

“Am I still invited?” she asked meekly.

My heart soared. “Of course. Did you change your mind?” I said. She nodded in the

affirmative. She certainly didn’t seem like she was dying to go to the party. That was

obvious.

We walked outside. “My car is over here. Do you need to go home first?”

“No, this is as ready as I get,” she said.

“Sorry, I just meant--“

“I know, I’m just giving you a hard time,” she said playfully.

Now, I had a dilemma on my hands, a real dilemma. Yet another rule of mine was in

danger of being broken. I had always known that anybody who set foot in my condo

would know pretty quickly that I lived there alone. It was small and there was no evidence of any other resident, especially a parent. For that reason nobody had ever been allowed in. Until now that had never been a problem. That night, for the first time, it was cramping my style. I had a choice: we could drive straight to the party, or I could take Judy back to my place where she could wait while I did some much-need cleaning up. I didn’t really have any choice. We would head back to the condo despite the risks.

Things were just too good right now and I couldn’t help myself.

Chapter 9 -- Fields of Gold

The car had been sitting out in the snow for hours and it was ice cold inside. For a

second or two I worried that it wasn’t going to start. When it finally did we pulled out of

the high school lot and headed for home. My home.

“Would you mind if we stopped at the drug store?” I asked. “The trainer told me I

should take some Motrin if my nose hurts, and it does,” I explained.

“Nope. I can run in and get it if you want. Does it hurt bad?” Judy asked.

“Only when I breathe,” I joked. “It’s feeling worse out here in the cold for some

reason.”

“Are all the matches so rough?” she asked. “He punched you, and later you slammed him down.”

“No, not usually,” I said, trying not to laugh at her description of my match because I

knew it would hurt. “He should have been penalized for what he did to my face. What I

did was legal. If he didn’t want to go where I was going, he could have let go at

anytime.”

“I’d hate to see you get beat up like this every time,” she said.

I smiled. “It’s hard for me too. It isn’t always so rough, really. I rarely get hurt at

all.”

We stopped in a strip mall and bought the Motrin. There was a pizza parlor next door,

and I suddenly realized that I was rather hungry. Pizza was maybe the worst thing a wrestler could eat during the season, but I would have a few days to work it off. Besides,

it was just too good an opportunity to spend more time alone with Judy. There wasn’t

much to eat back at the condo, especially anything good enough to offer to her. “Should

we get a pizza while we’re here? Are you hungry?”

“Yeah, good idea,” she said brightly.

“Would you mind if we got it to go?” I asked. “I’d really like to get home.” She was

agreeable, and so we did.

As we sat and waited for our pizza we both got quiet. We were still rather shy around

each other and I didn’t want to invade her space, but something seemed to be bothering

her. “You’re so quiet all of a sudden,” I said. “Did you want pepperoni?”

She laughed. “No, no, I like plain. You’re funny, Ben.” She paused, and grimaced.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yeah, of course,” I replied.

“Well, I’m kind of nervous about going to the party. I’m sure there’ll be nobody but

jocks, and nobody will know who I am. Or if they do, they’ll just think of me as some

bookworm.”

“No Judy, it won’t be like that at all!” I said, before I caught myself. Why was I denying it? That’s exactly what it would be like. “Actually, I’ve never been to a party here, but you’re probably right. I really won’t know anybody either.”

“It’s different for you; you’re the man of the hour. I’ll just get lost in the shuffle,” she

worried. “Can I stay by your side the whole time?”

I thought for a second. “Why don’t we just skip it? I’m not really in any shape for a

party anyway.” Her face immediately brightened. She had really been dreading that party! Did she

want to be with me that badly? “Would you mind? I’m really sorry,” she said

apologetically.

“I think I’d prefer it, actually,” I said. “But I’ll still need some help with this pizza.

Will you come over?” I asked.

“Somebody’s got to help you eat it,” she said.

I paid for the pizza and we got in back into the frigid car. “I live here in the condos,” I

said when we pulled into Tanglewood. I wasn’t sure how to explain my living situation.

My cover story was always going to be that I live with my dad, who “travels a lot”.

Right then I just didn’t feel like launching into a complicated web of lies.

I was really taking a chance letting Judy through the door and into my life. My feelings for her were growing stronger by the minute. It seemed that hers for me were also strong. Whenever the reality of the situation hit me—she was 16 years old, I was 19 years old—I felt sick. The difference in our ages wasn’t even the worst part. Three years wasn’t even that big a deal. The worst part was that she didn’t know. I was living as a fraud and jerking Judy around in the process. Was I already in too deep to get out?

Balancing the pizza in one hand, I unlocked the door and followed Judy inside. We

entered the living room and I snapped on the lights. “This is nice,” Judy said. “What’s

up there?” she asked, pointing to the loft.

“Completely empty,” I told her. I carried the pizza over the table. “Do you want anything to drink?” I asked. “I’d better just have water.” “Water’s good for me too,” she said. I brought back two glasses of water, and we dug

into the pizza. After my first slice I had remembered the Motrin, and gulped three of

them.

“If you need to call anybody, the phone’s in the kitchen,” I said. “Help yourself.”

“It’s okay, I told my parents that I’d be out kind of late,” she explained. “As long as

you don’t mind driving me home.”

“I guess you’ve noticed that there’s nobody else here,” I said. “I live with my dad, but

he travels a lot. I’m alone a lot of the time, really. He wanted me to stay with Mom but I

needed to get away from there.” Careful, I warned myself, no need to overcomplicate the

lies. I couldn’t tell whether or not she accepted my explanation but she didn’t say too

much about it.

“How’s you nose?” she asked sympathetically. “I hate seeing you like this. Do you want the ice bag again?”

“In a minute, that’s a good idea. Do you want to watch TV?” I asked. “Sorry, that

sounds really boring.”

“Can I check out your CD collection?” she asked. She’d been eying the half-open

cabinet they were stored in since she’d arrived.

“Sure. I have a lot more than just Van Halen.” I settled on the floor next to her in front of the cabinet. I was proud of my collection and wanted to help her look through it.

“You haven’t even opened this one,” she said, pulling out a shrink-wrapped CD.

“Yeah, that’s the new Cars album,” I said. “I guess I forgot that was in there.”

“’Door to Door’, good name for a Cars album,” she said approvingly. I pulled another one out and passed it to her. “This is my favorite music in the world,

this one. Eva Cassidy. Ever heard of her?”

“No, never,” Judy said.

“She’s from North Carolina so she’s more popular down there.” I had to stop for a moment, not sure how much I could say about Eva Cassidy. It was true that the CD I was

holding was the most treasured one in my collection. Cassidy was the most gifted singer

I had ever known of.

What I couldn’t tell Judy was that Eva Cassidy and I had graduated in the same class

from Upper Raleigh Area High School. I had never even known her. We were just two

faces among more than 900 at graduation. I remembered seeing her around school a few

times but never gave her a second thought. We were in different universes, mine

centered around sports and hers, well, I never really knew what she was all about in high

school. I only remembered that she dressed differently than most girls, and seemed to

keep to herself.

For some reason, her CD’s always seemed to include a biography of Cassidy. They

usually mentioned that she “hated high school”. I had no doubt that it was true. In fact,

she had even disappeared completely from the yearbook by the time we were seniors.

Although I knew for a fact that she graduated in good standing, neither her name nor her

portrait appeared anywhere. There was but one picture of her, a live shot of her singing

and playing her guitar. How fitting.

It was silly, but I really took the part about hating high school personally, as if it had

explicitly mentioned that “she hated that guy on the wrestling team, Ben Pietrak”. I knew

that was silly. If Eva had even known who I was at all, which I doubted, she had no interest in me or in my life. Just as I never took the time to appreciate her talents, I don’t

remember seeing her at any wrestling matches. In the end, though, it was Eva that was

doing something great, not me. Nobody knew it at the time but it was she that was the

star of our graduating class.

I inserted the CD. “Some of the songs on here make my cry,” I admitted. “I guess

that sounds funny coming from a guy who had his nose smashed a couple hours ago,” I

said.

Cassidy’s rendition of ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’ came on then. I shook my

head and smiled, trying to shake out the tears that always came during that one. Until

then I’d never been sure, but now that I was getting a fresh look at high school I had an

idea about why her voice made me feel so sad. She was an example of something

magnificent that I could have known but never got around to. And if there was one, there

must have been others. I was sure I must have missed out on many other friendships with people I never even tried to know.

“No, Ben, it doesn’t,” she said. It looked like she had tears in her eyes, too. “I think

you’re wonderful,” she said breathlessly.

She moved back to the couch. I went into the kitchen, refilled the baggy with ice, and went back in to rejoin her. Without asking, sensing that it would be okay, I stretched out with my head in her lap, and laid the ice across my face. If she minded, she didn’t say anything.

We listened to a few other CDs after that one. Eventually the throbbing of my nose

began to fade away, and so did my headache. I could tell without looking in the mirror that the flesh below my eyes was beginning to darken, just as the trainer had predicted. I

knew that by the next day I’d be a real mess.

At 11:30 Judy said that she probably should be heading back home. “My parents will

worry, especially since I’m out with a guy.”

“I hope you didn’t tell them I’m a wrestler,” I said. It would turn out to be a prophetic

remark.

“Ben, don’t say that, really,” she said. “You just don’t know.”

We went back to my car and she directed me across the township to her neighborhood,

and finally, her house. “Do you want to come in?” she asked. I thought she was just

being polite, and I was too tired anyway.

“I really don’t want to meet anybody for the first time looking like this,” I said. “Can

I pass this time?”

“Okay. I don’t want anybody to see you either,” she said, laughing. Rather than drag

it out I gave her a hug before she opened the door. “Thanks so much for coming to see the match,” I said. “It really meant a lot to me.”

“To me, too,” she said. “It ended up being the best date I ever had,” she said. “Talk

to you soon?”

“Yup. Goodnight Judy,” I called back as I walked through the bitter cold back to my

car, which I had left running. Judy must have known I wasn’t coming in, I thought

sheepishly, since I hadn’t even shut the engine off.

I had a hard time sleeping that night. One minute I was thinking about Judy, and the

next minute I thought about how complicated my life was now becoming. When the time came to leave, how could I do it? I hadn’t counted on having somebody like Judy in my life. I had to be careful not to hurt her when it was time for me to disappear.

Chapter 10 -- Refrain From Embracing

When I woke up on Sunday morning my nose was still very tender, and when I looked in the mirror I saw a face with two black eyes. Everything the trainer had

predicted had come true. I was glad that I didn’t have anything to do except homework,

and no place to go.

Naturally I couldn’t stop thinking about Judy. At the same time, I was disappointed in

myself for jeopardizing my scheme by becoming involved with somebody. It wasn’t just

romantic relationships I had initially planned to avoid, but all close relationships. I was

certain that I had now made at least one major mistake that would come back to haunt

me.

Sunday was my day to make phone calls, to stay connected with the people in my

prior life. I had a nice talk with my father, except, of course, for the fact that I was lying

about more things than I could even keep track of anymore. After that I called Brad to

update him. I described the match from the night before, and how we had upset a good

team. “Nice!” he exclaimed when I described the standing switch.

“Yeah, it was a pretty good high,” I agreed. “I only have two losses and both are to the same guy.”

“Nice,” he said again. “I still can’t believe you’re pulling this off. You go to class

and everything?” He knew the answer already. That was part of the plan. It really was hard to believe that it was coming off so flawlessly so far. He probably had trouble imagining me sitting in high school classrooms. “Yup, I’m just one of the kids,” I told him.

“One sick dude is what you are,” he said.

Then, I got to the part that I knew he would disapprove of. I told him about Judy and how strongly I felt about her. I tried over and over but I couldn’t make him understand that this was more than just a case of my having a crush on a pretty girl. “She’s different than anybody I’ve ever known,” I said, realizing how corny and empty my words sounded. “I’ve never felt like this about anybody before.”

“Give me a break,” he said. “How old is she, fifteen?” When I told him that no, she was actually sixteen, he was unmoved. “Big deal, what’s the difference?” were his exact words.

I stopped arguing. I still wasn’t entirely sure that he was wrong.

“Can you get out of this thing with her?” he asked. “Because if it isn’t too late I’d highly recommend it. You’re already breaking a lot of laws but this would be much more serious. What would her parents do if they found out? What if you were in their shoes, how would you feel?”

“It isn’t a full-blown relationship at all. I’ve never even kissed her or anything like that,” I told him.

“That’s good, but you better keep it that way. Just friends, you can’t go beyond that,

Ben, or you’ll screw this whole thing up,” he said.

Even though I knew he was right, it made me feel even worse. Somehow Judy was becoming the most important thing in my life. He could sense that. “Don’t change your shady, misguided focus,” he reminded me sarcastically. “That isn’t why you’re doing this. It’s ‘Refrain from embracing’ all over again”.

I laughed and so did he. He was referring to “Turn, Turn, Turn”, a song by the Byrds.

One line in the song was “A time to refrain from embracing” or something like that. I once used the phrase to describe a date I was going on a long time ago. I regretted asking the girl out and wanted to make sure that after that date we would have no reason to feel like we needed to do it again. So I made sure to keep it impersonal, and sure enough, it was our first and last date.

“Yeah, I know you’re right,” I conceded. “I’ll try to keep it under control.” Later though, just before we hung up, I again found myself trying to explain that “this was different”.

“You’ve got issues,” he concluded as we hung up.

Until then I had planned on calling Judy next to see how she was doing. After Brad’s concern, I decided not to. Instead, I forced myself over to the table where I caught up on some homework that I’d been ignoring. Just when I was considering bundling up for a short run the phone rang. I couldn’t help hoping that it was Judy even though I had never given her my phone number.

When I heard “Hi Ben, how are you feeling?” I knew instantly who it was. “This is

Judy,” she said quickly, because I still hadn’t said anything except “Hello”.

“Oh, uh, hi Judy. It still hurts some but not nearly as bad as last night,” I said, answering her question.

There was a bit of an awkward silence. She was as uncomfortable as I was. “That’s good,” she said just to fill the void of conversation. “The rest of me is pretty sore, I can’t believe it,” I said. “I feel like I ran a marathon.”

More silence. “Well, Ben, I just wanted to check on you, and thanks for having me

over last night. I really had a nice time, but I know you wanted to go to that party,” she

said.

“I had a nice time too,” I answered. “Oh, let me warn you, I’ve got two black eyes and I look pretty bad, so don’t be shocked when you see me.”

There wasn’t much more to say so we told each other goodbye. I think that we were

both disappointed that the phone call had been so short. Until then I had forgotten that I

would have to go to school the next day looking like I did. Not being noticed had

become a habit of mine but this was going to make it much more difficult.

I was worried about how she had gotten my unlisted phone number. That was

information that should have been very difficult to come up with. Nobody, not even

Coach Miles, had that number. I had given him a fictitious one, planning to pretend I had accidentally written it incorrectly if he ever asked why it didn’t work. How could Judy have found it?

The next morning I dropped by Coach Miles’ classroom before homeroom. “Wow,

Ben, what happened to you?” he asked in amazement. “Is that from the match?”

Yeah,” I said. “The trainer told me that this might happen.”

“How does it feel? Maybe you should skip practice today,” he said.

“I’d like to come and get some kind of workout, but this really hurts,” I said. “If you

wouldn’t mind, I’d like to do everything but wrestle live.”

“Yeah, definitely. Look, we won’t have any trouble with Western on Wednesday,” he said. “We’ll think about holding you out then, too. “ I hadn’t thought of that. A real match would be as live as it gets. The only protection

for a nose was a mask, something that I had tried once and had difficulty breathing through. If I wanted to give my face a chance to recover I should sit that one out. “Yeah, that’s a good idea,” I agreed.

I didn’t see Judy until lunch. As usual, I sought her out as soon as I got there and sat

down along side her and her group of lunch buddies. They all gawked at my face,

including Judy, but didn’t say anything. Things between Judy and I were awkward, the

same way they were on the phone. I thought she felt the same way about me that I do

about her. That’s why she called the day before even though there was nothing to say.

We were both holding back for different reasons. My reason was because I was trying

desperately not to pull her into my fraud. Her reason was simpler, I thought. I didn’t

think she knew what to do in a relationship because she’d never been in one before. Not

only that, I’m sure she was nervous about trying to connect with me, because she saw me

as being part of a social circle that intimidated her. I learned that on Saturday night when

she had been so nervous about attending that party.

So we settled in to a pattern of awkward hellos and goodbyes, in the school cafeteria

and history class. There was no way she could understand why I suddenly seemed

willing to let our relationship stagnate. That must have been frustrating for her. I didn’t

have to deal with that kind of frustration. I did, however, have to deal with the guilt of knowing that for her, my deception was getting personal and was beginning to cause her pain.

All I could do, until I had some kind of inspiration as to how to deal with Judy, was to

concentrate on wrestling. I did skip the match against Western, to give my face a chance to heal. I participated in the drills and exercises at practice that week but did no live

wrestling. Instead, I worked out in the weight room and put in a few miles on the

treadmill.

On the bus ride to the Western match Coach Miles called me up to sit with him. He

had something he wanted to discuss. My heart skipped a beat as it always did when any

authority figure indicated that they had something serious to talk about. It turned out that

he was thinking about making me a co-captain of the team, sharing responsibility with

Nick Schmidt. “You’ve really become a team leader, Ben. Everybody looks up to you

and you’ve helped a lot the younger guys. If I said the things you do it wouldn’t have the

clout it does coming from another wrestler.”

I didn’t like the sound of it, although I was honored and flattered by the proposal.

Miles was right; the other wrestlers had come to respect me and pay heed to the things I said. That was understandable from my perspective. I was an adult and they were kids.

But becoming a captain went against my plan of keeping a low profile. What if a local sportswriter noticed my promotion and decided to do a feature on me? The last thing I wanted was somebody digging into my past or even publishing my picture.

Another problem was that I didn’t think Nick would feel very good about it. This was

something I could use as an excuse to Coach Miles. “Nick would be mad about, it, I

think. He’s got some important wrestling to do this season and I don’t want to upset

him.”

“You don’t think he’d like it?” Miles asked. “I ran it by him yesterday and he seemed

to like the idea.” “Maybe he was afraid to say anything,” I guessed. “He does get mad at me sometimes

when I talk too much, I can tell.”

“OK,” he said. “If you don’t like it, we won’t do it.”

By then we were off the interstate and stopping at traffic lights. We pulled in to the

Western High School parking lot, weaved through mountains of dirty snow and stopped in front of what looked to be a set of gymnasium doors. The Chapel Forge Township

High School wrestling team had arrived.

I weighed in and dressed for the match even though there was no chance that I would wrestle. Then I headed out to the gym to wait for the match to start. I sat on the bench

while the rest of the guys warmed up. For the first of many times I scanned the crowd

hoping to see Judy. She wasn’t there and I couldn’t help feeling disappointed.

Coach Miles called me to the front of the bus again on the way home. “What do you

think about wrestling on Saturday? Do you need a couple more days?”

I got the feeling that he wanted me to agree, although I didn’t understand why. After

he spoke again I understood. “You’d have a tough match against Redlands,” he

explained. “Donovan Jones dropped down to 171. That’d be a heck of a way to come

back.”

“I think I’ll be ready, Coach,” I said. “I think I could have gone tonight if I had to.”

“Redlands doesn’t have a chance of beating us, with or without you,” he continued.

“So don’t feel any pressure to come back for the team. This is the time of year I like to

start thinking about setting my guys up for the seeding meeting at Districts.”

Now I understood completely. I had a shot at a high seed at the district tournament

because my record was good. Miles didn’t want me to give anybody an opportunity to spoil that now that I had a pretty good excuse to skip another match. It didn’t sound right

to me. Hiding from somebody like Jones was the kind of thing I used to do but now I

was all about confidence and accepting challenges. “Is it up to me?” I asked.

“Of course, Ben,” he said. “I just want to make sure you understand what’s at stake,

that’s all.”

“I want to go after Jones on Saturday, then,” I said firmly.

He nodded. “I hope you understand why I said what I said, but that’s a good attitude.

I’ll make sure the rest of the team understands what you just said. It’ll do them some

good.”

I wrestled live in practice for the next two days. Robert Mendez brought in his old wrestling mask for me to use. I could hardly breathe while wearing it, and seeing wasn’t easy either. I really didn’t want to handicap myself against Jones on Saturday with a mask and I planned on trying to go without it.

I had read an article about Donovan Jones in the Courier Post a few weeks ago. He

was a returning state placer. Last season he chose not to cut weight, because he was a

promising football player but didn’t yet have the size to be considered by a Division 1

football program in college. The last thing he wanted football scouts to see was a lighter

and smaller Donovan Jones. Even at 189 he managed a third place finish in Atlantic

City. This year, as a senior, he had given up on impressing football scouts, and it was rumored that he was considering cutting down to 171 and making a state title run.

Apparently, according to Coach Miles, he had decided to do it, just in time for our match with Redlands on Saturday. My face did feel better and better as the weekend approached. I didn’t look any better

but by Friday I felt like I could wrestle. Going six minutes with Jones, if I lasted that

long, would be the real test. If I survived that, we had an evening match as well, against

Parkdale.

At practice after school Friday I watched some of the freshmen wrestling live, because

Nick and I had been talking about lineup juggling by Coach Miles for the Saturday night

match. Parkdale didn’t have a strong 103-pounder and it wouldn’t be wise to waste Tom

Schmidt there. It would be better to use somebody else at 103 and bump Tom Schmidt to

112. If we squeezed Flinch out we’d probably get wins at both weights.

Bumping Tom up a weight class was a new luxury for us. Anthony Palumbo, who

had been at 112 all season, had recently dropped some weight and now could be used in

the 103-pound weight class. This gave Coach Miles some lineup flexibility he didn’t

have before, when Tom Schmidt was the only wrestler at that weight. In practice that day

I watched Palumbo more closely now that it looked like he might see some varsity action.

I saw that was constantly out of breath. This seemed odd because I knew he worked hard

on his conditioning. After watching closely I thought I saw the problem. He had a bad

habit that I once had.

When he had finished his set I walked over to where he had collapsed. “Looking

good, Anthony,” I said, trying to give him a chance to catch his breath.

“Yeah,” he huffed, “except for Tom’s fireman’s carry. I can’t stay out of that.” The

fireman’s carry was a takedown that involved grabbing the other wrestler for a takedown the way a fireman would carry a body from a burning building. Tom Schmidt was working on this as an alternative takedown method. “Hey Anthony, this is a funny question, but are you breathing when you’re out there

wrestling?” A couple of other kids laughed, and scooted over to hear what I was saying.

“I had a problem a few years ago with pooping out in the third period. Somebody noticed

that when I wrestled, I was holding my breath.”

“Man!” one of the younger kids said. I’m not sure he understood what I was getting

at, but I could tell that Anthony did. “Me? You think I was holding my breath?”

“Next time you wrestle we’ll all watch, right guys?” I said.

It turned out that I was right. I made all the guys he worked out with pledge to remind

him to breathe. I could tell that they were going to have a lot of fun with that one.

Instead of thinking about Donovan Jones, all I could think about as I showered and

dressed after practice on Friday was Judy. I wondered what she would be that night. She

had a small circle of close friends and I was sure that she would be with them.

Later, back in my condo, I broke down and looked for her phone number. I had

purposely waited until it was too late for us to get together but not so late that it would

irritate her parents. I wasn’t supposed to do this and part of me was hoping that she

wouldn't be home. It turned out that she was. The guy who answered the phone must

have been her father. I identified myself politely and asked to speak with Judy. After a

few seconds, Judy was on the line.

“Hi Judy, this is Ben,” I said nervously.

“Hi Ben! I’m so surprised, is everything okay?” she said. Man, how I loved hearing

her voice.

“Yeah, sure,” I said. “I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry that I was so distant this week. I’m not sure what’s the matter with me.” That was a lie, of course. I knew exactly why I had been distant and also that I should have remained distant rather than

make this phone call.

“It’s okay, I just hope I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said. “I was worried.”

“No, no, not at all,” I said. “I had a tough time with my nose and I guess I’m worried

about my matches tomorrow. Kind of worried about getting my butt kicked, actually.” I

figured a subject change was in order. “You just hanging at home tonight?”

“Yeah, Karen’s here, we’re gonna’ pick a movie and pig out,” she said.

Karen was one of Judy’s lunch table buddies, and seemed to be her best friend. I liked

Karen. During my first time in high school I doubt if I would ever have bothered to give

her a second look. She was just so ordinary, the way a lot of kids seemed until you really

took the time to learn about them. And what high school kid is smart enough to do that?

“Here, Karen wants to talk to you,” Judy said. I heard some giggling, and the phone

must have been getting passed back and forth judging by the sounds I heard. Then I

heard Karen’s laughing voice.

“Ben, this is Karen. What’s up?” I heard more giggling.

“Hi Karen,” I said.

“Judy wants to know how long before you’ll get here, she’s getting impatient,” Karen told me. I heard hissing and then more giggling. Apparently Karen was ad-libbing and

Judy was getting embarrassed. So was I, really.

“Seriously, this girl’s crazy about you Ben,” Karen said. “She needs to see you

tonight, are you coming?” Now it was getting awkward. It sounded as if they were battling for control of the

phone, and then Judy was back on. “Sorry Ben, somebody’s getting a little out of hand

here,” she said loud enough to be sure Karen heard her.

“It’s okay, I called you, remember?” I said. I knew where this was going and that I should have put the brakes on it right then. I knew I should have, but I just didn’t want to. “So did you pick a movie yet?”

“No. My parents just got home and distracted us,” she said. “I heard Karen invited

you over. You’re welcome to come. We’ll wait to start the movie,” she offered.

“Okay,” I heard myself saying. “But go ahead and pick the movie without me. Are

your parents there?”

That sounded a little abrupt, not at all how I meant to sound. I was just nervous about

meeting somebody for the first time when I had two black eyes and a swollen nose. “I mean, I don’t know what they’ll think about my face is all,” I stammered, trying to recover.

“I’ll explain it to them while you’re on your way over,” she said.

I couldn’t wait to see her. “You give me a twirl, Judy,” I said without meaning to.

“What did you say?” she asked.

“Oh, nothing, sorry,” I said. “I was thinking of something else.” I wasn’t, actually. I

just didn’t mean to say it out loud.

I glanced in the mirror and started running my hands through my hair to neaten it, but

stopped after I looked at my battered face. I look like a ghoul, I thought, and I’m trying to straighten out my hair? I put on a clean shirt, bundled up and headed out to the car.

This would be our second date, if it could be called that. Not the kind of dates I was used to. This was dating, National Honor Society style. I was so anxious to be with Judy that

I don’t think I took my foot off the accelerator pedal until I was in front of her house, which I found easily.

I probably should have brought something. I felt like an intruder when a man who

must have been Mr. Voorst opened the door and saw me standing there empty-handed.

“You must be Ben,” he said, reaching out his hand. “I’m Judy’s father.”

Mr. Voorst looked like a regular forty-something dad. He was a couple of inches

shorter than me and was somewhat pudgy. His wire-rim glasses, which may already have

been out of style when I was Judy’s age, made him look even older. As I looked at him I

found myself trying to guess what he had been like at my age. I wondered if he was

sizing me up in the same way.

“I’m Ben Petrovic,” I said as he took my coat. “Glad to meet you.” He walked me

into the kitchen. I could hear voices coming from somewhere but there was nobody in

the kitchen. “Can I get you anything?” he asked.

“No, thank you,” I replied. “I have to make weight in the morning.” I wasn’t sure

how much he knew about me or if he had any idea what I was talking about. I imagined that he did. He didn’t seem surprised by my bruised face so Judy probably had filled him in.

Judy must have warned everybody that I couldn’t eat because for all the talk of food

on the phone there wasn’t a crumb in sight. My throat had become dry with thirst

because I was nervous. My chance had passed and I could only hope somebody would

offer me something again soon. “Judy says you’re the captain of the wrestling team,” Mr. Voorst said as he pulled

chairs out from the kitchen table and motioned for me to sit down.

“Well, no, I’m not the captain, but I am on the team,” I answered.

“I don’t know much about wrestling,” he said with a shrug. “I guess we had a team at

my high school. I didn’t do much in the way of athletics,” he said. I couldn’t decide if

there was an edge to his voice or not. Did he resent me because I’m an athlete? “I didn’t

realize what a rough sport it is,” he commented, gesturing to my face.

“It really isn’t,” I countered. “One guy broke a rule against me last Saturday, and

nearly broke my nose too. This is the worst injury I’ve ever had.”

“Judy is planning to enroll at Rutgers after high school, did you know that?” The way

he said that, seemingly out of the blue, made me think that he did in fact resent me. I

hoped he didn’t think that I would impede her in any way from achieving any of her

goals.

“That’s fantastic,” I said. “I think she can get into any school she wants. She’s got

everything they could ask for.”

“Her boyfriend is already there, just waiting on her,” he continued.

I was floored. Judy had a boyfriend? This was something that I definitely needed to

know. A boyfriend? How could I have misjudged everything so badly? Why did Karen tell me that Judy was crazy about me over the phone? So that’s what this little chat was all about. He was doing me a favor, really, by telling me. Suddenly I didn’t feel like the big fish in the small pond anymore, the way I had when I walked into the house. Mr.

Voorst saw how surprised I was and I think he enjoyed it. He let what he said hang in the

air silently, deliberately prolonging my discomfort. Just then Judy came up from the basement with Karen and a woman that I guessed

was Mrs. Voorst. She seemed to warm up to me more than Mr. Voorst had. When she

repeated her husband’s offer of food or drink I quickly asked for a glass of water. After

what I’d just learned I needed it more than ever.

“Hi Ben. Sorry, I didn’t know you were here, my father didn’t tell me,” she said,

emphasizing the word ‘father’. “Don’t laugh, but we decided we’d watch ‘Star Wars’.

Is that okay with you?”

“Yeah, sure,” I replied, trying to keep my emotions under control.

“We’re watching in the family room, it’s too cold down in the basement,” Judy said.

She took my arm and led me through a hall. Karen somehow got there a few steps ahead of us and plopped onto the end of the couch. As soon as she sat she sprang back up. “I forgot, got to make the popcorn,” she said as she bolted back out of the room as quickly

as she had arrived.

“Is that okay?” Judy asked apologetically. “I’m sure you can’t eat, right?”

“Sure, I’m used to it. I’ll have another glass of water later, maybe,” I said.

“You have a tough match tomorrow?” she asked, remembering our phone call.

“I have to wrestle a guy named Jones,” I said. “Third in the state last year, and he’s

dropped a weight class this year.” She may or may not have known what any of that

meant. “He’s tough, wait until you see this guy.”

I had been presumptuous. I knew that as soon as I said it. “I can’t go tomorrow Ben,”

she said. “There are so many things that have to get done. I’ll be tied up all day.”

“Yeah, sorry, I don’t know why I said that. Of course you have other stuff to do,” I

said. “I really wish I could,” she said. “Really Ben. I don’t plan on missing many of your

matches.”

“Really?” I asked. I was still reeling about what her father had told me. There were

so many mixed signals coming in that I didn’t know what to think.

I chose a spot on one end of a couch. When Karen came back in, with two bowls of steaming popcorn, she put them on the coffee table and took her seat at the other end.

That forced Judy to move closer towards me. When Karen playfully scooted in our

direction Judy had no choice but to squeeze right up against me. It felt good. I wasn’t

much of a ‘Star Wars’ fan but it didn’t matter because I was with Judy. None of us said much during the movie, probably for different reasons.

Later, as I was preparing to leave, I couldn’t resist mentioning what her father had told

me. “Your dad told me about your boyfriend up at Rutgers,” I said. “He sounds like a

real winner.”

She winced when I said that, or was that my imagination? “No, it isn’t like that at all.

He’s not really my boyfriend at all.”

“Look Judy, it’s really none of my business,” I said.

She sighed in exasperation. “No, you’re not getting it. His dad works with my dad,

and they kind of herded us together. It’s like an arranged marriage from five-hundred

years ago, or something. I don’t really know how it happened.”

“You don’t have to explain, it’s not my business,” I repeated, still trying to figure it all

out.

“Don’t be this way, Ben,” she said.

“What way?” I asked. “Is he as unhappy about it as you are?” I asked sarcastically. “No,” she said. “No, he’s happy with it,” she said.

“Hmm,” I said. I was hurt and embarrassed at the same time. Things weren’t the way

I had thought they were, the way I hoped they were. “Is that why you’re tied up

tomorrow? Not that it’s any of my business,” I added.

“He wants me to go to the boat show in Atlantic City tomorrow,” she said. “I don’t

know why, he doesn’t really know the first thing about boats. It’ll be a long day.”

“I’m hoping to be in Atlantic City in March,” I said, knowing that the State Wrestling

Championship Tournament was always held there.

“I know,” she said simply. “Me too.” What did that mean, I wondered.

“Well, I’d better get going. I need to be well-rested for my execution tomorrow.” I was trying to be casual about it, as if I didn’t really care anyway, but I knew my face was betraying me.

“Ben, don’t be that way,” she said again. “Don’t be mad at me. I didn’t—“

I cut her off rudely, because now I felt like she was patronizing me and I was getting a

little angry. “It’s okay; really, I wish you didn’t feel like you owe me anything. I’ll see

you in school, okay?”

I had hurt her by not seeming to care and I was glad. I zipped up my coat and told her

“See ya,” trying to sound like it really didn’t matter to me whether we ever saw each other again. Then I turned walked out the door.

“Good luck, I’ll be thinking about you,” she called to me.

I just waved as I walked to my car. I didn’t even turn around.

Chapter 11 -- Party

Redlands High School was a thirty minute bus ride away. I used the time on the bus

to think about my match. There was only one way to approach it. As a matter of fact, I

was coming to believe that there was only one way to approach any match. I would attack Jones at all times, from every position, with as much tenacity as possible.

By the time my weight class was up, we had already clinched the dual meet victory. I

reported to the referee at the center of the mat before my opponent did. Jones strolled

slowly to meet me there, flexing and stretching as he walked. I needed to carefully

control my body language in order to avoid looking intimidated, while Jones probably

couldn’t keep from looking self-assured if he tried. He had a natural swagger that

nobody could help noticing. Instead of watching him make his grand entrance I hopped

up and down on my toes, loosening up and trying to stay calm.

I attacked Jones repeatedly once the first period started. Within the first minute I had

shot for his legs four times. He was very quick and didn’t allow me to get a good enough

grip on anything. He wanted to tie up but I kept my arms down to prevent this. Although

I didn’t have any type of scouting report on him, I had a bad feeling about tying up and

figured that if he wanted to tie up so badly it must be one of his strengths.

Eventually he realized that I wasn’t going along with that and switched his strategy.

A few seconds before the period ended he shot deep, securing a double-leg. He had been so quick that I wasn’t able to sprawl to avoid the takedown. We weren’t near enough to the edge of the mat for me to even consider finding a way to get out of bounds. He

moved up my body quickly, trying to beat the clock, and all I could do was to turn away to avoid going to my back. The referee signaled the two points for the takedown just as the buzzer sounded. After one period I trailed 2-0.

He was good on his feet, I had learned. Once he had decided to try leg attacks it

wasn’t long before he took me down. I decided that since I had choice for starting

position in the second period I would take my chances starting on the mat unless Coach

Miles signaled me to do something different. When the referee asked me I looked over to

the bench. Miles shrugged with arms extended and palms up as if to tell me to make my

own decision. By now I knew him well enough to know that he would give me two or

three seconds to decide and then he would signal his suggestion. I stuck with my

decision to start in the bottom position. I didn’t want to fall behind even more and there

were more ways to score from there.

On the bus ride over I had decided to try to see what Jones knew. When the period

started I tried a Granby roll; I posted on a leg, flipping sideways across my own shoulders

while retaining my grasp on his wrist. Using such an advanced move was

uncharacteristic for me and I was surprised that I remembered it so well, but I wanted to

see what would happen. Jones handled it easily by holding on and rolling like a log

behind me. When we stopped nothing had changed. I was still on bottom and he was still on top. The people in the bleachers probably enjoyed it, as the Granby roll is usually a crowd-pleaser.

After that didn’t work, I made sure to keep moving. Several times I tried to stand,

only to be yanked back to the mat. Next I tried a switch but again Jones thwarted me. The only positive development for me was that he was too busy defending against what I was doing to have any time to work on putting me on my back. That soon changed.

Halfway through the period Jones found an opportunity and attacked it. He threw a leg, hooking his left leg around my left leg and then riding across my back rather than parallel to it. There were several directions Jones could then go to put me in danger. I was in trouble. I tried all the leg counters I knew but just couldn’t get free.

When there were only twenty-five seconds left I knew Jones would have to try something. I braced for his move, hoping for an opportunity to escape. I thought he would come back towards his own body and try to wrench me back, but he went the other way. With a powerful lunge across my body that I didn’t expect, he turned my hips and exposed my back to the mat. At the same time he cross-faced my head to the mat. I felt excruciating pain as I heard the referee counting back points. Jones had used a proper and legal cross-face but the force of his forearm on my already-injured nose was nearly unbearable. Somehow I lasted until the end of the period, by which time I trailed by 5-0.

As we untangled the referee told me that my nose was bleeding and called for blood time. Just like last week, the Redlands trainer stopped the bleeding and shoved cotton up my nose. “Ben, this is why I didn’t want you to wrestle today,” Miles said. I was too out of breath to answer. I started back to the center of the mat but Miles stopped me. “Let all the blood time run out, you need the rest,” he directed. “If it bleeds again we’re defaulting anyway.”

Jones had choice for third period, and surprised me by choosing to start in the neutral position. I had expected him to choose bottom, giving him more ways to score. Apparently he felt confident about scoring from his feet despite the fact that I had held

him off for most of the first period.

Maybe I was being cautious because of my tender face, but I didn’t fight Jones off

from my feet nearly as well as I had earlier. Again, he tried to tie up repeatedly, which I

resisted. Then, after faking a tie-up he ducked under my arm and slipped behind me. He

was in control but still needed to bring me to the mat to earn the takedown. Now he

began to show how good he was. As a set up he pushed me forward, and of course I

reacted by pushing back into him. He then under-hooked both my arms from behind and threw his feet backwards, using my own momentum to pull me to the mat into a sitting position for a slick takedown. Since my back was nearly exposed he dug his chin into my shoulder and sucked me onto my back, earning a quick set of two back points before I was able to get out of danger. Now, the match was a rout, as I trailed 9-0.

My nose started bleeding again with twenty seconds remaining. The referee, who preferred a completed match to an injury default, allowed me to get a quick re-stuffing of

my nose even though I had no blood time left. Then Jones rode me for the last few

seconds. He knew I was injured and showed good sportsmanship by letting the clock run

out without trying to score more points. When time finally ran out he had won a

lopsided 9-0 victory. It was by far the worst defeat of the three I had now suffered.

I didn’t feel as discouraged as my teammates thought I did after the match. I had to

keep in mind that they hadn’t seen me lose very often and may have thought it was

devastating to me, when it really wasn’t. There had been plenty of losses for me before

this one. I knew that Jones was a great wrestler, maybe the best in the state. I felt worse

about my re-injured face than I did about the match. I rode home on the bus holding an ice pack to my nose. Again, Coach Miles tried to get me to sit out that night’s match. I told him that I wanted to wrestle and I’d wear the mask that was still sitting in my locker. If I had been in his shoes I would have overruled my wrestler but he allowed me to make the decision for myself.

We got back to CFTHS at 1:30. There were about three hours to kill before we would have to return to the school for our evening match. Most of the team went home but I really didn’t have any reason to do that. I couldn’t eat anyway, because I had eaten right after the morning weigh-in and couldn’t afford to risk not making weight at the evening weigh-in. I went up to the locker room to make sure the mask was there, and stashed my gym bag in my locker. There was a JV girls’ basketball game just starting in the gym so I figured I’d watch that for a while. The same trainer who had tended to my nose last week was there, on duty for the basketball game. She winced when she saw my face. To her trained eye it was obvious that it had been re-injured. She dug out a fresh ice pack and I camped out in the bleachers with it while watching the game.

Later, because I was feeling stiff, I took a short walk. The wrestling room was unlocked so I slipped in and rolled through some moves. Before I knew it the sun was going down and my teammates began to appear.

The match against Parkdale was another conference match. Parkdale had a fair team but we didn’t expect to be challenged. I would face Jesse King, who had won about half of his matches so far. The big match-up was at heavyweight. After losing at the

Moorefield tournament our Robert Mendez had won 14 matches in a row. His opponent,

Ryan Wagner, had an equally stellar record of 12-1. The winner would take a major step to claiming the top seed at the district tournament next month. Because it was a home match, we were able to crank Van Halen as we ran out of the

locker room for warm-ups. It wasn’t as big a match as the last time we did it but it still

felt good. As always, we trotted out of the locker room, circled the mat, and began

preparing for the match. The only problem for me was the pulsing pain in my face.

When we sat down on the bench to watch the 103-pounders I had my first chance to

survey the crowd. Although I knew she couldn’t possibly be here, I found myself

looking for Judy. Row after row I searched, but I never saw her. I did see a man and

woman who looked like Judy’s parents. Could that be? Why would they be here?

I turned my thoughts quickly back to wrestling. I didn’t expect a difficult match against King but it was always a good idea to have a plan going into a match.

The dual meet went quickly because there were several pins. It seemed like only a

few minutes after the pledge of allegiance that I was strapping on the mask. As I remembered from practice during the week, it was difficult to breathe while wearing it.

The mouth opening seemed large to everybody except the wrestler on the inside of the

mask. I put that out of my mind and walked onto the mat.

When the whistle blew to begin the match nothing was more important to me than

getting the initial takedown. I had wrestled six minutes already that day and hadn’t

scored a point. I decided to try an ankle pick. As we circled each other I reached and put my hand on the back of his neck. I then reversed my circling direction, a perfect setup for the ankle pick because he would be stepping towards me. I lowered my level and prepared to grab the ankle with my left hand. I intended to use my right hand, which was still on the back of his neck, to push him towards that ankle once I blocked it with my left hand. I hadn’t considered the effect of the mask when I decided on the ankle pick. The

mask severely restricted my vision, allowing me to see only what was directly in front of me. I had his neck and was preparing to take the ankle but I couldn’t see where it was!

As I was moving towards his foot, and the mat, I knew I was in trouble because it was too late to stop my momentum. I lunged to where I thought the ankle should be but came up with nothing. As a result I was off-balance and in an awkward position, and King capitalized. He threw me onto my back and that’s where I stayed for the remainder of the period. I was furious with myself for giving up five points so easily.

When the period ended I was huffing and puffing, in large part due to the difficulty of

breathing through the mask. I feigned trouble with it, tearing it off and pretending to

examine the snaps. All the while I was frantically sucking in as much air as I could. The

referee told me to “get everything together”, knowing full well what I was up to.

Reluctantly I strapped the mask back on and prepared to resume the match.

King chose the bottom position for the second period. I would have to turn him onto

his back from there to score. I tried several different ways but was unable to make any

headway.

“Cut him!” Miles yelled from the bench when there were forty-five seconds left in the

second period. That was a good idea. Maybe I could take him down if I couldn’t turn

him over. I let him up, giving up one more point. I now trailed 6-0. I needed to work quickly, and I did. I shot in and picked up a single leg. Lifting the leg high, I stepped across and tripped the other leg and covered for the takedown.

I had already begun to release King again even before I heard Miles telling me to do

it. As soon as he turned to face me I attacked, throwing in a cradle. The referee awarded another takedown after I demonstrated that I had taken control. Unfortunately the period ended before I could make further use of it. With a period to go I trailed 7-4.

I didn’t want to choose the bottom position because I knew King was strong and I was

afraid I couldn’t escape. Coach Miles signaled to me that I should do just that, though,

and so I did. It turned out that I was right. King didn’t do anything except ride a two-on-

one. Both his arms were around my body, and each hand had a tight grip on my right

forearm. He wasn’t trying to score, but was just trying to kill some time. He was

creative enough to get a minute deep into the period before being warned for stalling.

For another thirty seconds he came out to the side to make it appear that he was working

a move, but never relinquished the two-on-one. With twenty-five seconds to go he was

called for stalling again and I was awarded one point. He was wrestling a very smart

match.

I still needed two points to tie, or three to win. Even though I was dog-tired and out of

breath, I managed to stand up and break free. That earned me one point, closing the gap

to 7-6. He wisely moved away from me but back to the center of the mat. By the time I

caught up with him there were only a few ticks of the clock left. I lunged wildly at his legs, hoping to get lucky, but time expired before I was able to grab a leg. I had lost again, this time to a much less worthy opponent than this morning. After going weeks without a loss I’d now suffered two in the same day.

I was upset with myself, and retired to the gym wall about twenty-five feet behind our

bench. Moments like these are when a wrestler realizes that his sport is ultimately an

individual one. The team score means little to the wrestler who is sitting against the back

wall, brooding amongst a jumble of warm-ups, headgear and water bottles. Such despondent figures were a staple at almost every match I had ever attended or

participated in, and this time it was me. Nick Schmidt, who had won his 17th without a loss before I wrestled, brought my sweats over to me. “You were good,” he said, “just that mistake with the pick in the first. Forget it, man.”

I started to explain that I hadn’t been able to find the ankle because of the mask but I

was too out of breath to talk. He tapped me on the head and nodded, the way one friend

communicated to another without speaking. He knew what I was going to say. Knowing

there was nothing more he could do, he walked back to the bench. After a few minutes I

put my sweats back on and did the same.

Mendez wrestled his best match of the year. He was surprisingly quick for a guy who

weighed 240 pounds. After a minute had passed he threw his highly touted opponent to

the mat and pinned him quickly. The dual meet was over. I had lost but Chapel Forge

Township had won another conference match by the score of 42 –12.

I didn’t bother taking a shower. I just wanted to get home so I could shower there.

As I was tying my sneakers Robert Mendez came by. “Nice job, Robert,” I told him

wearily. I always wanted to call him Bob but he preferred to be addressed by his formal

name.

“Thanks,” he replied. I think he could tell that I felt pretty bad about how I wrestled

that night. He laid the usual clichés on me, about keeping my head up, one bad night, all

the classics. It did make me feel better to know that he hadn’t lost faith in me. It was a

good feeling to be part of a team.

“Thanks,” I said. “But I stunk tonight. Today, too,” I added. “Hey, another party tonight, over at Demey’s,” he said, changing the subject. “You’re not blowing us off again are you?”

Alex Demey was a football and baseball player. I didn’t really know him although I knew who he was.

“Do you think I could get in?” Why not, I thought. What else was I going to do, study?

“Sure, we can go together if you want,” Mendez replied. “I know Alex, I’ll get you in.”

He wanted to pick me up at home but I didn’t want anybody else learning where I live.

I told him that I’d rather meet him there because I had a few errands to run. He looked at his watch. “It’s 8:15 now. How about we meet at 9:15, as near to the place as possible? We’ll find each other.”

That was exciting. Honestly, I would have preferred that Judy surprise me, the way she had last week, and coax me back for a quiet evening at home. That wasn’t going to happen. Judy was down in Atlantic City with her boyfriend, checking out boats and who knows what else. I felt a little down about how I’d misread Judy all this time. I pictured her having a quiet dinner in Atlantic City with some handsome college League stud after a day at the boat show. I felt like a real loser. It dawned on me that Judy hadn’t even invited me over to her house the night before. It had been Karen who invited me. Judy probably never wanted me there in the first place. The only up side was that even though

I was disappointed, not having Judy around would simplify my life.

Going to a party, of course, was completely out of bounds for me in my original plan.

All I was supposed to do was wrestle and then crawl back out of sight. That had less and less appeal, I was finding. The wrestling was fun and I was enjoying it immensely. But having a second chance at high school, a chance to finally get it right, was turning out to be much more exciting. The more I thought about it, the easier it was to convince myself that going to that party was the right thing to do. Well, at least that it wasn’t the wrong thing to do. Besides, I had a bad day on the mat. What better way to forget about it?

After a long hot shower I felt pretty good. Somehow my nose hurt more than it did last week but didn’t look nearly as bad. The black eyes had faded a lot in the last day or two. I should have eaten something but it was getting close to the time that I was going to meet Mendez. I grabbed a couple of apples and left.

Finding the street on which the party was being held was easy because I had good

directions from Mendez. There were cars parked up and down the street on both sides so

I knew I was in the right place. Before I had a chance to worry about meeting up with

Mendez he pulled up behind me in his truck. I took a deep breath and got out of the car.

It was party time. Was I up to it?

We didn’t even bother to knock on the front door because there was loud music blaring and nobody would have heard us anyway. After we walked in Mendez immediately ran into people he knew. Whenever it was possible he introduced me to his friends. To most people it mattered only that I was on the wrestling team. They didn’t seem to care about anything else; that was reason enough for my presence.

A minute later Mendez disappeared down a hallway with a few guys. I didn’t feel like

I had the right to follow, so I didn’t. Now, I was alone and started to feel self-conscious.

I didn’t know a single person here. Despite the locker room chatter about the party,

there weren’t even any other wrestlers here besides Mendez and me. I wandered into what looked to be the kitchen. At a table there was a rowdy bunch of

kids engaged in a game of “quarters”, the drinking game. I pretended to be acutely

interested because it made me feel less out of place.

Something attracted my attention from across the room. I looked up and saw a group

of obviously intoxicated girls. One was waving both hands, trying to get my attention.

Her name was Carrie McCracken. She was a varsity cheerleader and a senior. She was

also one of the most attractive girls in the school. I guess that’s why I had noticed her and knew who she was. We’d never spoken a word to each other. Now, here she was, waving me down as if we had known each other for years.

When she saw that she had my attention she held up a bottle of beer, which I gathered she was offering to me. The combination of her looks and the chance to “fit in” drew me across the room. It took about half a minute to get through the crowd but soon I had joined the girls.

“Hi Ben,” Carrie said, shouting so she could be heard over the din. “Do you want a

beer?” she asked, holding the bottle toward me.

“Yeah, thanks,” I shouted back, taking the bottle. As I did I acknowledged privately

that I was breaking yet another one of my rules. I was drinking with kids. “How did you

know my name?” I yelled.

“Let’s go back there,” she said, pointing to a room off the kitchen and away from the

source of the music. Much to my surprise, she took my hand and led me through the

crowd and out of the room. “I can hardly hear you,” she yelled back in my direction.

That room was much less crowded. We sat down on a couch and I opened my beer. It

was the first one I had drunk in months and that first swallow tasted great. “I saw your match tonight, Ben. You looked awfully good to me,” she said in a sing-song voice.

She was flirting with me. A gorgeous, drunken high school senior was flirting with me.

“I didn’t see any cheerleaders,” I said. Usually on Saturdays the cheerleaders cheered

for the basketball team instead of us.

“We were off-duty,” she giggled. “Just there as civilians. So you do know me,” she

said, obviously pleased.

“Sure, you’re Carrie, right?” I asked.

She nodded while taking a long drink from her own beer. It was odd for me to see so

many girls drinking beer. I knew that in a few years they would switch to wine or mixed

drinks, leaving beer to their husbands and boyfriends. “We try not to miss any matches,

even if we’re not cheering. You wrestlers have the best bodies,” she said. I didn’t know

what Carrie was like when sober but it was clear to me that she had consumed many a

beer before I had arrived. I had to be sure to stay out of trouble no matter how she acted

towards me.

I was feeling a little embarrassed but at the same time I was enjoying the attention.

By then I was halfway finished with my beer. The alcohol had gone to my head quickly,

probably because of my empty stomach.

“Who did you come with?” she asked.

“Uh, Robert Mendez,” I said. “He kind of disappeared. I don’t really know anybody

else here, except for you.” Of course, the truth was, I didn’t know her either, except her name.

“I’ll take care of you, just stick with me,” she said, right before she chugged the last of her beer. “Do you want another one?” she asked. I hadn’t finished my first one but was sure that I’d want another, so I said “Sure.” That would have to be my last one. The first

one had gone to my head so quickly that I worried about having even one more.

The rowdy group was still crowded around the table as we passed through. “Stunt

quarters!” Carrie yelled. “I’m in next game!” she called. She grabbed two more beers

from a cooler that I hadn’t noticed and pulled me over to the table. “Stunt quarters, we

made it up,” she told me. “You’ll see.” A minute later somebody left the table. Carrie

shoved me into the chair and quickly sat down on my lap. I had to pass my bottle from

one hand to the other so I could keep drinking.

Stunt quarters wasn’t as exciting and innovative as Carrie had made it sound. Rather

than bouncing the quarter directly into the glass, they merely bounced it over objects placed in their path, or tried to bounce the quarters off of the wall. As with billiards, each shot had to be called. I’m not sure if it was because of the heavy drinking or not, but the game seemed like a flop to me because nobody could make a single stunt shot. That didn’t stop anybody from drinking, however. That included me. Ten minutes later I was nearly finished with beer number two. I still had enough wits about me to know that it was time to stop. I left a couple of inches of beer in the bottle to ward off any offers of a

third. By that time Carrie had one arm around my shoulder. The other alternated

between her beer bottle and the quarter, when it was her turn.

It was an exciting time. I didn’t know where things would lead had I lacked the

discipline to control myself, and that’s what made it so exciting. I felt surprisingly at

ease. That was partly because I had the confidence that came with age but mostly

because Carrie was so blasted. I decided to allow myself to enjoy it, at least for the

moment. It wasn’t a difficult decision after two beers. A few minutes later Mendez drifted into the room. Apparently he had downed a beer or two as well and he was more animated than usual. When he saw me with Carrie

McCracken on my lap and her arm around me his face lit up. He didn’t say a word but flashed me an AOK signal and a huge smile. All I could do was laugh.

Twenty minutes later Mendez reappeared. I was still at the table with Carrie.

Somebody had handed me another beer a few minutes earlier and I had been foolish enough to open it, so I was on my third. My old life was somehow blending with my new one and although I was still quite coherent, it was getting difficult to remember where I was and what I was doing. It didn’t register to me that there was a problem as I watched Mendez, who didn’t look as carefree as the first time he’d seen me sitting with

Carrie. This time he was gesturing across the room with his thumb and urgently yelling something that I couldn’t understand.

Seconds later I saw what he was trying to tell me. I can truly say that I was never so shocked in my life at what I saw. Trailing behind a guy I didn’t know, into the room walked Judy! I couldn’t believe my eyes! She must have asked the guy where I was, and he had led her into the kitchen. The alcohol had slowed my senses and for a few seconds

I was filled with sheer delight that she had come. Then, of course, I realized what she was looking at with such shock. I was sitting at a table, half empty beer in my hand and most likely a dazed expression on my face, with a varsity cheerleader hanging all over me. There was no way that she could be happy with what she was seeing.

To compound my predicament, I couldn’t get up until I got Carrie to understand that I needed her to get off my lap, not an easy thing to do considering the state she was in and the noise level in the house. By the time I had made that happen Judy was gone. I assumed that she was heading for the door and weaved my way through the crowd to try

to catch up with her.

Lucky for me she had taken her coat off when she came in, and it was added to the

pile in the corner of the living room. She had only just extricated hers when I came into

the room and found her.

“Judy!” I yelled, trying to be heard over the music. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

“I wish I hadn’t!” she yelled back. That was the first time I realized how angry she

was. Now I was really confused. Just one night earlier I had come to the conclusion that she wasn’t interested in me after all. Now this?

“What’s wrong Judy? I don’t get you!” I asked in exasperation.

“That’s right, you don’t,” she retorted loudly and immediately. “And you won’t.”

That’s what I get for getting into a very public argument with somebody who has a

4.3 G.P.A. She was making a monkey of me. By then she was zipping up her coat.

“Just leave me alone,” she said sternly, and turned towards the door.

“Judy! Why are you so angry with me?” I asked.

She whirled to face me. “I saw you and your friend in there, Ben Petrovic, so just

save it, alright? You’re not what I thought you were.”

“What?” I shouted in disbelief. Now it was my turn to be angry. She had no right to

suddenly act as though we had some kind of exclusive relationship after what had happened the night before. “What are you talking about? You don’t care what I am anyway,” I responded. “To you I’m just some jerk on the wrestling team.”

She didn’t say anything as she tightened a blue scarf around her neck. “What were

you doing today?” I demanded sarcastically. “Down at the beach with your college guy that you didn’t bother to tell me about! How do you think I felt when you had your dad

read me the riot act last night?” I was shouting right back at her now. I usually held my tongue regardless of how angry I was, but the alcohol had loosened it.

Her face changed instantly, from angry to crestfallen. We were both learning that it

didn’t feel very good to be yelled at. “It wasn’t like that,” she said sternly. “I told you

about that last night, Ben,” she said. Now she wasn’t yelling, but almost pleading, and

suddenly she sounded more sad than mad.

“Yeah, you told me,” I said bitterly. “But only because I already knew.”

“I told you,” she repeated, so quietly this time that I could barely hear her words. She was very close to tears. I wanted to wrap my arms around her, anything to keep her from feeling sad, but I didn’t think she’d let me and that would be even more embarrassing.

Instead, I just let her go.

After she closed the door the room erupted in mock applause. I felt miserable but it

did make me laugh. “You don’t need that brainy scank anyway,” a faceless voice called

out.

Mendez, who knew more of the brief history between Judy and me than anybody else,

had been watching the whole thing. He tried to cheer me up. Funny, I thought, hadn’t he

been consoling me about something different about four hours ago, while we were

dressing after the match? “Man, you got dissed, but you’ve got one hell of a consolation

prize in the other room!” he said.

He was referring, of course, to Carrie. What I really wanted to do was to get out of

there, if I could, and never make a mistake like this again. It wouldn’t be right to leave

without saying goodbye to Carrie. I didn’t want to embarrass her by standing her up. I carefully placed my near-full beer bottle on the coffee table. I was sure that it would be

accidentally knocked over within two minutes, but at that moment it really didn’t matter

to me.

Carrie had left the game of quarters. I didn’t see her in the front of the house so I

headed back toward the back room. I was busily concocting a story about why I needed

to leave when I stopped dead in my tracks. On the couch, exactly where she and I had been earlier, Carrie was locked in a serious clinch with another guy. I had no idea who

he was and didn’t care. All I felt was relief. If Carrie remembered hanging out with me

at all, she wouldn’t have anything to be angry about. I said goodbye to Mendez, after

thanking him for being a good friend, and then walked out the front door.

The cold hit me hard when I stepped outside. I walked around the neighborhood until

I was sure I was in condition to drive. When I returned to my car it was nearly midnight

and there were several other departing partiers. I had no trouble at all getting home. My

walk around the neighborhood had chilled me to the bone. I quickly changed into some

sweats and burrowed into my bed.

That day had been a disaster. I had lost two matches, including one in which I

wrestled poorly against an inferior opponent. I’d broken a few of my own rules by going

to that party and getting too close with Carrie, who was pretty much of a stranger to me.

Worst of all, I had blown my relationship with Judy, the one person about whom I had

really come to care about. The next day I planned to stay inside all by myself to lick my

wounds.

Chapter 12 -- Stalemate

I woke up feeling very sore on Sunday and it didn’t help that I had a hangover. I

couldn’t distinguish which pain was from my injury and which was a result of the two-

and-a half beers I drank the night before. Most likely my weight was still reasonable,

despite the drinking, because I hadn’t eaten much. I would stay in and keep to myself all

day, I decided, except for a run that I would take in the afternoon.

My most pressing thoughts were about how things had gone so badly so quickly with

Judy. I still felt dismal that her father had lectured me about the boyfriend and I

wondered whether Judy had put him up to it or if he had done it on his own. It was

awfully suspicious that nobody was around when I arrived, giving him the perfect chance

alone with me. Then, as soon as he was finished, they all appeared as if on cue. I hoped

that Judy hadn’t done that to me deliberately. In her defense, she hadn’t been the one

who invited me over to her house. Maybe she felt trapped because her parents would be

unhappy about my coming over when she was already in a relationship. Or, maybe I was just thinking way too much about all of it. It could all have happened spontaneously.

Judy’s appearance at the party, on the other hand, couldn’t possibly have been

spontaneous. I didn’t think she’d ever been anywhere near a party like that. In fact, I

knew from our experience just a week earlier that she didn’t want to be. I remembered

how agitated she had become as the time to go to that party drew closer, and how relieved

she had been when we decided not to go. It took a lot of courage for her to come looking for me, if that was what had happened. She felt unwelcome and out of place but still had

the resolve to find the party, come inside, and look for me.

I didn’t even know how she knew I was there, if she did. I myself didn’t even know I

was going until an hour before, and nobody outside of that locker room could have heard

Mendez and me making plans. Judy wouldn’t do anything as silly as stake out my condo

and follow me, I was sure of that. The only thing I could think of was that she had run

into somebody from the team after the match but before the party. That somebody could

have told her of my plans, but only if they had overheard. I knew it wasn’t Mendez,

because he would have told me, but maybe there was somebody else who knew.

My Sunday unfolded pretty much as planned. After my run I watched a college

basketball game on TV instead of doing homework. Later I called Brad, to whom I told

the truth, and my father, to whom I told the usual lies. By nine o’clock I was lying awake

in bed, too tired and sore to be anyplace else but not tired enough to sleep.

I decided that if it was acceptable to Coach Miles and the team I would sit out

Wednesday Night’s match. Not only that, I wanted to go all week without any live

wrestling in practice. I couldn’t afford to go to districts still needing to wear that mask.

It had already cost me one match, I believed, and I didn’t want that to happen again.

As I lay in bed I thought about how I would treat Judy in school the next day. I was grateful that I had the benefit of maturity. The high road was the only way to go. I would be friendly to Judy, if I saw her, and I wouldn’t go beyond that. As far as I was concerned, nothing needed to be brought up, discussed, rehashed, or decided. Things were what they were and there was no use being bitter or resentful, on her part or mine. After I visited my locker before school I took the long route to homeroom. I knew

where Nick’s homeroom was and I wanted to see what he thought about my plan to go

light this week. I’d learned that if I treated him with deference he was less bitter about

the increasing influence I had on the team. Turning down the co-captaincy, which I knew

he heard about, seemed to have smoothed out our relationship. He no longer felt

threatened and was able to concentrate on wrestling. So was I.

“Nick, how’s it going?” I said as I walked into the classroom. He was hunched over a

notebook, looking like he had an early test to cram for.

“Hey, Ben,” he answered. “What’s up? Your face looks worse than ever,” he commented.

I took a seat at the empty desk next to his and explained what I wanted to do. “I

thought I’d run it by you before I asked Coach about it,” I finished.

“I think it’s a good idea. We have Cedar Grove on Wednesday, they aren’t any good,”

he said. “Steve might get clamped, but that’s what freshman second stringers are for.

They don’t call him ‘Magnet Back’ for nothing.”

I laughed. ‘Magnet Back’ was a universally understood derogatory term for

somebody who gets pinned a lot. It didn’t make much sense, since neither the mat nor

the wrestler’s back are metal or magnetic, but it was funny just the same. I looked at the

clock. There were about forty-five seconds before the homeroom bell would ring, which

was about how long I thought Steve Vogel would last on Wednesday night. “Okay Nick,

thanks, I just didn’t want to surprise anybody.” The bell rang just before I crossed

through the doorway into my own homeroom. The entire morning was a buildup toward lunchtime, the first time of the day that I

usually saw Judy. On most days I came in with an orange, often after checking my

weight, and joined her and her group of friends. Since I wasn’t wrestling that week there

was no need to check my weight. I dumped some books in my locker, grabbed the paper

bag that contained my orange, and set off for the cafeteria.

When I walked in my stomach was churning the same way it did before a match. I

was nervous! Rather than head in the direction of where Judy usually sat I just walked in

the opposite direction until I found an empty space. I had brought my chemistry book

with me as well as the orange. I needed to review some rules on balancing equations but

the book was there mostly as a prop so I could look busy. After I peeled my orange I

dared to lift my head and look around.

They were there, Judy and her gaggle of friends, at their usual space across the cafeteria. Judy and Karen had their backs to me, probably by design, but three others were facing me. Every once in a while one or more of the three looked over in my direction. I wasn’t surprised, but I watched carefully for a few minutes to make sure it

wasn’t my imagination. By that time I’m certain I had been demonized in their eyes. “It turns out that Ben is just like the rest,” they were probably saying. “When I caught up with him Saturday night,” Judy could possibly have told them, “he was drunk, and was necking with that Carrie McCracken!”

The sick feeling in my stomach wouldn’t go away. Just for fun I stopped trying to be

so furtive and just stared openly in their direction. There was no acknowledgment to me

but I could tell the girls who could see me were relaying what they were seeing to Judy

and Karen. Mouths started moving quicker, shoulders became hunched, and heads started shifting to odd angles. There was no doubt that they were watching me just as I was

watching them. I could almost hear them whispering “He’s looking over here!”

After I had finished the orange I decided that I’d had enough excitement. There was no reason to stay if there was just going to be staring contest. I scooped up the pieces of

orange peel, stuffed them in the bag, and got up to leave. Getting to the closest door

would have meant crossing Judy’s line of vision, which I didn’t want to do, so I took a

different route, slowing only to pitch my bag of orange peels into a trash can.

Judy was already at her desk when I arrived at history class. Despite my best

intentions I was usually among the last to arrive for all my classes. When I passed

through the door my stomach was even more knotted than it had been at lunchtime

because I knew there was going to be face-to-face contact. Judy was still as a statue,

staring resolutely at something on her desk. It looked to me like she had been both

dreading and relishing this moment, the same way that I had been.

She didn’t look up as I approached her. There’s absolutely no way that she didn’t

know I was there, I was sure of that. It looked like she was prepared to ignore me

completely. That meant that she was even angrier than I realized. I didn’t think it was justified and I felt that I had just as much reason to be angry. Nevertheless, I was determined to take the high road.

“Hi Judy,” I said when I was close enough. I didn’t break stride, though I strained to

hear anything she said after I passed. I thought that I heard her grunt something, but I

wasn’t sure. That was it for our communication for the rest of the day. Somehow I was

disappointed even though it wasn’t totally unexpected. Whatever she had seen in me

before, she didn’t see anymore. I attended every practice that week but did no live wrestling. During parts of the

practice I disappeared to the weight room, and also did some running in the gym. The

basketball coach was running practice there but he didn’t seem to mind me running laps

around them. When I did stay in the wrestling room I hung out with the younger kids, encouraging them and giving them pointers. I could tell it gave them a real boost in spirits to get some attention for once, even if it was only from the 171-pounder. Some of these young wrestling room corner-dwellers were lousy wrestlers and would never get anywhere near the varsity, but I respected them for having the discipline to come out every day. A few others actually did seem to have the potential to be pretty good, but would have to wait until the current starters began to graduate.

Coach Miles had agreed that I should sit out the Wednesday match. In fact, he

brought it up before I did, and I was pretty sure he was about to tell me he was sitting me

even before I mentioned it. Unlike last week, I didn’t even bother to weigh in and dress for that match. While the rest of the team was preparing I was out in the gym helping

Lee. He was running behind schedule so I even volunteered to take care of his mat- cleaning duties. So as fans filed in for the match, there I was walking up and down the mat pushing a broom that was draped with disinfectant-soaked towels. If Brad could see me now, I thought to myself.

The next day the new South Jersey individual rankings came out in the paper. I was

no longer ranked, most likely because I had lost two matches over the weekend. The loss

to Jones was forgivable, but whoever compiled the rankings looked at my loss to King on

Saturday night unfavorably. The implications of my disastrous weekend were still

materializing on all fronts. Before practice on Friday Coach Miles suggested that I sit out the Saturday matches as

well. That would give me two additional days for recovery, which could make a big

difference, he thought. “It’s getting to the point where we might run out of time. We’ve

got to get you healed up for districts,” he said. “You’ll feel pretty bad if you bust your

face up again tomorrow.”

“Or if I lose a match because of that stupid mask,” I added.

He ignored that remark. I don’t think he liked that I used the mask as an excuse for

being beaten. “Besides,” he said. “I don’t like the idea of putting you out there after you

didn’t practice all week. It sends the wrong message to the team.”

“You’re right, Coach, I agree,” I said.

“You don’t look convinced,” he said.

“Well, I just dropped out of the top five and I’m worried about seeding at districts.

Don’t I need to pile up some more wins?”

“Getting your face all better is more important,” he said firmly. “Nobody cares about

those rankings anyway. You could beat most of those guys ahead of you, I think.

Seeding won’t be a problem either. You lost a lot of blood on the mat and everybody

saw it. The committee won’t hold an injury like that against you.”

On Saturday we wrestled an away quad meet against three conference teams. That meant that I missed three more matches, against possible district opponents. Despite what Coach Miles said, I couldn’t imagine that sitting for so long wasn’t hurting my chances of getting a decent seed. The good news was that we beat two of the three teams in the quad. I had carefully scanned the bleachers during each match to see if Judy had shown up.

It was easy enough to do since I was just sitting on the bench in street clothes watching

fans come and go. She never came.

The following Monday morning, however, I did see Judy. She dropped by my locker

a few minutes before homeroom.

“Hi Judy,” I said, the way I always did.

“Hi,” she said. That was a start. Or was it?

There was an awkward silence. Then she dropped a bomb. “How are you and Carrie

doing?” she asked. Only then did I realize that she hadn’t come by to try to patch things

up. On the contrary, she was there to stir things up.

I was angry, thinking she had no right to jab me that way. I tried to control my

temper, or at least keep it from showing. “I’m sure Carrie’s fine, I saw her in the halls a

couple times last week.” I wanted it on the record that there was nothing going on between Carrie and me.

“Hasn’t she been coming to see you wrestle?” she said, her voice dripping with

sarcasm?

“No,” I said sharply. “I haven’t wrestled in over a week. My losing streak’s still

alive.”

Not that it mattered, but I believe that she had been completely unaware that I had

been out of the lineup. “Your nose?” she asked. The spite was momentarily gone from

her voice. She really cared about me. I nodded affirmatively, my anger building by the moment. Why in the world had she come by? Just to get in a dig at me? I couldn’t restrain myself from striking back. “I never asked, how was your date in Atlantic City last week?”

Now it was her turn to be angry. At least I thought the cloudy look on her face was

anger. “It was great,” she said flatly as she turned to go. After a few steps she looked

back towards me as if she wanted to say something, but couldn’t find the words. Then she was gone.

Just by coincidence I did run into Carrie later that day, just after the last period of

classes. I had grabbed my bag of wrestling gear from my locker and was heading down

to practice. This was to be my first day of live wrestling after taking a week off. I was

sure I could feel the extra weight hanging off me even though it was only a few pounds,

and I was anxious to get back to work. I was walking quickly with my head down when

Carrie literally jumped into my path to get my attention. Ever since the party I had been

wondering if she remembered anything at all about what had happened. It turned out that

she did. When she saw me she immediately turned away from the friends she was with.

“Hi Ben,” she said sweetly. “Your nose is looking better.”

“Hi Carrie, how have you been?” I said, trying not to look surprised.

“Never better,” she answered. “Ben, where did you disappear to that night? I waited

for you to come back.”

I almost laughed out loud. If she had waited, it was for no more than two minutes

before she found somebody else to focus her attention on. I played it straight. “Sorry,

Carrie, really.” There was no way to know how much she remembered or even knew in the first place. “I’ll make it up to you, alright?” Wow! Where had that come from?

What did I say that for?

“I’ll hold you to it,” she said with a big smile. “Don’t forget now,” she teased as she walked away. I pretended to rearrange the contents of my gym bag as I watched her walk away.

I didn’t know what to make of the sudden interest in me by Carrie. Then again, maybe it wasn’t so sudden. I thought back to the snowy-grams I’d received over the holidays. I still didn’t know who had sent either of them. Maybe it was Carrie who had wanted to “hook up” with me all along.

When I turned to resume my walk down to the locker room I saw somebody else I knew. Judy and Karen were heading for the door. I couldn’t think of any reason for them to be down near the gym. I wondered if they’d been waiting for me. Had they seen me talking to a laughing, smiling Carrie McCracken? If so, it certainly undermined my earlier claim that I hadn’t seen Carrie since the party. Did it matter anyway?

Chapter 13 -- Funny Valentine

The wrestling season continued uneventfully as January came to an end. As a team we stumbled, losing dual meets to two conference opponents in early February. One of those was against Collington. In that one I was re-matched with Ken Brown, who had beaten me twice in December. The result was similar this time. I just couldn’t do anything with him and lost a dull match by a score of 5-0.

During practice I continued to work with the younger guys when I could. I had discovered a passion for that, and several of them were lacking when it came to the basics of wrestling. As long as I continued to work hard nobody seemed to mind what I was doing in the back of the room during downtime. A few of the kids really had no chance of ever becoming better wrestlers; they just didn’t have any natural ability or instinct for the sport at all. Others, though, absorbed like sponges most of what I taught them and I saw them improving each day. I tried to help during JV matches as well. Instead of lurking in the locker room with the other varsity wrestlers I started sitting on the bench with Coach Miles, trying to help out with the coaching as much as possible.

Our last match before districts was scheduled for Saturday, February 14. I would enter that match with a record of 17 wins and 5 losses. Three of those losses, of course, were to Brown of Collington. Coach Miles had been reviewing the records of all the wrestlers in our district and had done some preliminary estimation on how he thought each of us would be seeded. Nothing would be final, of course, until after the seeding meeting. At that meeting, the coaches would debate and argue about how each weight class should be seeded. Working with the detailed seeding guidelines they would hammer out a seeding of up to twelve wrestlers in each weight class. Miles told me that I shouldn’t expect to be seeded higher than fourth, which was a disappointment for me.

All but one of my losses came at the hands of state place winners and I had beaten several wrestlers in the district.

“Maybe it’s different in North Carolina,” he said patiently. “Here, past district results are very high on the list of criteria. There are three returning placers in your weight class.

Unless you beat them head to head during the season they will definitely be seeded ahead of you. Not having any local history is working against you here,” he said.

It really didn’t matter that much, I decided. To place I would still have to beat the best wrestlers, eventually, whether they were returning placers or not. Having a low seed just meant that I would have more tune-up matches. Nobody I saw in the early rounds should be much of an obstacle for me anyway if I wrestled my best.

I settled into a routine of sorts with Judy. We didn’t hang out at lunch anymore but we still had history class together. Most days, when I arrived early enough, I swung past her desk on the way to mine. Day after day I forced myself to say “Hi Judy,” and she always responded with a dull “Hi.” That was the extent of our personal contact for about three weeks.

If I had any discipline at all I would have accepted this stalemate. Getting involved with Judy, even as limited as it was, had been a serious and dangerous deviation from the original plan. Now, the relationship had deteriorated to the point of nonexistence. The smart thing to do would have been to let it stay that way and be thankful that my dirty secret was still safe. But I just couldn’t leave it alone because I didn’t want Judy to be mad at me anymore. I cared about her too much to just let it go.

On the way home from practice on Thursday night I stopped at the drug store and

bought a Valentine’s Day card. I wouldn’t write much of anything in it, I decided. As a

gesture to show her that I still had feelings for her, whatever they were, I wanted to at

least give her something.

I left the card alone until later, after I had finished my homework. I already knew

what I was going to write, having given it plenty of thought. I wrote something out of a

song on ‘Door to Door’, the new Cars album that Judy had noticed was still shrink-

wrapped a few weeks ago. I guess that was why one of the songs reminded me of Judy:

Hi Judy

You really do give me a twirl anyway...

Have a great Valentine’s Day!!

Ben

It was just right, just what I wanted. It was lifted straight out of ‘The Girl in My

Dreams’. That line had probably been a Ric Ocasek ad-lib.

I sealed it into the red envelope and printed her name, first and last, across the front.

Then I carefully placed it in the pocket of my book bag. There was little likelihood that I

would see her on Saturday, which was Valentine’s Day, and it was too late to send it by mail. To make sure she got it in time I would deliver it in school the next day. I was happy with what I had written but I hadn’t yet figured out how to deliver it. I didn’t want to make it too easy for her to approach me to patch things up. It would be better if she had to work for it some. Of course, the ultimate kick for me would be if I were able to watch her find and open it, read it and realize that it was from me. I wasn’t completely sure what her reaction would be but it would be fun to watch.

I knew Judy’s friend Karen well enough, although we hadn’t talked much lately for obvious reasons. I probably could have asked her to deliver it at lunchtime for me. That would enable me to watch, but everything else would be too easy for Judy. If she chose to, she could walk to my table, give me a hug, and it would be all over. So that wasn’t the way I wanted to do it. I could have slipped it through one of the slats in her locker door, but then I wouldn’t have any idea when she would find it. It was important that she have it in her hands on Friday, but late enough that she would probably have to scramble to find me over the weekend if that’s what she decided to do.

On Friday I went to school hoping not to run into Judy. If I did I feared I would be tempted to hand the valentine over immediately. I kept to myself and reported to homeroom early. The day unfolded in a predictable way. By lunchtime I was pretty excited about the valentine although I still had no idea how to deliver it.

I didn’t go down to the cafeteria for lunch. Some of the wrestlers had been gathering regularly in the gym to run during lunchtime. So far I hadn’t participated because I preferred to do my running alone at home. That night, sleet and freezing rain were in the forecast and I definitely didn’t want to be out running in that. I changed into some sweats and joined the herd in the gym. After two laps I decided that I was wasting my time. There just wasn’t enough room in the gym for thirteen guys to run hard enough to get anything out of it, and everybody was trudging along as if they were walking. I

dropped out and ran suicide sprints up and down the basketball court as the wrestlers

circled me. A few others joined me, one by one, so that by the end of the lunch period

half of us were doing sprints while the other half were jogging. I don’t think anybody got

much out of it except to sweat out a little water weight.

As usual, I said hello to Judy in history class. For a second or two on the way I had considered dropping the envelope on her desk as I passed, but I resisted the urge. That would be too easy for both of us. I was leaning towards entrusting Karen to deliver it later, if I could find her. The only problem was that I knew exactly where she would be after school while I was heading to practice: the same place that Judy was. They always seemed to be passing through the hallway near the main office at that time. I knew because I often used the same corridor at the same time heading in the opposite direction.

Lately I’d been finding an alternate route but I was sure they would still be there.

After my last class I still didn’t have any idea what I would do. For all my grand

plans I hadn’t managed to deliver the envelope at all, let alone under any of the

circumstances I’d envisioned. I simply had to make that delivery. It was too important to

me to let it go. Since school was over, it had to be now. There was no other way.

I slammed my locker door closed and took a deep breath. Then I extracted the envelope from my book-bag and slipped it under my sweatshirt. My palms were

sweating by the time I reached the hallway where I expected to see them pass.

Karen saw me first. They had stopped to talk with somebody I didn’t know and I was

already walking directly toward them when she looked up. I had passed the point of no

return and so I felt such a relief when Karen smiled. Karen wasn’t one to hide her feelings and she seemed pleased that I was headed their way. She elbowed Judy, and I

saw her say something that looked like “Here comes Ben.”

Judy didn’t look as receptive as Karen did. Instead, she looked like she was confused,

annoyed or scared. I couldn’t decide which. It was extremely awkward. I busied myself

pulling the envelope out as I approached. They both turned towards me.

“Hi Judy,” I said as cheerfully as possible, which was difficult considering how nervous I was. “Hi Karen,” I added quickly.

“Hey Ben, how’s the face?” Karen said. I was glad she was there because it helped

break the ice. It was comforting that she didn’t seem to be angry with me. If Judy had

put a bad spin on the episode at the party that night, Karen hadn’t bought into it.

“Much better, thanks for asking,” I answered.

Judy said nothing but forced a half smile. That didn’t bode well. I decided just to get

it done as quickly as possible. “I have something for you, Judy,” I said, pulling the red

envelope out from under my sweatshirt. Miraculously I didn’t drop or bend it. My hand

was shaking as I held it out to her. I’m sure she noticed it. That was probably good.

Judy was one of those people who would appreciate that there were a lot of strong

feelings flying around inside me.

She brightened up some when she understood what I was doing. Her smile widened

and there was a momentary flash in her eyes that I had forgotten about. If she was upset about it she didn’t let on.

“What a sweetheart, Ben,” Karen said. I couldn’t tell if she was being sincere or just

making fun of me but I appreciated it either way. Judy, on the other hand, hadn’t said a word. I could understand that. She’d had fewer than ten seconds to digest all this while I had been thinking about it for a couple of days.

I laughed at Karen’s remark. “Yeah, right,” I said wryly. “A real sweetheart.”

Judy finally spoke. “Thanks Ben,” was all she said. Had I been expecting too much?

My work was done and I had a great excuse for a fast exit. “My pleasure, really,” I answered. “Look, I’m late for practice so I’d better get moving.”

“Don’t want to miss rolling around with a bunch of sweaty, smelly guys, right?”

Karen joked. At least I hoped she was joking. I shot her a look. She had no inkling of the lengths I’d gone to have that opportunity again.

“Bye Ben, and thanks,” Judy said as I was leaving. I gave her a quick smile as I turned away to head down to practice. It had gone as well as I could have hoped. I had no idea what Judy was really thinking.

We had a good practice, going heavy on the live wrestling and only a few minutes of drilling. It felt good to work so hard. We could hardly drag ourselves to the locker room after we had finished.

I was excited more about Judy than anything that happened at practice. I was sure that she would be there waiting for me when we were finished, after she’d had some time to appreciate the valentine. After weeks of virtual silence maybe we could at least start talking again.

When we emerged from the locker room after practice I fully expected to see her.

Naturally, when I poked around a few corners without finding her I was very disappointed. I was really having doubts about how well I had known Judy in the first place and how I may have misjudged what had been developing between us. As I was leaning against the wall enjoying my own disappointment, Nick appeared out

of nowhere. “We’re going with two captains tomorrow,” he said. “Are you in?”

I didn’t understand at all what he was saying. “Two captains,” I repeated.

“Yeah,” he said. “This’ll be my last dual meet,” he explained. I had forgotten that.

For the past four years he had been on the CFTHS varsity, three of those as captain. “We need to get you broken in,” he continued. “You can’t lead the team next year without a little experience, right?”

In a way it was silly. Both he and I knew that I was already a team leader in every

way but by title. He was completely serious, though, and I was touched. “Are you sure

you’re okay with this, Nick?” I asked. “You’re the captain, not me.”

“It was my idea,” he replied. “It’ll be you and me tomorrow.”

I got home before seven o’clock and realized that I had absolutely nothing to do. I

wondered what my new high school friends were doing. I had a real handicap in that I

couldn’t safely invite anybody over to my place, because the more people who figured out that I lived alone, the sooner my fraud might be exposed.

Really, it was amazing that it had been so easy to pull it off so far. I had never once

had any difficulty at all even though I didn’t have a parent within five-hundred miles.

Nobody seemed to notice that there didn’t seem to be a parent in my life. Often I tried to

remember how it had been when I was in high school the first time, when of course I

lived with my parents. I just couldn’t remember whether or not they had ever been

actively involved in anything I was doing, to the point of being visible to others. I had no

recollection of any interaction by them with any of my teachers or coaches. Sure, they

signed report cards, attended wrestling matches, and saw me graduate, but they were just faces in a crowd. Would anybody have noticed if they hadn’t been around? I would have

thought the answer was yes, but if that was true, why wasn’t it being noticed now?

I slept in on Saturday morning. Our match was at home, and not until two o’clock, so

there was no need to rush out of bed. I took care of a little homework and paid a few

bills. I got to the high school early, partially because I wanted to check my weight but

mostly because I was bored and had run out of things to do at home.

I was even more certain that Judy would be at the match that day than I had been

about seeing her after practice the previous night. Lots of students would be there; it was

a fun thing to do on a cold winter Saturday. True, Judy and the people she hung out with

hadn’t made a habit of attending sporting events, but even so, I expected her to be there for this one.

We rolled out the mats, taped the sections together, and then left Lee to clean them

while we went upstairs to get dressed. As usual, I came back down to sit on the bench for

the JV matches. Cross Keys Regional, our opponents, only had five JV kids so there

wouldn’t be too much to watch.

I made a few mental notes about mistakes some of the JV kids made as I sat on the

bench with Coach Miles. I would go over these things with them in practice the next

week. Between matches I kept a close eye on who was coming into the gym. It was

early and not many fans had arrived yet, but Judy was not among the early arrivers.

Since this was our last match, Coach Miles decided that senior Paul Ragone would

start at 145 instead of freshman Kevin McGuire. I thought Coach was doing a classy

thing by putting Paul in the lineup for the last dual meet of his career. I asked around and

none of the guys could remember him starting any match although he had been on the team all four years. I knew what they probably couldn’t know; the drive and

determination that kept him in that room for four years was the same stuff that would lead

him to be successful in whatever he tried for the rest of his life.

When Coach Miles announced to the team that Ragone would start McGuire had immediately protested. He was drowned out by a chorus of derision and quickly shut up.

The steady, quiet Ragone was very popular among his teammates, while the immature and outspoken McGuire was not.

I knew nothing about my opponent, whose name was Silas. It had gotten so I

preferred it that way. It made it much easier to wrestle my own match without making

any adjustments based on what I’d heard about another wrestler.

The thrill I felt when Nick and I led the team onto the mats was surprisingly intense.

Curiously, I had never felt such a strong bond with my teammates in the past as I did with

this team. I was proud that they accepted me as a leader. The feeling was tempered

though, by what only I knew. I was a nineteen-year-old man in a group of boys, and it

was not an outstanding accomplishment that I had emerged as a leader.

After we were on the bench, when the match was about to begin, I again searched the

crowd. Again, I didn’t see Judy. I was becoming more and more certain that I had

misjudged Judy and her feelings about me. Instead of dwelling on it I turned my

thoughts to the match. There was plenty of time for dwelling later and I knew I would be

doing it.

We dropped a couple of early bouts but were still in the lead when Ragone took to the

mat at 145. Unfortunately, he was soundly beaten by a score of 11-3 by a pretty good

wrestler. Two times, once in the first and once in the third period, his opponent placed Ragone is deadly pinning combinations. We all admired Ragone’s determination not to

get pinned. He kicked, fought and rolled as hard as he could both times and successfully

avoided the pin. After the referee raised his opponent’s hand in victory I stood up on our

bench and started clapping for Paul. Almost immediately the rest of the guys did the

same. A few seconds later all of our fans and some of Cross Key’s were politely

applauding although I don’t know how many of them knew why.

Before I stepped onto the mat for my match I had decided that a pin was essential. It

had been weeks since I’d pinned anybody and I didn’t want to go into districts with that

monkey on my back. Silas took a quick shot at the opening whistle, capturing my ankle.

I sprawled onto his back, locked my hands and waited for the referee to call a stalemate.

His quick shot told me one thing: he knew what he was doing.

When we restarted neither of us took any shots. He wanted to tie up but I didn’t go

along with that. After he reached twice for a tie up I thought I saw a pattern. When he

reached for the third time I quickly lowered my level, stepped in and secured a double-

leg. Before he was able to counter I pulled his legs to my chest and dumped him for a

takedown and two points. He began to work to get back to his hands and knees but

before he could I inserted an arm bar. Then I took his far wrist, came out to the side, and

turned him over with the arm bar. The period ended before I could pin him but I had

compiled a 5-0 lead.

He chose to start on bottom in the second period. I had turned him easily with an arm

bar in the opening period and planned to go back to that as soon as possible. I used an

ankle ride to break him down to his stomach but quickly released the ankle once I had done that. The arm bar wasn’t there this time but he had lifted his left arm off the mat, inviting me to sink a half nelson, so I did that instead. As I had done with the arm bar, I

took his far wrist and cranked him over with the half nelson. I craned my neck while the referee was counting back points, to try to see the scoreboard. There was almost a minute and a half left in the period. Unlike in the first period I would have time to finish him off.

He struggled valiantly but since I had control of the far arm, his options were very

limited. When he committed himself to rolling away from me I switched to a reverse half

nelson. I heard Coach Miles yelling at me to “Get on your toes!” I followed the

instruction immediately. That way, instead of me supporting my own weight that burden

was shifted to Silas. That made the difference, as the referee slapped the mat seconds

later. With that victory in hand I would enter the post-season with an 18-5 record. It

wasn’t a glittering record, thanks mostly to Ken Brown, but it was the best record I’d ever

had.

Some of the guys told me about a Valentine’s Day party they knew about, trying to get me to come. I told them I’d think about it but that I had an English paper to work on. It

wasn’t exactly false. I was working on a paper. It wasn’t exactly true, either. My paper

was finished and I just needed to proofread it.

Really, I just didn’t want to go to a party that night. I was sure it would be just like

the last one. Everybody would get a little crazy, do some things they regret, and some

guys would end up with some girls. The way things had been going, one of those guys

could probably have been me. I just wasn’t interested in it anymore. These guys couldn’t know, but I’d been doing these parties for years. How could they ever understand that a night of hanging out, drinking, and girls gets tiresome after a few years?

I knew that when I was their age I never would have believed it. That wasn’t really why I was so down. The truth was that I was sad that Judy hadn’t come to see me wrestle. That was the real reason that I didn’t feel like going out. There was only one girl that I really wanted to end up with and I was pretty sure that she wouldn’t be at that party.

Most likely she had spent the day with her college boyfriend. What was it that day, I wondered, a car show in Philadelphia? I envisioned them having a romantic dinner somewhere, talking and thinking about anything except Ben Petrovic.

That evening I treated myself to a submarine sandwich from Subway. It was safe to indulge myself because we didn’t have weigh-ins until next Thursday, when the district tournament would begin. On the way home from buying my sandwich I stopped and rented a movie at the video store in a strip mall. An hour later I was sitting alone in my condo on Valentine’s Night, eating a sandwich and watching a bad movie on videotape while wondering where Judy was. I found myself straining to remember exactly why it was that I had been so determined to go back for a second chance in high school.

Chapter 14 -- Districts

As I headed to school the Monday after St. Valentine’s Day it was with a severe case

of guilt about the fraud I was living. I thought it had come on because I was about to enter a part of the season where the damage I did to “real” high school kids was going to be permanent. Losing a regular season match didn’t end anybody’s season or career.

From this point on it would be different.

I again vowed to banish these questions and worries from my mind. This would be the last time I thought about it, I pledged to myself. I decided to wrestle my best and not think about the consequences. Later, after the season ended, I would decide what to do about my “senior” season, because I didn’t feel that it was too late to decide not to go through with that.

That day in school I was completely free of the delusion that Judy had any interest in

me at all. Her lack of response to the Valentine’s Day card had made that clear. When I

came into history class I proceeded directly to my own seat and sat down without saying

anything to her. Once or twice on Wednesday I caught her looking my way a couple of

times. Of course, when I caught her looking at me it meant that she had also caught me

looking at her.

The seeding meeting took place Wednesday night. Rather than wait until practice we

all converged in Coach Miles’ classroom Thursday morning to see how the seeding had

gone. I was third in a field of eleven, which was better than Coach Miles had led me to expect. I felt good that all of my losses except for the one to King had been at the

hands of wrestlers who weren’t from my district. I was sure that I could beat King if I

was healthy and not wearing the mask. Except for him, I wouldn’t face any wrestler who

was seeded higher than me until the finals. King and I would square off in the

semifinals on Saturday morning, assuming that both of us got that far. Before that I

would wrestle the winner between two low-seeded kids who I knew nothing about.

The district tournament was the first step in winnowing down the field as the state

championships approached. Every wrestler from every team participated in the district

tournament, but only three per weight class would survive and wrestle in the regions the following week. This was the point at which more wrestlers were eliminated than any

other time. It would be less dramatic than it sounded, I suspected, because most of the

kids eliminated were obviously not good enough to compete for region or state titles.

At lunchtime on the first day of the tournament I went for a run in the gym to ensure

that I would hit my weight at weigh-ins that night. As had become the norm, I didn’t

bother with Judy in history class, but went directly to my desk. After class I was on the

receiving end of a surprise. I felt a tug at the sleeve of my shirt as I was heading to my

locker. I turned and was shocked to find Judy, with a very serious look on her face.

“Ben,” she said quietly. “I really want to talk with you sometime.”

I was dumbstruck but managed to answer. “Uh, okay, sure, about what?” I realized

that didn’t sound very gracious and tried to make amends. “I mean, sure, I’d like to,

anytime,” I said. That wasn’t much better.

“Well, I know you’re busy with your district tournament tonight,” she said. “How did you know about that?” I exclaimed. I didn’t think she was still following my season. Not anymore.

She smiled, sadly if that was possible, and shook her head. “You just don’t know, do you Ben?”

The truth was, I didn’t. I’d never been more confused in my life. It didn’t matter. I was happy to be talking to Judy again, confusion or no confusion.

“We better hurry, we’ll be late for our classes,” she said.

“Okay Judy, I’ll see you,” I said as we parted.

“Bye Ben,” she said. We hadn’t agreed on a time or a place, and I really wasn’t sure when we would get together, if we did at all. Nevertheless, it felt good to know that maybe she wanted something to do with me after all.

After my last class I headed to the gym where the team was meeting for the bus ride to the district tournament at East Point High School. Reggie McKenzie, who always seemed to know exactly what I was thinking, started laughing when he saw me. “And what exactly has happened to you since lunchtime, Mr. Petrovic?” he asked. “You don’t look quite the same as you did then.” Reggie had run in the gym with me. Apparently we were the only two wrestlers worried about making weight that night.

“Nothing, really,” I said, flushing to a dark red.

“Yeah, nothing, right,” he said sarcastically, with a big smile. “Her name’s Judy, right?”

On the way to the tournament I forced myself to think about wrestling, although it was hardly necessary. Along with half of the team, I didn’t have a match that night. Coach Miles hadn’t insisted that everybody come but it seemed like I should. Besides, I wanted to see my teammates wrestle, and what else was I going to do?

The opening session ran longer than I had anticipated. I found myself growing stiff sitting in the bleachers. It was a good reminder of the agony that our parents had gone through for years, waiting patiently at tournament after tournament. I wished I had brought some sweats so I could loosen up in the warm-up room. I’d been sitting in one spot since putting my street clothes back on after weighing in. By the end of the night I was sore just from the sitting I had done.

Kevin McGuire was the only one of our guys who was beaten that first night. That meant his season was over. I tried to console him but he was in a nasty mood after losing and waved me away. Whatever, I thought. I really didn’t care about him anyway.

The next day I didn’t need to run at lunchtime. I had checked my weight in the morning and seen that I had nothing to worry about, so I was able to eat my orange and relax in the lunchroom. Judy and her group were in the usual place but I still didn’t feel comfortable about heading over to join them. For once, I’ll let Judy come to me, I thought.

She didn’t. Her lookouts spotted me eating by myself. That was obvious. Judy never looked over but the rest of them did. I began to realize that she was struggling with something that had to do with me. That’s when I knew I was doing the right thing by waiting for her to come to me. Whatever was bothering her would take time to work out.

After I finished my orange and couldn’t think of any other ways to look occupied I got up and walked out. At least it was safe to say hello to Judy before class again, so I did. When we returned to East Point for the next round of districts I found myself checking

the bracket sheets, even though I already knew I would be wrestling Scott Saunders, a

junior from the host school. It was a relief to me to know that he would have a senior

year to come back for if I helped to end this season for him.

There were four mats going so once the wrestling started it went quickly. There were

lots of matches between high and low seeds, and those matches often didn’t come close

to going all six minutes. Before I knew it the public address announcer had called my

match “on deck”. A subsequent announcement summoned Saunders and me to the mat.

“Now on Mat 1, From Chapel Forge, Ben Petrovic, From East Point, Scott Saunders,” the

announcer intoned.

“Don’t waste any time, go after him right away,” Miles told me as I stripped off my sweats and pulled the straps of my singlet over my shoulders.

“Why, is he good in the third period?” I asked, wondering if I should have gotten a

scouting report on Saunders.

“No, Dennis is on deck on mat 3 so I need to get over there as soon as possible,” he

replied. We both had a quick laugh. I doubt if he would have joked with any other

wrestler like that just before a match, but he seemed to sense that I had the maturity to

handle it. If only he knew.

The referee could hardly hold me back before he finally blew the whistle to start the

match. I already knew what I wanted to try to do first: an ankle pick, the move that had

such disastrous results during the season against Jesse King. We both reached for a tie-

up immediately, but I had no plans to stay with that. Once my hand was in place on the back of his neck, I worked to set him up for the pick by pushing him side to side. When he committed to moving to his right I swooped down, blocked behind his right ankle, and used my grip on his neck to topple him over the trapped leg. It felt good to make that move work for a 2-0 lead.

After a minute on top I hadn’t had any success in turning him over. He attempted a

switch that was coming dangerously close to earning him two reversal points so I yanked my arm out and let him escape instead, for one point. Then, before he had a chance to get set I took a quick shot and picked up his ankle. From there it was easy enough to work for another takedown before the period ran out. I led 4-1 after one period.

Saunders won the coin toss and chose to start the next period in the bottom position.

It was a wise choice, I thought, because I had difficulty riding him in the first period.

This time, when the period started I ran one arm under his armpit and the other across his

body and between his legs in a spiral ride. All I wanted to do was hold him until I decided what to do. His head was down and so I began thinking cradle.

I preferred the near side “bow-and-arrow” cradle but my arms were already in position

for the traditional far-side cradle, so I went with that. I shifted my hips to his side and

managed to take his leg and then bring my hands together, locking them tightly just

below his chin. Whether he knew it or not, he was in serious trouble because I had a tight

cradle in place. With one foot and one knee on the mat I wrenched him backwards onto

the mat. As the referee started counting back points, I jammed my knee into his side just

below his ribs. The match ended only a few seconds after that. I had wrestled well and

advanced to the semifinals with a pin at 2:39 in the second period.

“Beautiful, Ben, beautiful!” Coach Miles was yelling as he clapped me on the back.

“You keep doing it just like that,” he said, just before he bounded over to coach Dennis Ruchinskas in his quarterfinal match at 189 pounds. As I left another wrestler and coach were simultaneously moving into the corner that Coach Miles and I had just occupied.

That was a scene that would occur over and over for the rest of the night: one coming and one going.

As I stood over to the side of the mat pulling my warm-ups onto my sweaty body I saw Jesse King’s hand being raised in victory on the other mat. Now I had no need to check the bracket sheets. I would have a rematch with King in the morning. I was confident that this time I would win.

Surprisingly, Chapel Forge wrestlers were winning match after match. After the quarterfinal round we had seven who had advanced to the semis, which was more than any other team. Miles had never won a district championship, Nick told me later. It looked like we had a good shot at winning one this time. I hadn’t realized that anybody really cared about winning this tournament as a team. It was comprised of only twelve schools with nothing in common except that they happened to be close together geographically. I had thought the district tournament was held merely to weed out wrestlers and set the field for the region tournament next weekend. It did serve those functions but had apparently taken on some importance in its own right.

When we returned early the next morning for the nine o’clock semifinal session it felt like we had never left. I had carefully searched the bleachers after my match the night before. There were some students from Chapel Forge who had come to watch us, but no

Judy. Today might be different, I thought. I didn’t even try to tell myself not to dwell on watching the stands when I was supposed to be thinking about wrestling. Actually, there wasn’t much of a crowd in the gym at all for the semifinals. This stage

of a district tournament was too early for anybody but family, close friends or wrestling

fanatics to be there. It was easy for me to see that Judy wasn’t there because not many other people were either.

I planned to attack Jesse King in our semifinal match with the same aggressive style I

had wrestled with the night before. As it turned out, King had a similar plan. We

wrestled a ferocious first period during which we repeatedly attacked each other’s legs.

Every time one of us seemed to have succeeded with a single or double leg takedown the

other managed to elude it. Both of us had gone all out to win the match early and as a result we both were winded after the first period, which ended with no scoring. One thing I realized after the first period was that even though I still thought I was a better wrestler than King, my loss to him had been less of a fluke than I had realized.

I won the coin toss and had choice for starting position in the second period. Feeling stubborn and sure that I could take King down despite the draw we wrestled to in the first period, I indicated to Coach Miles that I wanted to start in neutral position. He shook his head adamantly, pointing to the mat. He wanted me on bottom. It was the right decision.

In the third period King would almost certainly choose bottom, where only an escape was needed to score. If I didn’t do the same in the second period I would have been surrendering an advantage to him. I deferred to my coach and chose the bottom position.

At the beginning of the period I repeatedly tried to stand up but was unable to. King

was much stronger than I remembered. When he needed to he grabbed an ankle long

enough to trip me, keeping me from getting up. Twice I tried to feign a standup long

enough for him to lock his hands before dropping suddenly back to the mat. Both times he unlocked his hands quickly enough to avoid the locking hands penalty that I was

trying to draw. Next I tried sitting out and turning towards him. After a few attempts I

thought I had managed to escape. That time he desperately lunged towards me and

locked his hands around my leg just before I was free. Seconds later the referee called a stalemate.

For the last twenty seconds I tried to stand up and run away for an escape, but that

didn’t work either. We entered the third period with the score tied 0-0. King had earned

an advantage by successfully riding for me for the entire second period. If he chose the

bottom position for the third period, which he surely would do, he only needed an escape

to win, while I would need to score back points to win.

Over in the corner Coach Miles could tell that I was worried. He made a palms-down

gesture towards the mat, trying to get me to calm down. “Don’t give up two,” he called

out. If I felt that King was on the verge of taking control from me, which would be worth

two points, I would release him, surrendering only one point. That would give me a

chance to get a takedown to win.

He did choose bottom, of course. After forty-five seconds he began trying to stand up

and break free, just as I had in the second period. The first two times I back-tripped him

to the mat. The third and fourth times I ran him off the mat. After that King’s coach was

screaming at the referee that I should be penalized for stalling because I was forcing him

out of bounds. No call was made.

At that point there were twenty seconds left. My plan was to try to hold him down

and try my luck in overtime. When he stood up again, however, my body remembered a move that my head had forgotten. I kept my right hand tightly around his waist and reached my left hand between his legs from behind, and grabbed his right thigh. Then I

lifted him by the leg, while retaining my tight-waist grip. It was a well-timed crotch lift

that prevented him from escaping but I suddenly had more on my mind.

Throwing a turk in from a crotch lift was something I’d done a thousand times. It had been one of my favorite moves a long time ago. I lifted his right leg and stepped under it with my left leg, hooking his other leg. By design, our momentum took us to the mat.

As we landed I lifted his left leg with mine, and at the same time applied a cross-face.

The effect of these two maneuvers was to expose his back to the mat. A lot had happened in a short time. About five seconds after I had panicked because King had been able to stand up, the referee was counting back points for me.

We ended the match without any change in position. After time expired the referee signaled for three back points, the first points either of us had scored. I had won an

exciting match by a score of 3-0. As I untangled myself from my dejected opponent I

heard my teammates going wild behind Coach Miles. There was a lot of baggage that

went along with every victory for me now that the post-season tournaments had started,

but for the moment I was pretty excited about it myself. I had qualified for the district finals and clinched a trip to the regional tournament next week.

It turned out that we put four guys into the finals, as many as any other team. We had

so many other wrestlers winning in the consolation brackets that we had amassed enough

points to put us in the lead for the team title. Although I had a very short history as part

of Chapel Forge Township wrestling, I felt a lot of pride about our performance.

The rest of the day for me was divided between hanging out with my teammates, cheering them on when they wrestled, and waiting until six o’clock when the finals session would begin. At that hour, I thought it was reasonable that a big crowd could be expected. Unlike in my first high school career, I actually enjoyed wrestling in front of crowds. Back then I would have preferred that the gym be emptied entirely before my matches. Now, I found that a large group of spectators gave me energy and purpose on the mat. For the first time, I was sure that the people watching me knew they were watching a good wrestler.

The late start for the finals session also made me think that maybe Judy would find her way over to East Point. It was about the same time that she came up to Moorefield to see me wrestle in that tournament. Watching the crowd was the other thing that kept me busy throughout the day.

At five-thirty the director of the tournament requested over the public address system that all finalists assemble at the main table. The consolation finals were being held at the time, and I felt embarrassed that he made that announcement without concern about distracting those wrestlers, as if their matches were somehow less important. Before reporting to the table I retrieved my gym bag from the stands. It was when I was carefully stepping under the ropes that surrounded the mats that I saw her across the gym.

I knew immediately that it was Judy, because she was wearing the pale yellow down- filled jacket that she wore to school so often. For an experienced Judy-watcher it was an easy identification. It wasn’t clear to me who was with her, but it looked like she had come with one other girl. That was a real thrill, seeing her walk into that gym. It was too late for me to try to talk with her, and I didn’t need the distraction, but for me it was just one more reason to wrestle hard. The tournament directors shooed the finalists and their coaches into the locker room

for a quick meeting. They were planning a glitzy introduction of the all the finalists at

the beginning of the session. Each coach was asked to submit a short list of his wrestler’s

record and notable past achievements. It seemed overdone to me since it was only the

district tournament. I had to tell Coach Miles that I didn’t really have any notable past

achievements. My record was 20-5, and I had eleven pins, and that was about it.

“Well, I guess they’ll have to find a way to jazz that up as best they can, huh?” was all

Coach Miles said. I was sure Nick’s introduction would be long enough, with all of the titles he’d won in the past four years, to make up for my short one. Robert Mendez, Joe

Eckert, Tom Schmidt and Reggie McKenzie, the other finalists from Chapel Forge, hadn’t really won much more than occasional Christmas tournament here and there. I didn’t worry too much about how my pedigree would sound.

By the time the introduction ceremony was choreographed there were only ten minutes before it would begin. There was no need for me to go anywhere so I stayed in

the locker room and tried to start preparing for my match. I noticed that many other

finalists were beginning to do the same thing.

The introductions were as exciting as anything I’d ever been part of. They really

treated wrestling like a big-league sport in New Jersey. I had already peeked out into the

gym and seen that it was filling up fast. It looked like it would be a large crowd. I was

glad I had thought to grab my gym bag before coming to the meeting so I didn’t have to

go out there and lose my concentration.

When it was time for the introductions the lights were turned low in the gym, and

fourteen finalists lined up on each side of the mat. I was proud to be standing out there next to Nick, who was, as expected, a finalist in the 160-pound weight class. We were

told that just before each wrestler was introduced, a spotlight would be trained on him.

“When the spotlight hits you,” the director had said, “go to the center of the mat. We’ll read your resume and introduce you, and then your opponent. After you both are out there, shake hands and go back to the spot you came from.”

They were introducing the wrestlers from my side first. When the spotlight hit me the

butterflies that were already in my stomach multiplied, but it was a real charge. I wasn’t

nervous. I was excited. I walked slowly out to the center of the mat, with the spotlight

illuminating my short journey. As I walked, the public address announcer announced my

short and unimpressive credentials. “Wrestling in the 171-pound finals, a junior from

Chapel Forge Township High School, with a record of twenty wins and five losses: Ben

Petrovic!” I couldn’t see anything with the spotlight in my eyes but I heard a polite smattering of applause from around the gym. I also heard a quick outburst of whistling and stomping from one location. I figured that must be where the Chapel Forge fans were clustered.

After the introductions were over and the finals began I returned to the locker room to

think about what I wanted to do in my match. I would be wrestling against Mike

Townsend of Dalghren High School. He was a returning district champ who had

compiled a record of 16-3. All I knew about him was that he was tall and thick, having

obviously cut a lot of weight to get to 171 pounds. Since he was bigger than I was, I

decided to avoid any upper body moves when we were on our feet. On the mat I would

keep my head up and keep moving, to try to deny him the opportunity to use his size advantage. There was no way to know but I sensed that he wasn’t very quick. If I was right, I knew that I would have enough time to react and counter his moves.

“This is your match, Ben,” Coach Miles told me after we had occupied our corner of the mat in preparation for my finals match. Nick had just won the district title and now I

was up. “Be patient, like you have been,” he said. “He’s a muscle guy. Let him wear

himself down some. By the way, what is ‘girb floats’?”

I laughed at the question as I trotted out the center of the mat. He had pronounced it

incorrectly. One aimless night in my prior life I had been cruising around in a car with

some friends. The rear window had fogged up, and we entertained ourselves by writing

nonsense words in the condensation. Somehow, “GIRB FLOTS” had stuck, and had

become a part of my vocabulary. At the beginning of the season I printed it in red letters

on the side of my headgear. Coach Miles must have been wondering all season just what

it was.

Townsend and I shook hands, and then the match started. As I expected, he wanted to tie up and work for an upper body takedown rather than force himself to go low enough to attack my legs. I tied up with him the first time to see how it felt. His strength wasn’t

overwhelming but he seemed too comfortable in a tie up, so I backed out of it as soon as I

could. I tried shooting for a single-leg but came up empty both times.

Suddenly he lunged at me and attempted a simple front headlock. He wasn’t quick enough, just as I had hoped. He was able to control my arm and head, and turned to flip me, but before he did I grabbed him around the waist. We both went to our knees. I was behind Townsend except for my head. He was desperately trying to flip me onto my back but I had a solid grip around his waist and was securely anchored behind him. His grip on my neck and head was so tight at first that I couldn’t hear anything at all, which was an odd sensation because I knew there was a lot of noise in the gym. I knew exactly what to do from experience. I slowly but steadily began to slide my head out of his grip. If my ears weren’t completely blocked I knew I would hear many voices exhorting me to “pop your head!” which was what I was already trying to do. After what seemed like minutes I succeeded in freeing my head. When I had solidified my position behind him the referee awarded me two points for a takedown and the lead. I was able to ride him for the remaining fifteen seconds of the period, which ended with me leading 2-

0.

That was a good start. In the second period Townsend chose to start in the down position. At the whistle I went quickly to a cross-face-cradle ride, draping myself over his back and reaching across his face to grasp his far shoulder. In the process, my forearm applied a steady and distracting pressure on his face and head. My other hand was between his legs from behind. For thirty seconds I tried to bring my hands together, to cradle him up. It wasn’t really a great idea to try to cradle somebody who was so long and tall, but I wanted to stay on the offensive rather than let him work on escaping. I kept the cross-face in tight all the while, to restrict his movement. Some of the Dahlgren fans were screaming for a stalling call at that point but the referee could see that I was working to lock a cradle in and made no call. About a minute into the period I did manage to get my hands locked, although not as close to his chin as I would have liked.

When I tried to crank him over onto his back he extended his body and broke the grip of my hands. My momentum took me backwards and Townsend easily came behind me to earn two points for a reversal. There were thirty-five seconds left in the period. Since I would start the next period in the same position that I was in now, I used these seconds

to probe, to learn how he would react to my moves. I tried a switch, which he stopped

easily. Then I sat and turned in, again with no results. As the period ended I was trying

to stand up and again having no luck. With one period remaining the match was tied at 2.

Without even looking over to my bench for guidance, I chose the down position for

third period. When the whistle blew, I sat out hard, and turned in. He had been caught

off guard by my quick move, and was able only to follow. His leg was right there for the

taking. If I hooked it from the inside I could have tried a Peterson Roll, but I decided not

to. He was so big that I didn’t think I could roll him and I didn’t want to risk getting

stuck underneath. Instead, I hooked his leg from the outside, and tried to work for a one-

point escape.

We moved slowly, like two icebergs, but eventually I began to feel that I was gaining

the upper hand. I continued driving into him until he was forced into a sitting position.

He had to have been panicking by then. Without releasing his leg I continued exerting

pressure directly into him. When I stepped over his body I was very close to scoring a two-point reversal. By then he had grabbed one of my legs and was holding on for dear life, hoping the referee would call a stalemate.

I began to elevate the leg I had control of. This served to slowly expose Townsend’s

back to the mat. That was enough for the referee, who promptly awarded me two points

for a reversal. With forty-five seconds left, I held a 4-2 lead.

Again, I was unable to ride him. He was able to stand up with twenty seconds

remaining. I tried to push him out of bounds but I just couldn’t make him go where he didn’t want to. I heard Coach Miles screaming “Cut him!” With eleven seconds left I

released him, reducing my lead to 4-3.

Townsend immediately tried another headlock, knowing that he only had a few

seconds to take a gamble. I made a mental note to talk to Coach and Nick later about

why so many opponents tried to headlock me. The headlock was so sloppy this time that

I easily slipped it. As a result, when we crashed to the mat, I was in perfect position to

scoot behind him to earn two more insurance points. With that the match ended. I had won the district championship with a 6-3 victory in the finals. It was the first time in my

life that I had ever won a tournament.

To keep the tournament moving, awards were being handed out between matches. I

was able to catch my breath and pull my warm-ups on during the 189 pound final. Then,

I climbed to the top spot of the awards podium to accept my first place medal. My hands

and arms were still trembling with exhaustion and I could barely hold the medal as I

gathered my wits and disappeared into the locker room. Sweat was running into my fresh

mat burns, which stung painfully. I washed them out with soap and water and then

applied antiseptic ointment from the tube that I had stashed in the pocket of my warm-

ups. As I treated my wounds I did some math. There were thirty-two districts in New

Jersey. Each would send three wrestlers per weight class to one of eight region

tournaments. That meant that I had already clinched a spot in the top ninety-six of the

state. Since I had won my district it was fair to consider myself among the top thirty-two,

I decided. When I knew there was nobody else in there I pumped my fist in excitement.

“Yeah!” I shouted at the rows of steel lockers. Then I calmed down, remembered who I

was, and sheepishly went back into the gym. I got out there just in time to join my teammates in cheering for Robert Mendez. He

ended up winning easily in his finals match with a second period pin. That meant that

Chapel Forge Township boasted four district champions: Mendez, Tom and Nick

Schmidt and myself. We received even more gratification when it was announced that

we had won the team championship.

When the last match was over and the gym began to clear out I finally allowed myself to think about Judy. She had definitely been there, I was sure of that. I looked at the knot of Chapel Forge fans working their way out the door and didn’t see her. Just when I had decided that she must have already left, I felt that familiar tug at my sleeve.

“Congratulations champ!” It was Judy, acting as if nothing had ever gone wrong

between us. She put both arms around me and gave me a quick squeeze. Nothing had

ever felt so warm.

“Hi Judy! Thanks so much!” I said. “I saw you come in but it was too late for me to

come over, they needed me in the locker room.”

“You must be proud of yourself, Ben, I know I was,” she said cheerfully.

“I won two really close matches today, so I feel more lucky than proud,” I said.

“I really need to get going, but I was wondering if you needed a ride home,” she

asked.

That was a surprise. “Yeah, sure. I’ll have to clear it with the coach. Can you wait

like one minute?”

She could. I scurried across the gym to where Coach Miles was being interviewed for

the county newspaper. Rather than interrupt or wait for him to finish, I asked Tom

Schmidt to relay the message. I probably should have waited for an answer but Judy was waiting and this was too good to pass up. I was out of breath after I hurried back to

where I had left her. We exited after I put my sneakers on. I considered holding her by

the arm but I still wasn’t sure what she wanted from me and thought it better not to risk it.

We walked over to Judy’s car, which turned out to be a sensible Ford Tempo. I

waited until she unlocked the passenger door, and then slid in, keeping my gym bag on

my lap.

“I know this is weird, but I really wanted to talk,” Judy finally said when we were on

our way.

“I’m not complaining,” I answered.

“Ben, that valentine you gave me was the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” she

began.

“Good, I meant it to be,” I said.

“Not that I understand what you wrote,” she said slyly.

I remembered what I’d written, and laughed. “You’d have to listen to that Cars album

to get it, I guess.”

“Hmm,” she said. I saw her filing that bit of information away. She was silent for a

minute but I could tell she was struggling with something that she wanted to say. Finally

she just blurted it out, speaking quickly. “Ben, I really like you a lot and I don’t really know what to do about it. You’re all I think about.”

“Me?” I asked. Once again she had surprised me. I couldn’t think of anything to say

so I tried a little humor. “Now you like me,” I said sarcastically, “Now that I’m a district

champ!”

She laughed. “Nope. It’s just you, but I do like watching you wrestle.” It seemed like a good time to try to talk her into spending some time with me that night, although I had the impression that she had plans. “Say, Judy, do you want to hang out at my place for a while when we get there? We could stop off someplace for dinner if you want,” I suggested.

“Ben, I’m going to be completely honest with you,” she said. “So you can understand my problems. But nothing changes what I just said, okay? I mean it; I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“Alright, lay it on me,” I said.

“Well,” she said, speaking deliberately, “the first problem is Craig. He’s the guy from

Rutgers that my dad told you about.”

“Oh your boyfriend, the college guy, right,” I said, a bit too caustically. “The guy your dad told me all about.” The mood in the car was darkening fast.

“Yeah, my dad,” she said. “He and Craig’s father fixed us up about a year ago. I wasn’t sure if was I happy about it at the time or not. How could I know what it’s supposed to be like?” she continued. “But now it’s different, since I’ve met you. I know what it means, you know...” Her voice trailed off, but I thought I did know what she meant. “And I don’t know how to get out of it,” she finished.

What she had told me a few weeks ago was right. It did sound like an arranged marriage.

“Judy, what you do isn’t my business. But why don’t you tell this guy ‘Thanks but no thanks’, or ‘Nice knowing you’, or whatever? Take your pick,” I suggested.

“For one thing,” she began, “my dad would have a cow.” She paused, but only momentarily. She had come this far and I knew she would tell me everything if there were time. We were only a few minutes away from my condo. “And you just don’t know Craig. He’s really possessive, and jealous. He and my dad really gave me a hard time when you were over that night.”

I had no idea that any of that had gone on but I didn’t interrupt.

“Ben, my parents just don’t understand what a wonderful guy you are,” she said. “All

they see is a dumb jock. I’m sorry for being so honest but I just want you to know the

truth.” She paused and then added “To be honest, I felt that way too until I got to know

you.”

They were victims of the high school pecking order too. So it was true. People like

me were demonized by people like them, after all. Nobody was above it.

“Did you know that they came to see your match the next night?” she asked. “They wanted to see what you’re all about.”

“I saw them!” I exclaimed. “I couldn’t figure it out but I did see them!”

“Okay, that’s problem number one. Dad and Craig,” she said. “Here’s problem

number two. I don’t know what you’ve got going on with that girl at the party but I was

pretty upset when I saw you sitting in her lap that night.”

“Actually, it was the other way around. She was sitting in my lap,” I corrected. That

probably wasn’t something I should have said. “Judy, that’s the only time I ever said two

words to her,” I said. “Well, I guess I saw her in the hall once since then,” I added,

remembering that Judy was nearby at the time. “We were just clowning around, playing

quarters. After you left I went back to tell her goodbye and she was wrapped up with

some other guy. There’s nothing between her and me, really. I don’t think she even

knew who I was.” Judy said nothing. It must have hurt her badly to make her blast me the way she had

that night, and she apparently still had some bad feelings about it. “Judy, it isn’t like I

was cheating on you or anything. Just the night before you and your dad told me to buzz

off,” I protested. “Don’t you remember that?”

At that point we had reached Tanglewood. Judy pulled into an empty space and shut

off the engine. “Do you want to come in?” I asked.

“I can’t,” she said sadly. “Okay, here’s problem number three. I have to talk fast now

because I’m late.” She stopped and took a breath. “I don’t really know how to be a

girlfriend, especially to somebody like you. I never really had a boyfriend before,” she

admitted. Had she told me that before? Maybe I had just assumed it.

“What about the college guy?” I asked. If she refused to refer to Carrie McCracken by name I would do the same with her boyfriend. “You’ve had plenty of practice with him, haven’t you?”

“Not really. He’s so, so overbearing, I don’t really have a chance to do anything but

agree and follow along,” she explained.

“What did you mean by ‘somebody like me’?” I asked.

“Well, you’re handsome and popular, and part of the cool crowd, and all,” she said. “I

know who I am and I like myself, but I know my place, and yours too,” she said. “If

anybody saw us together they’d be shocked.”

“No, Judy, you’ve got it all wrong,” I said. “I’d be proud to have you with me. And

your crowd would be just as shocked,” I added. I put my hand on her shoulder. “I feel

the same way about you that you said you do about me. It’s just the same.” When she looked over at me she had tears streaming down her cheeks. I was learning

that she cried easily. Part of it was probably relief, after finally getting all of this off her

chest. The rest of it was despair about how she felt trapped in a situation that she was

unhappy with. I slid over to her and put my arm around her. “Judy, don’t cry. We can

solve these things together, okay?’

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You must think I’m a basket case.”

“Yeah,” I said, “but you’re my basket case,” I said jokingly.

She kissed me lightly on the neck. “I really have to get going, I’m sorry,” she said

again.

“Got a date, huh? Are you sure you have to go?” I asked.

“I’m sure,” she replied.

“Can we get together tomorrow?” I asked. “I don’t want to wait until Monday to see you again.”

She brightened when I said that. “Maybe we could,” she said. “Should I call you?”

“I probably shouldn’t call you, from what you’ve told me,” I said.

“Okay, great,” she said brightly as she started the engine. “That would be really nice.”

“It’s a date,” I said. “Am I allowed to call it that?”

“Yes, silly,” she replied. “And Ben? You were great tonight, I was proud of you.”

“Thanks Judy.” As she drove off to meet Craig, I thought a lot about how much it

meant to me to hear her say that.

Chapter 15 -- Boardwalk

Just as predicted, Sunday turned out to be a lot warmer than it had been in weeks. It was warm enough that I was able to get my daily run in early. Usually, on really cold days, I waited until afternoon when the temperature peaked. The chance to run earlier worked out well because I wanted to keep the day as clear as possible in case Judy had some time for me.

I had just finished my run when Judy called, as I had hoped. It was only about nine o'clock, much earlier than I had expected. “Ben? This is Judy,” she said when I answered.

“Hi Judy, everything okay?” I asked.

“Yup, how about you?” she responded.

“Yeah, I just came back from my run. I was thinking about doing a little homework,”

I told her. That was followed by an awkward silence. “Do you want to do something today?” I asked. It was nerve-wracking for me to ask. Things could have easily changed since the previous night, especially since I know she was out with her boyfriend.

“Yes,” she answered quickly.

“Well, you’re going to think I’m crazy, but it’s kind of warm outside,” I said.

“And?” she asked.

“I was thinking that we could drive down to Ocean City for a few hours,” I suggested.

“I’ll bet the place will be empty.” “Hmm, it isn’t that warm is it?” she asked.

I didn’t want to push it. It might have seemed warmer to me when I was outside than

it really was since I was running. If she didn’t like the idea, we’d just have to think of

something else. “We don’t have to do that,” I said.

“It would be nice to be outside, and to get away,” she conceded.

“Really?” I asked. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she said. “But if we get too cold can we go inside someplace?”

We agreed that the sooner we left, the better. I offered to pick her up but I knew what

the answer to that would be. “No, I’ll come over there,” she said immediately. It was no

more than fifteen minutes before she arrived.

I insisted on driving, so we climbed into my Escort and headed down the Atlantic City

Expressway towards the Shore. “This is going to be fun,” I said. “Like you said, it’ll be nice to breathe some air even if it’s cold.”

“I lied to my parents,” she said. “I told them I was going to the mall with Karen.”

I didn’t know what to say. Her point was, I knew, that she had never lied to them

before. “Sorry Judy,” I said. ‘I guess I’m making your life more complicated.”

“It isn’t your fault,” she said. “I’m doing the same thing to yours.”

“How did your date last night go? With Craig?” I added. It was difficult for me to

say his name.

“Oh, the usual,” she said. “We didn’t do much, because it was so late. Craig just

wanted to go see a movie.”

“What did you want to do?” I asked. “That was fine with me,” she said. “Why are we talking about this?” she asked with a

touch of irritation in her voice.

I wanted more information about where I stood, so I took a different tack. “So why

don’t your parents like me?” I asked. “Wasn’t I well-behaved that night at your house?

Was it the two black eyes?”

“No, I don’t think it was that,” she laughed. “They have a lot of pre-conceived

notions about guys like you. It isn’t fair but they’re pretty sure of themselves.”

“Guys like me? That’s not the first time you’ve said that,” I pointed out.

“Ben, I know you’re different, but I’m talking about super-jock kind of guys,” she

explained.

“Whatever that is,” I said. “How do you know they’re all not ‘different’? It sounds to me like you feel the same way your parents do.”

“No,” she said. “Didn’t I just say that you’re different?”

I could have easily attacked her argument but that wasn’t what I was interested in. I

only wanted to talk about her and me. “Did your parents come right out and say what

they don’t like about me?”

“They just went on and on about how guys like you usually end up after they’re done

with high school sports,” she said. “They mentioned bad jobs, bad marriages, stuff like

that. ‘People like that will be hoping to work for people like you in ten years,’ my dad

said.”

“And how do they think they know all this?” I asked, trying to hide my anger.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I’m sure they’re just being stubborn.” Stubborn wasn’t the word for it, I thought to myself. “Do you ever stick up for me, or do you just agree with them that I’m a future wife-beater?” I asked.

“Please don’t be mad at me, Ben,” she said. “You know how I feel about you. I told you last night. Can’t you see how hard this is for me?”

She was right. I shouldn’t have been giving her a hard time. “I’m sorry. You know

I’m on your side, right?”

She did, and said so. By then we were driving through Somers Point, the last town on the mainland. Moments later we crossed over onto the barrier island on which Ocean

City was located. We seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement that we would enjoy a day at the beach together by avoiding painful subjects. After we parked the car and walked over to the boardwalk we were reminded that the old axiom about how it was always cooler at the beach was true. A cold salty wind was whipping off the ocean and slicing through our clothing. I wondered how long we would last.

Despite the cold there were many more people there than I expected. A few were riding bikes up and down the boardwalk. There were people of all ages, including families with small children. Even on the beach, where the winds were especially strong, there were people walking and collecting shells.

I knew more than Judy did about what happened after high school, about how the distinctions between the different social groups faded. By the time people reached the stage in their lives where they hold steady jobs, marry and raise children, there wouldn’t be many things of less importance than what social position was held in high school.

Sure, it would always be there, but it wouldn’t matter much. When the hypothetical science club president and captain of the basketball team became close friends later in life, their high school histories would be little more than fodder for playful barbs or self-

deprecating humor. In many cases, the happy couples we were seeing that day at the

beach were made up of people wouldn’t have had anything to do with each other in high

school.

Then again, maybe I was wrong. Judy’s parents had more life experience than I did

and they still believed in the stereotypes.

We had a great day together without talking about any of the difficulties of our

relationship. First, we walked on the beach. When that got too cold, especially for me,

we took refuge on the boardwalk. Most of the shops and restaurants were closed but there were plenty of people walking on that cold sunny day just like us. When we finally came across a shop that was open Judy wanted to duck inside to look around. I stayed outside and looked at the ocean.

I was watching a toddler who had broken away from his parents and was chasing a seagull. The next thing I knew, Judy was back. Without saying anything she wrapped an arm around my waist and leaned her head on my shoulder. At times it seemed that the pressure that her parents and boyfriend put on her were too much for her. Sometimes she literally leaned on me like she was then, as if she was looking for refuge. It made me feel good that she looked to me for it and I wanted very badly to provide it.

“There’s Atlantic City, can you see it?” Judy asked. She was pointing north up the

coast to a hazy cluster of light-colored buildings along the surf.

“Yeah, I see it,” I said. “I didn’t know it was so close. I’d like to see it sometime.

From up close, I mean.” “We could drive through on the way home,” she suggested. “It’s better at night with

all the lights but it’s still pretty neat during the day. We could even have a late lunch

there. I know you don’t get hungry, but I am,” she teased.

“That’s a good idea,” I agreed. “I get hungry too, believe me.” It was too cold to be outside anymore anyway and the temperature had already started to drop. Judy navigated and I drove. We passed through the beach towns of Longport, Margate and Ventnor on a road that never strayed more than a hundred yards from the ocean, and then suddenly we

were in Atlantic City. I was surprised at the contrast between the glitzy towers I could

see ahead and the grungy neighborhoods we were passing through.

“All the casinos have their own garages, if you want to stop. Parking is really easy,”

Judy said.

We passed what looked to be a sports arena. It was grimy, and looked much older

than the shining towers that surrounded it. Even so, it had a classic, stoic look that I

found irresistible. “Wow, that must be where the states are held!” I said excitedly. It

had slipped my mind completely that the states would be here in Atlantic City.

“That’s Boardwalk Hall,” Judy said. “That’s where the Miss America Pageant is held

every year. Maybe wrestling is there too.”

I thought about suggesting that we try to get into Boardwalk Hall to look around but

decided against it. If I wrestled well I’d see the inside soon enough. We ended up going into Caesar’s Palace, one of the glitzier casinos. Judy had raved about the interior and she was right. It was breathtaking. The main lobby was filled with fountains, sculptures and a ceiling lit in blue to resemble a twilight sky. Everywhere I turned there were Roman columns. Somebody spent a lot of money on this place, I thought. Of course, they probably made it back the first year.

We ate lunch at the Gladiator Grill and then wandered around the casino for a while.

When I saw that Atlantic City had a boardwalk just like Ocean City I insisted on walking on it for a few minutes. I hadn’t realized that most of the casinos and hotels, and also

Boardwalk Hall, fronted right up on the boardwalk.

At three o’clock I sensed that we had both had enough. “Maybe we better start thinking about going home,” I said.

“I was thinking that too. My parents will worry if I’m at the mall too long,” she said sarcastically.

After we were on the Expressway heading for home, Judy made a remark that scared me. “You don’t seem to have any parents wondering where you are, do you Ben?”

When it was time for Judy and I to part I wasn’t sure what was expected of me, let alone what I wanted to do. I knew that Judy already had a lot of pressure to deal with.

The worst thing I could have done would have been to come on too strong. At the same time, I did want her to know how much I cared for her. Before she had a chance to step out of my car I put my hand gently on her shoulder to get her attention. “Thanks for a great day. I know you’re in a tough spot. Just remember that I’m here for you and I’ll take whatever I can get. Okay?” I pulled her close and gave her a long hug.

After a second of apparent indecision she returned the hug, squeezing me with her free arm. When she pulled away she had tears in her eyes. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “I have such strong feelings for you, you wouldn’t even believe it.” Then she climbed out of my car and into hers. I didn’t even watch as she drove away. There was no reason to.

Everything that could or should have been said had been.

After she was gone I admitted to myself that having Judy had become as big as anything else I was doing. For years I had fantasized about having a second chance to accomplish things in wrestling that I felt I hadn’t had a fair chance at before. That was still important, but now my relationship with Judy was threatening to overshadow it. If given the choice, I felt for the first time that I would consider giving up the second chance in wrestling if I could have Judy instead.

Chapter 16 -- Lemon Drops

On Monday we started what would be the final two weeks of wrestling practice. We

would practice that week and then compete at the region tournament over the weekend.

Those of us who managed to place in the top three would return to practice the following

week to prepare for the final weekend of competition at the state tournament. Because

there was so much at stake, I expected practices to become more intense than they had

been up to that point.

Judy and I spent a lot more time together in school than we ever had before. We

caught up with each other between classes at our lockers, and sometimes before and after

school. At lunch I began sitting with Judy and her friends again. Our closest friends

noticed the change. In the wrestling room, Reggie McKenzie made sure everybody knew

how inseparable Judy and I were becoming. Most of the guys were respectful about it.

Occasionally somebody said something mildly derogatory about her, but it always

seemed almost to be unintentional.

On Wednesday the seeding for the region tournament was released. Again, I was

disappointed. Despite winning the district tournament I was seeded only third. In part it was my lack of history that did me in, and I was fortunate to be seeded as high I was.

After some difficult weeks holding the weight, Donovan Jones, the kid from Redlands who had wiped the mat with me, had changed his mind about dropping down to 171 for post-season competition. He moved back up to his original weight class and was now

seeded second in the 189-pound weight class.

The difference between being seeded second and third was trivial, really. Neither

would have to wrestle in the opening round. Then, each of us would be matched against

a lower seeded wrestler who had won an opening round match. With victories in those

matches the second and third seeds would meet in a semifinal match anyway. Coach

Miles could tell that I was miffed and reminded me of all of this before school on

Wednesday. “Don’t look for something to be upset about,” he advised me.

He was right, I knew. There were more important things to worry about. The second

seed, Andy Makris from Elmer, had only lost twice all season long. He was a senior who

had placed in regions last year. Coach Miles told me that he was quick, and that he excelled on his feet. “But I don’t think he’s as good as his record,” he said. “He wrestles

in a weak conference and there was nobody any good in his district last week.”

If I got past Makris I would probably have Ken Brown to deal with again. In three

matches I hadn’t even come close to beating him. Before I could think about Brown, though, I would have to earn the right to face him. That meant winning matches against some tough wrestlers.

The region tournament was to be held in Cape May. This was the southernmost point

in New Jersey, which made sense because our Region Eight was the southernmost region

in the state. I’d never seen Cape May and I didn’t expect to see much of it except for the

high school this weekend. I was told that it was a quiet beach town that adults liked more

than kids did. The distance to Cape May didn’t bother me except when I thought about how badly I

wanted Judy to come see me wrestle. I wouldn’t have a match on Thursday, the first night of the tournament. On Friday and Saturday I knew I’d be very busy with matches and hoped that Judy would be able to attend both days. That was selfish but it was how I felt.

On Wednesday I brought this up with Judy. Apparently she had already given it some

thought.

“You won’t have a match on Thursday, right?” she asked.

“How’d you know that?” I asked in amazement.

“Simple,” she said. “Four districts feed into this region, so there are twelve guys per

weight class. The way those bracket sheets work,” she continued, “it makes sense that

only eight of them wrestle the first night. I figured that the top four get a pass.”

“Friday night is tough for me,” she continued. I knew why. Craig, her Rutgers

boyfriend, never seemed to want to miss a Friday night with Judy. For a moment some bitter jealousy nearly bubbled to the surface but I managed to suppress it. I don’t think I was able to suppress the look of disappointment on my face. “I don’t want to pressure you,” I said.

“I’m not saying it’s out of the question,” she said. “I’ll do my best, but you know that

already.” Judy, Craig and I certainly had a strange arrangement, even if Craig didn’t

know anything about it. I didn’t even mention Saturday.

On Thursday, the opening day of the region tournament, I was nervous even though I

knew I didn’t have a match that day. I would ride an hour down to Cape May, weigh in,

watch some preliminaries, and then ride an hour back. Remembering the first night of the district tournament, when I stiffened up sitting in the bleachers, I thought ahead this

time. I would put on my warm-ups, and bring a jump rope. From time to time I planned

to sneak off to an empty corner and get some exercise. It would keep me loose and also

burn off a calorie or two. That was important because there would be weigh-ins on all

three days of competition.

“I’m really nervous, and I don’t even have a match tonight,” I told Judy at lunchtime.

Deborah, one of Judy’s friends that I didn’t know very well, apparently didn’t want to

hear it. “What’s there to be nervous about anyway?” she asked. “You roll around on the floor, what could go wrong?”

Some things never change, I thought to myself. I could easily have made light of the

things that were important to her in the same way, but I ignored her comment.

“I can understand it,” Judy said. “This is regions, and it starts tonight whether you

have a match or not.”

“You’ll be fine Ben,” Karen chimed in. “One big flex of those biceps before the match starts, that’s all you need to do!”

Karen didn’t have much more respect for my sport than Deborah did, but at least she

wasn’t being nasty about it. She was just clowning around.

“No flexing!” commanded Judy, and we all laughed.

Judy met me after school in the gym lobby where the team was preparing to leave for

Cape May. I hadn’t expected to see her so it was a nice surprise. “Good luck Ben,” she said. “Don’t be so nervous!” She hugged me after she said it. It wasn’t one of those

quick hugs we’d been doing; this one lasted longer and it felt great. Hugs meant a lot in an odd relationship like ours. After that she headed for the door. Just before she pushed it open she turned around and smiled at me, giving me a “thumbs-up” at the same time. I took quite a bit of razzing on the bus over this. Every few minutes somebody would call my name and give me a big toothy smile and thumbs-up. I enjoyed every minute of it.

Nothing was better than being a member of a team and part of that was some good old-

fashioned razzing.

Opening night at the regions was much more bearable than the first night of districts

had been, thanks to my jump rope. Every so often when we didn’t have anybody wrestling I’d work up a sweat with the rope. One time I saw a group of wrestlers in uniforms I didn’t recognize watching me. My guess was that one of my opponents was

sizing me up.

Unfortunately, all four of our guys who had preliminary matches were defeated,

ending their seasons. There were no wrestle-backs for preliminary round losers. The bus

ride home was somber because the season had ended abruptly for four of us. It was a

sobering reminder to me of my own dilemma. It was very possible that I could soon be

ending the seasons, or even careers, of legitimate high school kids. I brooded over it for

the entire bus ride home.

It was nine-thirty when I finally got back to my condominium. When I walked into

the kitchen, I immediately noticed that the red light on my answering machine was

flashing. This had happened only once before. I didn’t receive many calls since I

purposely kept my phone number a secret. My first reaction was panic; I was certain that my plot had been discovered.

It turned out that the message was from Judy, who had called just twenty or so

minutes before I had gotten home. She sounded very upset, as if she’d been crying, in saying that “she really needed to talk with me.” She said that she would try to call later.

It sounded important. I didn’t like the desperation I heard in her voice. Knowing there

was nothing I could do until she called again, I prepared to go to bed. With nothing to do

but wait for another call, I spent a few minutes leafing through my old high school

yearbook while nursing a glass of water at the kitchen table.

At eleven o’clock I still hadn’t heard from her. I was worn out and I knew that I

should get a good night’s sleep because I’d be wrestling the next night. I didn’t really

expect to be receiving a call at that point because it was so late. I don’t think more than

a minute passed after I turned out the lights before I was asleep. Just before drifting off, I

remembered that I’d left my yearbook in the kitchen. Ever since Brad’s warning I had

been vigilant about keeping it hidden away. Too tired to get up, I made a mental note to

do it first thing in the morning.

When the ringing phone woke me up it took me a couple of seconds to remember who

and where I was, as often happened. As I snatched the phone I looked at the clock. It

was 2:18 in the morning.

“Hello,” I croaked into the phone.

I already knew it was Judy, of course. “Ben?” she asked. I could tell just by the

single syllable that she was very upset. It sounded much like the phone message she’d left earlier.

“Judy! Where are you?” I said sharply.

“I’m at WaWa,” she said, her voice wavering. “Can I please come over?” “Of course!” I said. “Do you want me to come get you?”

“No, I have my car,” she said. “I’ll be there in five minutes. Thank you, Ben,” she

added.

I sprang out of bed as soon as I hung up. Obviously I had no idea what had happened

to upset Judy so much. Had she been suffering for five hours? That’s how long it had

been since she left the message. As if it would make me look any more presentable, I

pulled a pair of sweatpants on over the boxer shorts I was sleeping in. I had a severe case

of bed-head so I grabbed my North Carolina State Wolf Pack baseball cap on the way to

the front door. I considered going outside to wait for Judy to pull up but I had forgotten

to put anything on my feet. Instead, I pressed my face against the window watching.

Two minutes later, she appeared. She was fully dressed, in jeans and sneakers, and

was wearing the yellow down-filled jacket. It looked to me like she hadn’t gone to bed

yet. Her eyes were red and puffy; she had obviously been crying. Around her neck was a

set of Walkman headphones. Somehow the sight of Judy Voorst wearing a Walkman looked completely incongruous to me.

I threw the door open and pulled her inside. She began to sob. “It’s okay now, Judy,”

I told her, not knowing what else to say.

“What’s wrong Judy?” I asked. “Are you hurt? What happened?”

She continued to cry but talked right through it. “I had a terrible fight with my

parents,” she told me. “Come on, let’s sit down,” she said as she pulled me into the living room. “I haven’t even gone to bed yet. I’m so tired. I’m really cold too, I’ve been in my car for three hours.”

“Three hours!” I said loudly. “Why didn’t you call me sooner? Oh, Judy,” I said. “Can I sleep here for a little while?” she asked innocently.

“Of course. Do your parents know where you are? Should we call them?” I asked.

“No. When I left I told them not to wait up, that I was going to Karen’s. They won’t

worry, they trust me,” she said. “At least, they did. I’ve been lying to them a lot lately.”

“Look, let me get you something better for sleeping in. I’ve got tons of sweats, how

about that?” I asked.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “I feel like I’m imposing. Well, I am imposing.”

“The only thing you did wrong was not coming here sooner. You know I’m here for

you,” I reminded her. I left, and brought back a thick set of plain navy blue cotton sweat

pants and sweatshirt. “You can change in there,” I said, gesturing towards the bathroom.

“Is anybody here?” she asked.

“No, my father’s out of town again,” I responded. I knew that my lies were wearing thin but that was a problem for another day. She took off her coat and put the Walkman on the table. Taking the sweats, she disappeared down the hall.

I picked up the Walkman to see what she had been listening to. I was astonished to

find an Eva Cassidy CD. She’d remembered!

“These feel great, thanks,” she said when she returned with a neatly folded pair of

jeans and sweater. The sight of her wearing my sweats made me feel good.

“Are you hungry or anything?” I asked.

“I could use a glass of water,” she replied. “I’ll get it myself.”

“Can you get me one too?” I asked, hoping I wasn’t drinking my way into a weigh-

in problem at the tournament the next day. I found a blanket while she was in the

kitchen. She must have had trouble finding the few glasses I owned because she was out of the room longer than I expected. When she returned we huddled under the blanket, sitting on the couch. It was uncomfortable because we were both very tired and had a hard time getting into a restful position. Even the light was bothering our eyes. It was now fifteen minutes before three o’clock.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” I asked. “I understand if you don’t, I don’t mean to pry,” I said.

“Ben, you come up with some good ones sometimes,” she said. “I’ve been driving around for three hours wishing I could be talking with you about it.” She tried again to get comfortable. Slowly, each of us was moving to a more horizontal position. Both of us were tired and our bodies wanted to sleep.

“Hey Ben, I have an idea, but don’t get mad, okay?” she said.

“Okay,” I said.

“You were in bed, right?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said slowly.

“Let’s go lay in your bed to talk. We’re both so tired,” she said, “That’s the only place we’ll be comfortable.”

I was shocked at first, but tried not to let on. What was she thinking? I had managed to violate nearly every rule I had made for myself when I came back to high school but there was one rule that I knew I could never ignore. Then again, I knew Judy well enough by now to accept what she said on face value. She was just tired and so was I.

“Warmer, too,” I added. “Are you sure it’s okay?” She sighed. “I can’t believe what a crazy night this is. We may as well be comfortable. I haven’t even gone to sleep yet,” she said. “And you have a very important match tomorrow. Tonight, I mean.”

This was indeed turning into one of the most bizarre nights I’d ever had. We turned off the lights and padded into my bedroom with me leading the way. It felt wonderful to crawl under the covers in the dark next to Judy. We were both feeling so self-conscious about what we were doing that there were two feet of empty mattress between us.

“So what happened, Judy?” I asked.

“It all started when Craig called. He wanted to know what I wanted to do this weekend.” She paused for a moment. “There’s no way I can leave you out of it,” she warned.

“Okay,” I said.

“Well,” she continued. “I had already decided that I want to see your matches this weekend. There are only a few more and I don’t want to miss them. So I just came right out and told him that. I even invited him to come, but I knew he wouldn’t.”

“He didn’t take it well, right?” I asked.

“No. He was very angry. He must have known that I—“she stopped suddenly.

“You what?” I asked.

“I don’t like dragging you into this Ben, I’m sorry,” she said. “I was about to say that he must have figured out that I was, uh, interested in somebody else.”

“Well, he probably knows it’s the wrestling guy, then,” I said. “I’m sure your dad told him about me.” “He gets jealous very easily,” she continued. “If I have any interaction at all with

anybody but him when we’re together, he gets really bitter,” she explained. “It gets

pretty gross sometimes, I hate it.”

“Did it get nasty on the phone?” I asked.

“Very,” she replied. “I don’t take that very well and I was upset, but I didn’t give in, no matter how hard he pushed.” I could tell she was proud of herself for that.

“After I got off the phone,” she said, “My mom could tell something was wrong. You

have to remember, my parents are just wild about Craig. They don’t see the sides of him

that I see,” she said. “To them, he’s a mature college man who is going places, blah blah

blah,” she said sarcastically. “I thought the same thing too, at first. Now I realize that

those things might be true but he’s got some problems too. I’m really tired of being

around him. He’s so jealous all the time, and he wants to control me. ”

“Plus, they’re probably worried that I’ll become an old maid,” she said, referring

again to her parents. “I’ve never had a boyfriend except for Craig,” she added.

“That’s silly, you’re only in high school,” I said.

“And Ben?” she asked timidly.

“Yeah,” I said.

“This is hard for me to say, but until I met you I didn’t know what it could be like.

How could I know that it wasn’t supposed to be that way? Do you know what I mean?

Like, him always being so nasty, bossing me around,” she explained. “I know it sounds

stupid but how was I supposed to know that it wasn’t that way in every relationship?”

She paused, and then added “I’m not saying I’m your girlfriend,” she said almost

apologetically, “but I sort of am, right?” “I’d like you to be,” I said.

“Me too,” she said. “So anyway, now Craig’s mad at me,” she said, “and I don’t

know what he’ll do. My parents start trying to figure out what happened, because they

feel like they’ve got a stake in this too. I just stopped trying to fudge everything and told

them the whole truth. Well, not the whole truth, I guess. I just told them I was going to

watch you wrestle this weekend.”

“Oh boy,” I said. “I’m sure they were thrilled at that,” I said sarcastically.

“Ben I’m so sorry,” she said. “It’s so unfair; they just don’t like you or anything about you. I really stuck up for you this time. I told them how fantastic you are, and that they’d see it if they’d give you a chance.”

I was touched. Temporarily violating the safety buffer, I reached over and rubbed her

shoulder for a second, but withdrew my hand quickly.

“That ended at about nine o’clock,” she said. “That’s when I called you.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t even home from the tournament yet,” I said.

“Well the fight wasn’t over yet,” she said. “About an hour later my dad came up to

my room and started letting me have it. He seemed more concerned that he would have

to face Craig’s dad at work after all this.” Her voice broke when she said that. “How

could that be so much more important than what I was going through?”

“It just went on and on,” she continued. “Eventually it turned to the same old garbage

about what a great guy Craig is,” she said angrily, “compared to you, a future gas pump

attendant. I got a little mad, and I was a little fresh in what I said to him,” she said.

“A little later I told them I was going over to Karen’s house, and I left before they could

answer. I drove around in my car until I called you,” she said. “Won’t they be worried, Judy? I think you should let them know that you’re okay,” I said. Besides their worrying, I had other concerns. What if they called the police and gave them my name? My plot could unravel quickly if any authorities had any suspicions and wanted to look into my background. I couldn’t believe I was thinking like a criminal but I had no choice. I was one, after all.

“I called around midnight. They were still awake,” she said. “I told them that I was

safe, and that I wanted them to leave me alone for the rest of the night. I’m sure it hurt

them for me to say that, but they hurt me too,” she said.

“Judy, I’m sorry that I’ve caused all of this,” I said.

“No, Ben, you didn’t cause it,” she argued. “Give me a break, will you?” That made

us both laugh.

“There’s so much going on inside me, I can’t keep track of it all. So many different

levels of problems, do you know what I mean?” she asked.

She was talking a mile a minute. Her thoughts and emotions were literally pouring

out and I didn’t even try to comment on everything.

“I took your advice and bought an Eva Cassidy CD,” she said. I didn’t remember

giving any advice about that. “That’s what I’ve been listening to all night. I can see why

you like her music so much.”

“Did I advise you to buy it?” I asked, worrying about being too pushy.

“Well, I guess you didn’t,” she conceded. “Anyway, I listened to ‘Over the Rainbow’

about fifty times tonight, until the batteries ran out,” she said.

“I told you it was a great song,” I said. “I’ve heard that song a billion times but it never reached me before. And you know what?” she asked. “It’s exactly how I feel tonight. It’s all about running away from troubles, like I wish I could do.”

“Look Judy, we’ll get through this, somehow,” I said. “We’ll just stick together.”

She didn’t say anything. I wished I could see her face; it might have helped me know what she was feeling.

By then it was after four o’clock. There wasn’t much more time for sleep. Judy was thinking the same thing that I was thinking. “You need to try to sleep,” she said.

“Tonight is important for you.”

We both managed to get a couple of hours of sleep in. At six-thirty we got up and showered. While I was in the shower Judy called her mom and told her that she would see her after school, and not to worry. She didn’t like putting her dirty clothes back on for school, but liked my idea of wearing sweats to school even less. We were both tired, and she looked a little more rumpled than usual, but we got to school on time and tried to get back to our school day routines. Things had changed though, and in some ways our routines would never be the same.

Chapter 17 -- Regions

I was dragging during the day on Friday after the tumultuous night. Luckily it was a light day in terms of class work. Judy seemed to be much more run down than I was, but that was understandable. I had slept for three hours while she was driving around.

My weight was good in the morning so at lunchtime I was free to join Judy and her

friends. I got the impression that they knew very little about what had happened to Judy the night before, but they had to have known that something did. She looked horrible. At

one point she looked like she was going to pass out from exhaustion as we sat at the

lunch table. As I propped her up I was glad to have an excuse to put an arm around her.

After I did that she dropped her head onto my shoulder. I wondered if she closed her

eyes.

We avoided talking about whether or not she would be at the tournament that night. I

didn’t want to put pressure on her because it was a long ride to Cape May even under the

best of circumstances. Judy came by after school when I met the team for the bus ride down. I told her that I would understand if she couldn’t make it. Coach Miles had reserved some rooms in a local motel for that night, and that’s where I’d be staying, rather than driving back and forth. It wouldn’t be fair for me to expect Judy to do all that driving when I wouldn’t be doing it myself.

“Right now I’m planning to come,” she told me. “My parents are being unreasonable

about you but they trust me. I don’t think they’d ever come right out and say I can’t go.” This was tearing her apart. I hated seeing her so joyless. This was probably the first

trouble she’d ever had with her parents, and it was my fault. What made it worse was

that pretty much everything she believed about me and was going out on a limb for was a

lie. The only true part was how much I cared for her, I thought to myself as I watched

her leave. If I were lucky, I would see her again in a few hours.

That night my opponent in the quarterfinals would be the eleventh seed, Ramesh

Chakrabarty of Absecon High School. He had survived the opening round by upsetting

the sixth seed the night before. The winners in this round could immediately begin

resting up for the semifinals in the morning. The losers, as in most of these tournaments,

were not so lucky. They would have to hang around to wrestle a consolation bracket

match later that night, and then wrestle early and often the next day. That was exactly

what I didn’t need, after getting so little sleep the night before.

“He’s strong as an ox,” Coach Miles told me about Chakrabarty. “I’ve never seen him

wrestle but I asked around. Not real good on technique but he can be immovable if he

wants to be. I don’t know anything, but I know one thing. He’ll just come out and grab you.” I nodded silently at this information. I wasn’t too concerned about what Coach told me. All I had to do was stay out of any dangerous positions in which Chakrabarty

could apply some muscle and take me out.

The huge Cape May gym was filling up fast as the quarterfinal matches began but

somehow I caught sight of Judy while I was stretching during the 152-pound matches. It

looked like she had brought her Karen with her but I couldn’t be sure. I watched them

work their way over to the small group of Chapel Forge parents and fans. That was

better, I thought, than sitting off by themselves like they usually did. There was only one potential downside. If any of the parents realized that she was there for me, they might grill her about “why neither of Ben’s parents had ever come to see him wrestle”.

Whenever they asked me directly I always gave my standard reply: my parents are divorced, my mother still lives in North Carolina, and my father lives here in New Jersey but travels a lot. I worried that she might not be able to stifle their curiosity the way I had always been able to.

It was too late to go see Judy before my match. I could see that she and Karen were both looking intently for me from their seats. Although I could see them, they would never find me on the warm-up mats, where I was hunched over trying to loosen my hamstrings. I could have stood up and waved my arms to get their attention but it was too close to wrestling time for me to distract myself that way. Very soon my match would be called on deck, and it was time to think about wrestling.

As soon as my match was called I met Coach Miles at the mat. As had become my custom, I made sure to be at the center of the mat first. When the whistle blew I immediately began circling, and so did Chakrabarty. With a guy as strong as he was, I didn’t feel safe tying up without at least getting a feel for what he likes to do. I took four shots at his legs in the opening minute. Each time I took a leg he sprawled and peeled me off. I guessed that he had won a lot of matches by wrestling defensively on his feet, waiting for his opponent to shoot, then sprawling and coming around behind for a takedown.

A takedown would be great but I was worried about getting trapped down low, giving him a chance to work me over. I tried a single leg but instead of driving directly into him I played it safe by trying to sweep past on the side for an outside single-leg attempt. It didn’t work at all and the first period ended in a scoreless tie.

Chakrabarty chose the bottom position for the second period. Now was when I would find out exactly what Coach Miles had meant when he described my opponent as an immovable object. When the period began he surprised me by reaching back for my head. He was violating what for me was a cardinal rule of wrestling—never reach back.

He was so strong that it must have been something that usually worked for him and this time was no exception. His grip was incredibly strong and I was unable to stay out of it.

He successfully applied a headlock and pulled me forward, nearly onto my back.

Although I avoided giving up back points he was awarded two points for a reversal. I managed to slither out of bounds without any further damage.

Coach Miles was angry that I had allowed him to get away with that and began chirping at me. “Get your head in the match, Ben!” he yelled when we had gone out of bounds. It was the first time he’d ever talked to me that way but I knew it was for my own good. I should have seen the headlock coming and found a way to stay out of it.

A minute ticked away in the second period, which meant that the match was half over.

I realized that I might be in trouble, trailing 2-0, and I began to panic. Miles seemed to sense my unease, like a good coach can, and tried to calm me down.

“You’ve got three minutes, Ben, take your time,” he yelled.

When we restarted I hit a quick switch, sitting and pivoting to my right and exerting heavy pressure on his arm until I was able to swing behind him for two points. Suddenly my earlier panic seemed silly because the match was tied. I used a basic ankle ride to drive him off his base and onto his stomach, and then quickly moved up. That’s when I got flustered. My plan was to try a half nelson on one side and an arm bar on the other, and I wanted to move quickly before he had a chance to work back to his base. I sank the half nelson with my left arm. When I reached for his right arm to bar it up, he moved it away, toward his head, and off the mat. It was a perfect opening for a half nelson on that side. Unfortunately, I sank the half nelson on the right side without removing the half nelson I had already applied on the left side. Immediately the whistle blew, and I realized my mistake even before the sound of the whistle had stopped. Two half nelsons equal a full nelson, an illegal move. As the referee signaled for one penalty point to be awarded to Chakrabarty I smacked myself in the head with both hands, cursing quietly at myself.

I was angry and embarrassed. “Ben! Wake up out there!” Miles shouted at me. I nodded dully. What was the matter with me?

After the penalty was assessed I trailed 3-2. This guy doesn’t know anything, I thought. How can he be beating me? When the match resumed I broke him down with the ankle ride again. Nervous about the half nelsons, I slipped in another arm bar. When he began to post on the other arm to push his way off his stomach, my other arm swooped in and sank an arm bar on the other side. I had a double arm bar in, with almost half a minute left in the period. It was a great opportunity to score, and at the same time inflict some punishment on Chakrabarty.

The way I’d done so many times before, I came out to the side and began walking to his head, taking care to keep the arm bars in tight. When I stepped over his head it had the effect of driving him to his back. As the referee counted off my back points I wondered if Chakrabarty knew what was coming. What I was already doing to him was uncomfortable for him but what I was going to do next would be downright painful. After I had earned the three back points I sat all the way through and leaned back

hard, making sure to maintain the double arm bar hold. I sat further and harder, knowing

that this was ratcheting up the pain. This was just what I needed, to try to take some of

the starch and feistiness out of my opponent. I was sitting so hard that it was hard to

believe that he wasn’t pinned, but I was unable to see what was happening behind me. I

was leaning so far back that my own back was nearly on the mat. The period finally

ended, but not soon enough for Chakrabarty, with me having taken a 5-3 lead.

I could have chosen to wrestle cautiously in the final period and stall out the match on

bottom but I was nervous about giving him a free shot on top, with all of his strength.

Besides, I had gotten in trouble with that kind of thinking a long, long time ago. I looked over at Coach Miles signaling that I wanted to choose neutral, with an inquisitive look on my face. He nodded his approval and I chose to start the third period with both of us on our feet.

Just as I had done in the opening period, I took shot after shot but was unable to get in

deep enough to score. Then I had an idea. I faked yet another shot and he instinctively

began to fall forward into a defensive sprawl position. As he did I reached behind his

neck and snapped him down to the mat. Instead of scooting behind for the safe two

points I stayed on his side and quickly threw in a near side cradle. The referee awarded

two points for my takedown as I was bulling him onto his back with my head, with the

cradle still in place. That earned me another three points. “Stay there!” I heard Miles

yelling. He meant that instead of working for the pin, which might allow Chakrabarty to

break free, I should simply hold him on his back in the tight cradle until time ran out. When it was all over I felt very fortunate to have won. As I came off the mat I gasped

“That was the closest 10-3 match I’ve ever been in.”

Coach Miles laughed. “It was ugly but you showed me something. You didn’t bring

your ‘A game’ but you used your brain out there. Damn smart wrestling.”

I shrugged. “I feel pretty lucky,” I said.

“Just make sure you get your head on straight for tomorrow morning,” he advised.

Andy Makris was wrestling on the next mat over. I would face the winner of that

match so I picked up all my gear and scrambled to the edge of the mat. As I cooled down

and put my warm-ups back on, I watched the match.

Coach was right. Makris didn’t look like a guy with a record of 22-2. He was quick

but didn’t seem to be exceptionally strong. His opponent didn’t look very talented and I

thought Makris should have had an easier time than he did. The final score was 4-0, with

Makris scoring a late reversal to clinch the match and advance. I knew enough not to

overlook anybody but I felt sure I could beat Makris.

After that match ended, we didn’t have any guys going until the consolation bracket started up later. Nick Schmidt and I were the only ones left in the winner’s bracket. I

finished putting my warm-ups on and headed over to see Judy. I knew how attached I

was becoming to her by the feeling in my stomach as I approached.

She and Karen saw me when I reached the bottom of the bleachers near their section

and waved to get my attention. As I climbed the steps to where they were sitting the

Chapel Forge crowd slapped me on the back and congratulated me on my victory. That felt really good. “Way to go Ben!” Judy called to me when I was close enough. Karen, always the

animated one, genuflected and growled like the Incredible Hulk. I laughed even though I

wasn’t quite sure what she was trying to say. I squeezed in next to Judy, put my arm around her, and kissed her on the cheek. I was done pretending that she wasn’t my girlfriend.

“Are you okay?” she asked. “Are you tired?”

“Now I am, but I don’t wrestle again until the morning,” I answered.

“I meant when you were wrestling,” she explained. “You didn’t seem to be yourself

out there, and I saw the coach yelling at you.”

“Yeah,” I said distantly. “Maybe I was a little tired. I was a scatterbrain.”

She grimaced. “I knew it. It’s my fault,” she said. “I tried to not to bother you last night because you had the tournament but I couldn’t help myself,” she said.

“I’m fine. I won the match, no matter how bad I looked,” I said. I lowered my voice

so only she could hear what I was about to say. “I’m glad you came to me when you were in trouble. That’s what I want you to do, and it’s more important to me than all of

this,” I said, waving my hand toward the gym floor. She put her head on my shoulder

and leaned into me. Neither of us moved for a few minutes. I watched some pretty good wrestling but Judy had her eyes closed tight.

I felt bad that they had driven so far to see me wrestle, and of course were facing a

long drive home. If they were planning to come the next day they’d have that drive all

over again. I wondered how her parents and Craig had reacted when they realized that

Judy was coming down to the region tournament, at least for this one night. It had

probably been an ugly scene. “Who do you wrestle next?” Judy asked, interrupting my thoughts.

“His name is Andy Makris. He’s from Elmer, wherever that is,” I said.

“Is he good?” interjected Karen.

“They’re all good now,” I said truthfully. “It’ll be a tough match.”

“What time do you think it’ll be?” Judy asked.

“The morning session starts at nine o’clock,” I said. “There are two matches per weight class. I’d say between around ten and ten-thirty.”

“We’ll be here,” Judy said. “We bought passes for the whole tournament tonight.”

I was surprised to hear that. I wondered how she had pulled that off. With the tremendous pressure being put on her to stay away I never expected that she would find a way to be here for the whole thing. “Really?” I asked, with more emotion in my voice than I had expected.

“Really,” she said. “I wouldn’t miss it.”

They left shortly after that, just as the consolation bracket matches started. We had a few guys wrestling so we ended up staying until the last match of the night, which happened to be a victory by Robert Mendez. Then we packed up and headed to our motel rooms. I couldn’t wait to get to bed.

I woke up first the next morning. I was quite surprised to find Mendez in bed with me! I knew that he’d been sharing the room next door with Coach Miles. I quickly guessed that Coach was snoring and Mendez couldn’t sleep because of that. He knew me better than he knew Nick, who was in the other bed, and so chose my bed to invade.

As I lay quietly waiting for everyone else to wake up, it really hit me that I had already reached a very elite level. There were seven other regions in New Jersey. That meant that there were only thirty-one other 171-pound wrestlers waking up and preparing

to wrestle in the semifinals. I had worked hard to stay in shape since my last high school season, which was well over two years earlier, and had even wrestled in some tournaments. Still, I had no reason to expect that I’d get this far in my first year back. I felt a strange pride, while deftly pushing aside my feelings of shame about how I was cheating.

My thoughts turned to Andy Makris. From the little bit that I’d seen of his match the

night before I knew Coach was right about his quickness. I thought I could muscle him.

I’d run it by the guys later but I was pretty sure that’s how I was going to approach the match. On paper I would be the underdog because Makris was seeded higher and had a better record, but I felt pretty confident that I would win. The real problem was what probably awaited me in the finals if I did beat Makris. It would most likely be my familiar foe, Ken Brown. Three of my five losses had come against him. After eighteen minutes on the mat with him I still hadn’t figured him out.

As soon as everybody was up and showered we headed over to the high school.

Nobody had any trouble at weigh-ins. That was the last time we would have to make

weight all weekend, which was a relief. After that, since we had ninety minutes before

the session would begin, we ate some of the breakfast food we had picked up at

McDonalds on the way over.

After we dressed Nick and I went out on the mats to roll around a little. He rarely

seemed nervous and today was no exception. I, on the other hand, had a severe case of

nerves. After Nick left the mat I still felt a little tight, and so spent five minutes in the corner with my jump rope before returning to the mat covered in a light sweat, to stretch. At five minutes before nine we were ordered to clear the mat, so I retreated to the

warm up area. I hoped that Judy would understand my decision not to come say hello

before my match, if she did make it in time. I could be on the mat wrestling very soon

and felt I needed to concentrate. I didn’t even look into the stands. I hoped very much

that she was there but tried not to think about it.

As they had done the night before, the tournament directors arranged for Nick’s and

my match to be held back to back on the same mat. I stood behind Coach Miles while

Nick wrestled but didn’t do much in the way of encouragement. Nick would understand;

he knew that I was far too nervous to do anything but watch pensively. He didn’t need

my help anyway. By the end of the second period he was leading 8-0. In the third period

he added another set of back points and won his way into the region finals with a 10-0

victory. I found myself in awe of him, wondering what it was like to make it to the

region finals almost effortlessly. Then again, although it would be his fourth appearance

in the region finals he had yet to win one. I couldn’t imagine that he wasn’t going to

finally take the title this year.

“Now you do it,” Nick said firmly as he came off the mat. He was hardly even out of

breath. “I’ve wrestled Makris before. He’s good but you should beat him,” he said as he

scooped up his stuff.

“I want you to overpower him, Ben,” Miles said. “I think you’ll see when you get out there that you’re a lot bigger than he is. He really should be at 160. Get it done.”

The extra instructions from my coach prevented me from getting onto the mat before

Makris did. When I finally got out there he was waiting. He extended his hand and I shook it. Then the referee said “Good luck gentlemen,” and then blew the whistle to

start the match.

My plan, as always, was to wrestle aggressively. Makris apparently had the same

plan. For the first minute we took turns taking shots. At the one-minute mark I thought I

had scored with a single leg but the referee waved it off when Makris managed to fall out

of bounds.

When the match resumed he immediately lowered his level and tried to penetrate for a

double-leg takedown. I avoided it easily, sprawling across his back. He stayed

underneath rather than pull back. He had his arms around one of my legs, but only

loosely because I had kicked back before he could tighten his grip. He should have

backed out while he had the chance. I over-hooked his right arm with my left, and under-

hooked his left arm with my right. After some struggle I was able to plant my right foot

firmly. Suddenly I had him right where I wanted him and he knew it. He tried to back

out but it was too late. He couldn’t escape from my over and under-hooks.

Back in North Carolina we called the move a pancake. In my new life it had a

different name that I hadn’t bothered to learn. I pushed down with my left arm overhook

while lifting his other shoulder with my right arm underhook at the same time. The

power from my planted right leg was enough to flip him straight onto his back. The referee signaled two points for my takedown and dropped onto the mat to begin counting off my back points. I knew there was no need to bother. My hold was so tight that I was

about to end the match.

Ordinarily I would have switched from the hooks into a tighter pinning combination. I

chose not to this time. I had control of both of his arms so he had only his neck to post on to avoid being pinned. When he tried to shift and roll away from me I went up on my toes, transferring all of my weight onto his chest. After a few more seconds of flopping by Makris I tightened everything up so that he was unable to move. Seconds later the referee slapped the mat and blew his whistle. I had pinned my opponent at 1:37 of the first period. With that, I was in the region finals along with Nick. As we untangled I heard Nick shouting “Yeah!” and clapping his hands in approval. Coach Miles would be coaching back-to-back matches that night in the finals. The funny thing was, I hoped that

Ken Brown had won his semifinal match as well because I felt an odd confidence about another match with him.

After I cooled off it was time to go look for Judy. As I walked toward the section of

bleachers where the small group of Chapel Forge fans was sitting I scanned the seats for

her. The elation of victory began to fade as I began to realize that Judy was not there. As

I had the night before, I wandered through the bleachers receiving congratulations, high

fives and claps on the back. All I could think about was that Judy was not there, and the

high that I’d been feeling moments before faded away. I pulled a bottle of warm

Gatorade from my gym bag and downed the entire thing in one gulp as I thought about

where Judy could be.

Unfortunately our team didn’t fare very well that afternoon. Everybody who was in

the consolation bracket was eliminated without placing. By this point in the season only

the elite wrestlers were still in contention to qualify for the state tournament. From

Chapel Forge that group included only Nick and me. We had both made the region finals

and would get to states regardless of the outcome of our matches that night. At about three o’clock I ran into Karen, who was bundled up like she’d just come from outside. That gave me a real lift; I was sure that Judy must be nearby. “Nice job

Ben, first period too!” she said by way of greeting. Apparently she had just come from reading the bracket sheets that were posted on the walls in the lobby.

“Thanks Karen,” I said. “I hardly knew what had happened,” I said, lying out of modesty. The truth was that I had wrestled perfectly.

“Hey Ben, come out here for a second, alright?” she said. She guided me back out of the gym and into the lobby. I didn’t like going out there, especially right then. I was still covered with sweat from jumping rope, and the gust of cold air that blew through every time a door to the outside was opened was extremely uncomfortable. I was alarmed, however, about Karen’s serious tone, and so I followed dutifully.

“Look, Ben, you’ve got a big match tonight and I don’t want to upset you, okay?” she started. “The best thing you could do is to listen to what I have to tell you and then forget about it. It isn’t that big a deal but you’ll probably make it into one. Win your match, then we can talk.”

“Where’s Judy,” I asked, sounding more abrupt than I had meant to.

“She’ll be here later,” Karen said firmly. I waited for more information but there was none coming.

I was relieved. “That isn’t so bad,” I said.

She looked like there was something else that she wasn’t sure about telling me, and that turned out to be the case. “Ben,” she said. “I’m just going to come out and say it.

Then I won’t talk about it until after your match. You’re going to win, by the way. I think you’ll pick up some early back points and he won’t know what hit him.” I had to give her credit. For a new fan of the sport she had certainly learned quickly about

wrestling.

I nodded and waited.

“Judy’s coming, but she’s coming with Craig,” Karen said.

It was then that I understood why Karen was trying to understate it, at least until I’d finished my match. I felt like I’d been socked in the stomach after she told me. As far as

I was concerned, coming with him was worse than not coming at all. Why would she do this to me?

I said nothing but Karen could see that I was upset. “Ben, don’t screw this up.

There’s plenty of time to worry about it, but do it after your match,” she said.

I sighed. “You’re right,” I said. “It’s going to kill me when I see them come in

together, though.”

“Then don’t look,” she snapped. “Ben, there’s a lot you don’t know, and we can talk

later, I promise,” she said. “Just forget it for now. Please.”

“Okay. Thanks Karen,” I agreed. “I’ll have to stay away from the bleachers. Can

you tell them I’m concentrating or something?” We both had a laugh at that.

As the consolation bracket matches were wrestled the gym began to fill up with fans

that had come to see the finals. I focussed on my match and tried not to look in the

direction of the bleachers.

I still had confidence that I would beat Brown but had no idea where it was coming

from. All afternoon I thought about the match and how best to approach it. He always seemed to rack points up on me in the first period. By the third period, as I remembered it, he had usually run out of gas. My plan was to stay out of trouble early and then attack

late when he was tired.

The introduction of the finalists was similar to how it was done at districts. It was

even more exciting in one way though: there were only sixteen finalists in my weight

class across the entire state. When we walked out and waited for the introductions, I was glad that the lights had been dimmed except for the ones shining on us. If Judy and Craig were out there at all, I couldn’t see them if I tried. When my name and record were called I walked slowly to the center of the mat, where Brown was waiting. This time, I tried to look a little cockier than I had during introductions last week, and I wanted to make him wait for me. We did a brief handshake and I wished him good luck. He probably didn’t know what I meant. Good sportsmanship wasn’t on my mind when I said it.

My decision to avoid the bleachers restricted me to the warm-up mat area for the most

part. I had no interest in watching any of the finals anyway except for Nick’s and mine.

I spent most of the time pacing back and forth. The match, as I wanted to wrestle it, was

unfolding in my mind.

At one point I wavered. During the 140-pound final I couldn’t stop from peering over

into the seats. It was hard to see because the lights were still dim but I believed that I

could pick out Judy, sitting next to a figure that I assumed was Craig. Suddenly I felt

deflated. My body language must have given me away because the next thing I knew,

Karen had slipped under the rope barriers and was standing next to me near the warm-up

mats. “Are you ready?” she asked. She was obviously there to turn my attention back to the match. Again, I marveled at how quickly she had learned and understood the sport, not to mention how well she had come to know me.

“Yup,” I said. “I’m ready now, I wish I didn’t have to wait.” I hesitated, and then asked what was really on my mind. “Are they up there?”

She twisted my body so that it faced the mat. “Ben, you know what you have to do,” she said. “Now don’t make me come down here again!” We laughed, which snapped me out of my funk. Then she punched me on the arm and headed back to her seat.

When Nick’s match was announced I joined him and Coach Miles at the corner of the mat. Since my match was next we would be here until both of our matches were done.

This was it. “Wrestle your match Nick,” I said. “Nobody can beat you except yourself.”

I hoped he knew what I meant. As the season progressed he seemed to have been taking my advice, keeping things more basic than he was used to, and I thought that it had made him a better wrestler.

In the opening period of the finals he reverted to his old form. At the opening whistle he grabbed his opponent, Tom Chen, in a tight body lock. When he lifted and tried to put

Chen on his back disaster struck. Chen was able to roll through and put Nick square on his own back. For an agonizing few seconds it appeared that Nick might be able to roll out of it, but Chen skillfully pulled Nick back at the last moment. Nick should have known that anybody good enough to make it to the region finals wasn’t going to be body- locked so easily. He eventually got off his back and even escaped, but the damage was done. He trailed 5-1.

What Nick did next was even more inexplicable. He tried another body lock. The results were similar, with Chen rolling through it, except that this time Nick stayed off his back. Nick had learned at great expense that Chen knew how to defend against a body

lock. The first period ended with Nick on the short end of a 7-1 score. I couldn’t

remember seeing him behind in a match before, by any score.

Although he was behind, a situation that was probably unfamiliar to him, Nick didn’t

lose his composure. The problem was that Chen knew just what he had to do. For the

remaining two periods, he was able to fight Nick off, surrendering points only stubbornly.

With a few seconds to go Nick was trailing 7-4. He used a tilt to put Chen on his back,

but there wasn’t enough time left for him to earn the three back points he needed to tie

the match. Nick had suffered his first loss of the season, against twenty-eight victories,

by a score of 7-6. He was zero for four in region finals, one of the strangest records I’d

ever seen.

I tore off my sweats after that match ended. As if I didn’t have enough on my mind, I felt angry with Nick for wrestling so stupidly and throwing away the title. Instead of consoling him I snapped on my headgear and walked quickly onto the mat, not even waiting to hear Coach Miles’ last minute instructions. I already knew what I was going

to do and I’d never been so anxious to get a match started.

The first period began almost exactly as I had planned and I successfully avoided

giving up points at the start. I took a few shots, as did he. All I really wanted to do was

get out of the period without giving up any jackpot moves the way I had each time he had

beaten me. Near the end of the period Brown shot and grabbed my leg but I was able to

sprawl hard enough to stay out of danger. He didn’t seem to be working for anything so I

was able to come out to the side. There were only thirteen seconds left, but I saw an opening that I had been getting better at exploiting all year long. With his head down and knees tucked in Brown was vulnerable to a cradle. I sank a near side cradle and was

amazed that I was able to turn him onto his back before he knew what had happened.

The next thing I saw was the referee beginning to count back points. After the buzzer sounded ending the period I was surprised when two back points were awarded to me because I thought the period had ended before I had earned them. Brown’s coaches felt the same way, apparently, and protested in vain at the scoring table. So far I had been wildly successful. Not only had I avoided giving up points, I had amassed a 4-0 lead.

That was exceptional but I wanted more. All those points were scored after he had gone on the offensive and taken a bad shot. I was anxious to score some on my own. For the second period I surprised everybody by choosing the top position. It was risky, because it meant that he could count on starting both the second and third periods on bottom, where he could score simply by escaping or reversing me. I did it because I wanted to send a signal. By choosing top I showed that I wasn’t afraid of Brown.

Prior to the match I had planned on sticking with my usual methods of breaking my

opponent down to his stomach before working to turn him over. Going into the second

period, I felt like I could cradle him up again. I started the period with a cross-face cradle

ride and successfully rode him for thirty-five seconds like that.

When the referee reminded me that I was obligated to work for a fall I became more

aggressive. Brown was able sit out but I managed to stop him in that sitting position. I

saw an opportunity. I placed my chest on his shoulders and stood up behind him, forcing

him to support all of my weight. As I leaned onto him his head was forced closer and closer to his knees. I waited until I was sure his head was down far enough. Then I suddenly reached down to take his leg and threw my other arm behind his neck and towards the mat. I was able to lock my hands to complete the far-side cradle and rock

him onto his back. For the second time in as many periods the referee began counting

back points. I heard Nick and Coach Miles shouting for me to stay there, which I already

intended to do. Brown had shifted his back towards me so I knew I couldn’t pin him, but

I was able to kill the rest of the period, a substantial amount of time. At that point I held

a 7-0 lead. “Am I dreaming?” I asked myself. As confident as I had been going into the

match, I was dumbfounded at how well things had gone.

Both of us were tired in the third period. I started in the top position after Brown

chose the bottom position. This time I was unable to ride him but that was partially

because I knew there was no need to try. After a few seconds I decided to cut him loose

because I was tiring quickly and thought it might take less effort to wrestle on my feet.

Brown was desperate, trailing 7-1, but he was tired too. He forced me to tie up and quickly tried a half-hearted headlock, but I slipped it and we went out of bounds.

Worried about the initiative that I’d lost, I decided to try some offense again. That didn’t work out well except for running some time off the clock. I got stuck underneath after attempting a single-leg takedown. I began to set up for a navy trip, but was thwarted when Brown leaned hard on my head and tried a three-quarter nelson. That was painful, and I knew my neck would be sore for days. I resisted that but did surrender a takedown in the process. With just under a minute remaining, my lead had been cut to 7-3.

I was running out of energy, even more so than was my opponent. I tried a few stand-

ups just to keep moving but didn’t come close to escaping. Each time he easily forced

me back onto my stomach. Brown, who had plenty of experience in big matches, was

working furiously to try to turn me onto my back. Hoping that time was about to run out, I stuck my leg out perpendicular to my body, which prevented Brown from turning me

over in that direction. He cleverly reversed his half nelson and sucked me back the other

way. At that point I had reason to panic because I was on my back.

The buzzer sounded a few seconds later. He had earned three back points but it

wasn’t enough. I had won the regional title by a 7-6 score while avenging my three

defeats to Brown. In the end I wasn’t very proud of how the match had gone. I had really only succeeded with two moves, and then had to cling to a lead as time ran out. As ugly as it had been, however, it was the biggest win of my career. I usually restrained

myself from showing emotion on the mat, but not that time. I pumped my fist through

the air after the referee raised my hand in victory.

Like last week, the awards ceremonies took place between finals matches. After the

189 pound match I was awarded a gold medal and a poster of the bracket sheet, adorned

with a Polaroid picture of a red-faced, disheveled Ben Petrovic taken immediately after

the match. Then, I was free to go. After wearing my uniform and singlet for nearly

twelve hours I was anxious to be in street clothes. I was also worried about missing Judy,

though, and decided to worry about changing clothes later. I slipped into the locker room

and put some antiseptic on my mat burns. When I emerged I walked straight over to the

Chapel Forge section in the bleachers. The 215-pound championship was underway but I

really wasn’t interested.

Before I got there Karen bounded over enthusiastically. Her excitement seemed

sincere; she nearly knocked me down when we came together in the corner of the gym.

“I knew it Ben! I called it didn’t I?” she said loudly. “Way to go!” “You did call it, didn’t you?” I conceded. By then Judy had ambled over, and the guy

that I was sure was Craig was about three feet behind, trying hard to look disinterested. It

hit me just then that although he had become one of the most important people in my life,

this was the first time I’d ever laid eyes on him. He turned out to be a little guy. I was about 6 feet tall, and I think Judy was 5’7”. This guy was a few inches taller than Judy, but she was wearing loafers while he seemed to be wearing some type of cowboy boots with big heels. Other than his height he looked like an ordinary guy, with thick, dark wavy hair combed straight back.

Judy seemed to lose her breath when she got close. “I’m so proud of you, Ben.”

That’s when I realized that she was crying silently.

“Thanks Judy, I’m glad you were here for it,” I said. Craig or no Craig, I gave Judy a

nice big hug, the kind that looked more friendly than romantic. Tears were streaming

down her face. I hoped they were out of joy about my championship but I didn’t think

so. There was much more going on here than just the region finals.

By then Craig had joined us and he wasted no time in wrapping his arm around Judy’s waist, and then looking my way triumphantly. “Ben,” Judy said, voice quavering, “This

is Craig.”

“Hi Craig, heard all about you,” I said, extending my hand. He took it and squeezed it

as hard as he could, which wasn’t very hard.

“Nice job,” he said casually.

“Thanks,” I said. “That guy’s beaten me three times this year,” I explained. “It’s

embarrassing to end a match on my back but I’ll take it tonight.” After I said it I could

see that he couldn’t have cared less, or at least that’s how he looked. He looked like he was done with us already. I had already lost any hope of seeing

Judy that night, which would have meant more to me than any championship. Still, I didn’t know exactly what their plans were. He turned to Judy as if to signal to her that it

was time to leave. Judy wasn’t quite ready and she spoke before he had a chance to.

“Your burns are looking worse,” she said. As she said it she reached up to the one next

to my eye and pushed some ointment into it.

“What a sport this is,” Craig said derisively, in reference to my beat-up face. As much

I wanted to be with Judy, I was beginning to realize that I needed to be away from Craig

as soon as possible. In the meantime, Judy was crying again.

I felt a flash of anger. There are three of us, and two of us want to be together that

night, but it wasn’t going to happen because she wouldn’t stand up for herself. My anger dissipated quickly, however. She was in a bind that her dad and boyfriend were

determined not to let her out of. I look at her helplessly with what I’m sure was a pained

expression. “What should I do?” I tried to ask with my expression.

“I’m really happy for you Ben, sorry about all these tears,” she said. If I could just

have thirty seconds alone with her I could have made things a little better. Craig was

watching like a hawk, trying to prevent me from having the chance.

“Well, we better get going, Judy,” Craig said, clumsily working himself back into the

conversation. He turned to me. “We have reservations at the Clipper.” His tone made it

clear that to him, dinner at a fine restaurant was a much bigger deal than any wrestling

match. “Nice meeting you Craig,” I said, knowing I could do nothing unless Judy empowered

me. Without even waiting for his response I turned to Judy, who was crying quietly.

“Will you walk over with me to get my bag, Judy?” I asked.

I knew Craig would be annoyed and I didn’t know how he might react, but I didn’t care. Judy seemed to be hurting badly and I was sure it was because of him. Besides, I was a region champ. Why should I care what he thought? I took her arm before she had a chance to turn me down, and started to guide her away. Craig started moving too but

Karen effortlessly slipped in front of him, blocking his path. By the time he could have gotten around her, it was too late. It had looked accidental but I knew Karen had done it on purpose. God bless her, I thought. That was one heck of a pick she had set. Craig was too full of himself, I knew, to follow two high school kids once we’d gotten a head start.

“Judy, are you okay?” I asked. “I missed you.”

We could feel Craig’s eyes boring holes in our backs. “I’m sorry for doing this to you,” she said. “You deserve better.”

“How about if I just go back over there and tell him that you’re coming with me?” I asked angrily.

“Oh no, I’d never hear the end of it,” she said.

“I guess I’ll just go home, then,” I said. “We have to do something about this soon,” I

said. “You can’t take much more of this. Nobody can.”

“I’ve had ‘Over the Rainbow’ in my head all day, and it’ll be there all night too,” she

told me. “It helps me think about you.” “Judy, I’m serious, why don’t we just blow him off?” I repeated. I knew she couldn’t,

though, and the more often I said it, the more it hurt her.

She said nothing but I knew the answer. It was time to stop pressuring her to do

something she felt she couldn’t do. Maybe I can see you tomorrow,” I said dejectedly.

By then we were standing in the bleachers with Karen and Craig watching from the

floor. The wrestling mats were being rolled up and carted away by Cape May High

School wrestlers. It was time to go.

“Yeah,” she said, trying to blink away her tears. “I’d like that,” she said, sniffing. It

was so frustrating to me. She kept saying that but was afraid to do anything about it.

We started walking down the bleachers toward the floor. “At least you’ll get a good meal out of it,” I said, trying to make the best of things. “I’ll bet it’s a nice restaurant. I

Wish I was going, I haven’t really eaten in days.”

She smiled at me with red eyes and tear-stained face. I remembered that smile with

pain for the rest of the night. I wondered how Craig must feel, seeing how miserable she

obviously was. It was obvious that Judy felt trapped and didn’t want to go to dinner with

him at all. How could he force her to go through with it? I’d never seen anybody be so

insensitive. It was difficult for me to keep my mouth shut, but I did. “Have a great

dinner,” I said as they turned. They walked out through the gym doorway and were gone.

Karen, who was turning out to be a really good friend for me, was still there, but I felt

very alone.

Chapter 18 -- Sunday Brunch

After Judy and Craig left, Karen and I stood and stared at the door. It seemed that

Karen felt as badly as I did about what had happened. After all, Karen cared about Judy too, and she had just watched her friend dragged out of the building in tears. We were both stunned.

“Need a ride home?” she asked me.

“Yeah, I do,” I said. I cleared it with Coach and followed Karen out to her

Volkswagen Beetle. We didn’t say much at first, as Karen wound through the streets of

Cape May towards the Garden State Parkway. I had so many questions about Judy but it took me a few minutes to decide whether or not it was okay to ask them.

“What’s the deal with those two, Karen?” I asked. “Why can’t Judy do something about it?”

“Didn’t she already tell you all about this?” Karen said. “Mr. Voorst loves Craig,” she said, dragging out the word ‘loves’ sarcastically. “He works for Craig’s father, or something like that.” That was the first time I’d ever heard that Mr. Voorst worked for

Craig’s father rather than with him. Could that be a factor here? I shuddered to think that any father would trade away his daughter’s happiness for some career advantage.

“So what,” I said with exasperation. “That doesn’t mean Judy is obligated to the guy.” “I know,” Karen agreed, “but both Craig and her dad put so much pressure on her.

She just doesn’t want to hurt anybody so she goes along with it.”

“That’s way too much to ask of her,” I said angrily. “It’s her life, she shouldn’t be

living it just to please him! Look what it’s doing to her!”

“I know, Ben,” she snapped. “And I’ve known for a lot longer than you have.”

“Sorry,” I said. “You’re right, sorry.”

“I feel bad about it too,” she said.

“Is he always such a jerk?” I asked.

“He’s not that bad, I wouldn’t call him a jerk,” she began. “Both of you were a little

jealous of each other tonight, so neither of you made a good impression on the other.” I

hadn’t realized how badly I had acted.

“Well, I take that back,” Karen said after a moment. “He’s very possessive and very

jealous. He likes Judy on a short leash, especially when they’re around her friends.”

“Why is a college guy so into a high school girl, anyway?” I asked. After I said it I

saw the irony in my asking the question and nearly laughed out loud. “Can’t he find his

own girls? He’s got a campus full to choose from.”

She didn’t respond. We talked about other things for the rest of the ride. I explained

how the tournaments worked and how the results of the region tournament determined

who wrestled in Atlantic City. By the time we reached the high school, where I had left

my car Friday morning, we had covered everything we were going to cover and there was

nothing left to talk about.

“What are you doing tonight?” she asked as I reached into the back seat for my gym bag. “Probably just go home,” I said. “There’s a party somewhere I thought about going

to,” I added. “I might be too tired.”

“Yeah, me too,” she said. “Look, don’t worry about this stuff. Maybe it’ll work itself

out.”

For a second I thought about inviting Karen over just because I didn’t feel like being by myself, but decided it wasn’t a good idea. “Thanks,” I said. “Thanks for the ride, too.”

There I was, driving home to spend a Saturday night alone, doing homework or

flipping channels. I was learning as I relived high school, that sometimes the past, the

‘good old days’, were never really as good as remembered. Here I was, a school hero,

having been crowned region champion just a couple of hours ago, wondering if there’s

enough tuna fish in my refrigerator to make a sandwich.

To be fair, I was selling the situation short. Had I wanted to I could have attended the

party. It would probably be wild and I would have a lot of fun. I was becoming quite

popular around school and my triumph at the tournament that night would make me a celebrity of sorts at the party. It just seemed so unimportant. I was a success at school and wrestling was going very well, but the only thing I really cared about anymore was

Judy. And that was the one thing that really wasn’t going well. I ate a sandwich at home

and then went to bed.

On Sunday morning I had a big surprise. Judy called at about ten o'clock, as I was

getting dressed for a run. “Hi Ben, it’s Judy,” she said.

“Hi Judy!” I said, trying not to sound as surprised as I was. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she said. “Yeah, everything’s okay.” “How was dinner last night?” I asked. “I had tuna fish on white, and a glass of water.”

She laughed. “I wish I’d been there, that sounds good.”

“Yeah,” I said sarcastically. “What a feast.”

“Look Ben, it’s my mom’s birthday and we’re having a brunch here. Will you come over? Karen will be here too.”

I was floored. Being invited back to the Voorst home wasn’t something that I expected to happen ever again. “Me, Judy? Do your parents know you’re inviting me?”

She hesitated, but then answered. “Yeah, it was my dad’s idea. Craig told him about your championship last night and they thought of it together, really.”

I was immediately suspicious. The likelihood that those two guys wanted to celebrate my wrestling achievement was low, and I knew it very well. “Craig’s going to be there?”

I asked. “I don’t know, Judy, it doesn’t sound right.”

“Please, Ben?” she asked. She’d never been so insistent before. Why did she want so badly for this to happen? I had no choice. “I know you can’t eat much, but I’d really like you to come,” she said.

“I’d like to, I guess, if you think it’s okay,” I said. “I have to go for my run right now.

What time should I get there?”

“Everybody else is already here,” she confessed. “Why don’t you run to my house?

Is it too far?”

I didn’t know if she was joking. It seemed like a possibility because I didn’t think

Judy’s house was more than two or three miles away. It wouldn’t be much further than I wanted to run anyway. The only problem I could foresee was if I ended up needing a ride home, if it turned out to be farther than that. In that case, I was sure it wouldn’t be a

problem getting a ride from Judy or Karen.

“Do I have time?” I asked.

“Yeah, you have time. We haven’t started eating yet,” she said. “Whenever you can

get here.”

I thought a lot about the invitation as I ran. There was no real reason to invite me to celebrate Mrs. Voorst’s birthday. I had so many questions about it. If Craig and Mr.

Voorst had cooked up the idea of having me over, I couldn’t help thinking that there was an ulterior motive. But if that was the case, how could Judy be so naïve as to fail to see it? Was she trying to force something to happen? Why was I willingly walking right into their trap? Well, running, actually. The reason was simple. It was a chance to be with

Judy.

At eleven-fifteen I made it to the Voorst residence. It had been much further than I

expected, probably five or six miles. That type of distance out in the cold, the day after a

long tournament, wasn’t the kind of pounding I should have been subjecting my body to

at that point in the season. I was trembling, either from the exertion, the cold, or maybe

something else. Even though I was excited about seeing Judy I was nervous about Mr.

Voorst and Craig. I pulled the East Carolina University Pirates ski cap off my head and

tried to smooth out my hair, all in one motion. As I stood there huffing and steaming in

the cold, I felt like I had made a mistake in coming. Judy opened the door before I even

got to it so there was no turning back.

“Hi Judy,” I said. As she stood in the doorway I felt a wave of dismay about the

strange relationship that had developed between us. In some ways we were close, but at moments like this it seemed almost as though we had just met. Just a few nights ago we were huddled together in the dark as I tried to console her. Now here we were staring at each other in obvious discomfort.

Before she even had a chance to say anything the door was jerked open wider and

Craig appeared. “Morning,” he said to me with as little enthusiasm as possible.

“Hey,” I answered, sounding equally subdued. There was no doubt in my mind that he was as aware as I was of the struggle underway between him and me. It wasn’t my imagination. I reminded myself to be on guard.

They led me into the kitchen where everybody was gathered around the dining room table except for Mr. Voorst, who was arranging food on trays and in dishes. I got the impression that he had cooked everything himself. “Hey Champ!” Karen called.

“Hi Karen,” I answered. Since I didn’t think being a wrestling champion was considered noteworthy in this house, I didn’t want to encourage her to emphasize it.

Mr. Voorst put down whatever utensils he had been using and came over to shake my hand. “Good to see you again, Ben,” he said firmly but with no warmth. “Out for a run?”

“Hi, Mr. Voorst,” I said. “Yeah, I’ve got to keep training, just one more week.” I wanted to change the subject. “Looks like you’ve been working for hours on this,” gesturing to the food.

“Actually,” he responded, “I have. Thanks for pointing that out,” he said. “Did everybody hear that?”

“A job well done, Dad,” Judy chimed in good-naturedly. So far, things were going well. I wasn’t sensing any hostility at all. “Ben, we saw your name in the paper,” Mrs. Voorst said. “Chapel Forge’s only

winner.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I did well last night,” I said self-consciously. There was no depth to

her remark. It was as though she was merely reporting the news that she’d read. Since

she didn’t seem to have offered any form of congratulations, or anything positive at all,

as a matter of fact, I didn’t express any appreciation. That would have been

presumptuous.

Judy had hardly said a word but she didn’t seem as miserable as she had the night

before. Somehow, that was disappointing to me. I wanted her to feel as badly as I did

about the way everything was turning out. Instead, she was just sitting next to Craig,

who had his hand resting on her knee as if to show ownership. At least that’s how it

looked to me.

I was beginning to feel foolish and out of place. They were all dressed for breakfast

while I stood there covered with perspiration wearing dingy grey sweats. I didn’t even

feel like sitting was a good idea, at least until I dried out some. To top things off, I

couldn’t eat much anyway because there were still weigh-ins to think about. I could only

pretend to be eating when I really wasn't, the way any experienced wrestler would.

After the food was all brought in, everybody lined up buffet-style along the card tables that Mr. Voorst had set up and filled their plates. For me, there wasn’t much that I could eat except the fruit. Everything seemed to be fried, or loaded up with extra calories.

“Ben, you’ll shrivel up to nothing if you keep eating like that,” Craig said menacingly,

referring to what was on my plate. “Yeah, right,” Karen sneered. “You saw him last night, did that body look like it was

shriveling up?” she asked. Although her remark was a little embarrassing I was learning

that I could depend on Karen to bat down Craig’s attacks.

“I just have one more week to make weight,” I said. “My plate next Sunday will look

a lot different.”

“So Ben, how far do you plan to go with this wrestling?” Mr. Voorst asked.

I didn’t know what he meant. He could have been asking how high I could place in

the states, or maybe how many more years I would participate in the sport, or maybe

something else. “You mean, this year?” I asked.

“I was thinking more about what you have planned after high school,” he said.

I shrugged. “I’ll just take it as it comes,” I said, not really taking the question

seriously.

“It?” asked Craig. I could almost see the malice in his single syllable response and I

felt my face grow hot. What were they getting at, I wondered. Something told me that an

attack was in progress. Is this the “high school jock going nowhere” angle that Judy mentioned? I felt even more out of place, standing there in my perspiration-stained

sweats. I had to say something, but what? “I’m not focusing on that right now,” I said

simply. “Maybe after the season.”

“Any chance you’ll go to college?” asked Mr. Voorst, cutting to the chase as far as he

was concerned.

“Len, he’s not focusing on that right now,” Craig said. “There are more important

things to think about, like challenging Hulk Hogan for the title,” Craig said with a smirk.

Apparently he was on a first name basis with Mr. Voorst, who also had an amused look on his face. They were teaming up and taking shots at me, and having a fun time doing

it. I hoped for Karen or Judy to come to my defense but it was in vain. Karen was out of

the room, or I knew she wouldn’t have let them get away with it. Judy was still next to

Craig and was ensnared in his grasp. She was staring at the floor. It was obvious that she

knew exactly what was going on but wasn’t about to intervene.

“I’m sure I’ll go to college,” I said defensively, sounding more and more feeble. As soon as I said it I knew that one of them would pounce.

Craig laughed. “It’s not as easy as that, my friend,” he said condescendingly. “Do

you know what a college application is? There’s a lot to do, you don’t just show up and

start taking classes.”

I was struggling to find a way to defend myself without revealing the truth. I ended

up not saying much at all on my own behalf.

“Craig is in his junior year at Rutgers,” Mr. Voorst pointed out.

“Nice,” I said weakly.

“Nice?” he asked, sarcastically. “Yeah, and speaking of applications, I’m already

working on grad school applications,” he said. I couldn’t tell if that was part of the attack

or if he was simply informing the Voorsts about something they didn’t know yet. “Ever

heard of Wharton?” he asked me.

“No,” I admitted.

He shook his head in mock disgust. “Ben, you’ve got to get out of the locker room

more,” he said. The smirk had returned. “It’s only the best post-graduate business school

in the country. It’s at Penn,” he explained, meaning the University of Pennsylvania,

which I knew very well was a prestigious Ivy League school. “And you’re going there next?” I asked.

“That’s my plan,” he said smugly.

“Ben doesn’t use the ‘p-word’,” Mr. Voorst said. “You better explain what you

mean.”

They both laughed out loud, again at my expense. I was taking a beating. Judy had

had enough at that point. She twisted out of Craig’s grasp and walked out of the room. I

would have preferred that she get in her dad or boyfriend’s face instead, but for Judy,

even walking out was a serious form of protest. I wished I could crawl out of the room

myself.

“Are we being too rough on you Ben?” Craig asked. “I think Judy’s feeling sorry for

you.”

“We’re just kidding around,” Mr. Voorst said. “You know we’re kidding, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” said.

“We’re just giving you a hard time,” Craig said.

No kidding, I thought. I was completely humiliated. Unfortunately I hadn’t planned

for a situation like this, and so didn’t really have any idea how to stick up for myself

without giving away my secret. It didn’t matter at that point anyway. If it was a contest,

it was over and I had lost. “Well I’d better get back out on the road,” I said, laying my

untouched plate on the table. There was no point in saying goodbye, either for them or

me. There was no way things could get worse so there wasn’t any reason for me to mind my manners.

I slipped out of the room with my figurative tail between my legs back in the direction

that Judy had gone, as if I was looking for her. I wasn’t. After being so humiliated, I really didn’t want to see her. As I walked through the empty kitchen towards the front door I heard Craig and Mr. Voorst laughing again. “Do you want fries with that?” Craig said loudly, eliciting another burst of laughter. I had no misconceptions about what that was about. They were joking about the fast-food future they had me pegged for.

Judy popped into the foyer right when I did, and she no doubt heard the “fries” remark too. I knew by the way she cringed. “Let’s go out front for a minute,” she said, pulling me out the door. We sat on wicker chairs on the porch even though it was so cold. I immediately felt the dampness of my sweats and I was instantly miserable. I hadn’t intended to go outside until it was time to run back home.

“They’re acting like jerks, Ben,” she said. “I’m so sorry. I bring you nothing but grief,” she said sadly. “With all those girls chasing you at school, why would I think you’d put up with this?”

I didn’t know what girls she meant, but it wasn’t important. “They’re just kidding around,” I said bravely. “I should have stuck up for myself more,” I admitted.

“You shouldn’t have to,” she said sternly.

“Well Judy, I did realize one thing this morning,” I said. “I’m not fitting into your life very well.” At that, I stood up and prepared to leave. “I’d better get running because I’m freezing my butt off sitting here.” Suddenly, she grabbed my arm, and put her head on my chest the way she liked to do.

“Aren’t you afraid somebody’s going to see us?” I said, a bit too sarcastically.

“Maybe it’s time they did,” Judy answered, but at the same time she let go and backed away. “I’d better go,” I repeated. “I’ll see you at school, alright?” I was being deliberately

casual. I was feeling increasingly bitter by the moment but I was surprised that I felt the

urge to hurt Judy in return.

“What are you doing later?” she asked before I got away.

“I’ll probably take a shower when I get back, and then some homework,” I said.

“Probably take a shower?” she said, holding her nose and laughing. Her attempt at

levity didn’t go over well with me after what I’d been through so she turned serious.

“Can I come over? Please? I need to study too,” she said.

Despite all of my bitterness I was happy she had asked, although I worked hard not to

show it. “Sure, I’ll be there all day,” I said casually. I turned and ran right past her

without so much as a handshake. “Just come whenever you want,” I called over my

shoulder. It felt good to act like I didn’t care whether she came over or not.

The run home was much harder. For one thing, I had already run at least five miles to

Judy’s house and so my muscles were already tired. Even worse, they had cooled down and cramped up in the cold. The worst part was the cold damp sweats I was wearing.

Even after I had knocked off a mile or two I was still cold. For the last mile I prayed that

I wouldn’t get sick because the state tournament was five days away.

As I ran, my mind wandered back through the library of songs in my head the way it

usually did when I was upset. One line in particular came to the surface because it

seemed to fit my mood:

Before they even saw my face,

they knew that I was not the same,

And decided I was not the one for you∗

I thought it was from a song called “Unaffected” but I couldn’t seem to think straight.

At home I stayed in the shower until there was no hot water left, and still couldn’t get warm. My legs began knotting up after I got dressed and sat down for a few minutes. I’d definitely overdone it. I was sure I had run at least ten miles. On a cold day, especially, was way too much. I couldn’t remember ever doing a more stupid thing at a worse time.

Judy did make her way over to my place later just as she had said. When she arrived I was sitting on the couch wrapped in a blanket. Somehow, even after what had happened,

I was glad to see her. That didn’t mean I didn’t have any concerns. “Judy, I don’t really see any point in doing what we’re doing,” I said. “Whatever that is.”

“I’m really sorry about what they did to you this morning,” she said. “I had no right to put you in that situation. I should have known that would happen.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” I grumbled. I was really getting tired of hearing her say the same thing. “It was setup, no doubt about it,” I said.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” Judy pleaded.

“I’m not, Judy,” I said. “I know you wouldn’t do that to me on purpose.” By then we were sitting on the couch. I pulled the blanket back over my shoulders. “I just can’t get warm,” I said. “I’m really hurting, too. That was way too far to run.”

Judy grimaced. “I really did it this time didn’t I? What hurts?”

∗ Estrin, Daniel, and Robb, Douglas (Hoobastank), “Unaffected”, The Island Def Jam Music Group, 2003 “I feel a little funny, and my legs are cramping up,” I said. “I’ll be alright by

tomorrow.”

She sighed, and leaned her head back, looking defeated. “I don’t know,” she said, about nothing in particular. “It’s almost like I do everything possible to screw up your wrestling,” she said. “I don’t know how it keeps happening.”

“Judy, Craig is your boyfriend,” I said. “That’s all there is to it. There’s really no

reason for my being around you at all, is there?” I asked.

“I just don’t know what to do,” she said. “I just can’t break free.”

“Yes you can,” I said crossly. “I’ll tell you one thing, I’m not going through anything

like this morning again, not for anything. Nope, not me.”

She said nothing. Tears began welling up in her reddening eyes as she put her head in her hands.

Usually this was the part where I consoled her because I couldn’t stand to see her

being upset. This time I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. “This is it, Judy, something’s

got to give,” I said.

She was growing more and more upset, but I had more to say. “One word from you and that doesn’t happen this morning. You just sat there with his arm around you watching the show. How do you think that makes me feel?”

She was fighting the tears openly and could barely speak. “No, Ben,” she said as she

shook her head. I knew I shouldn’t be so tough on her. She was in more pain than I

was. After all, she was just a kid. I just couldn’t stop myself.

“Here’s what I think, Judy,” I said. “You, Craig, your mom and dad, maybe even

Karen, you think of me like an animal in the zoo. I’m just a dumb jock. You, you got curious and you wanted to take a closer look. When it’s all over you’ll go back to your

crowd but you’ll know a little bit more about people like me. That’s all you ever wanted.

You think I’ll be serving French fries in a few years just like they do.”

I really didn’t believe what I was saying and it really wasn’t fair that I attacked her.

Sure, she hadn’t stood up for me when I needed it. The only time she showed me she cared for me was when nobody was looking. Underlying all of this, though, was the big lie, which was much more cruel than anything she had done to me. I hardly had any right to be angry. I wasn’t what I represented myself to be.

She was speechless. I understood how difficult this was for her. Her father and Craig

were unrelenting and Judy didn’t have much experience with this kind of thing. Nobody

did, really. It had turned into an ugly situation all the way around. I was afraid Judy

would get up and leave. I didn’t want it to end this way so I pulled her gently under the

blanket with me and put my arm around her. After all that had happened, there we were, right back where we had been before: under a blanket. “Look Judy, I said it before, I’m here for you,” I said. “Just don’t do that to me again, okay?”

Chapter 19 -- Cast Party

When I woke up on Monday morning I felt much better. I had some stiffness in my legs from the excessive running but other than that I was fine. My weight was right where I needed it to be. Before school I was 170.5 pounds. I knew I wouldn’t have the burden of struggling with my weight this week.

Coach Miles asked Nick and me, the only wrestlers going to the state tournament, if

we thought we should try to attend the practice of a nearby team. That way we would

both have workout partners besides each other. We both declined. As experienced

wrestlers, we didn’t need anything more than conditioning work during this final week.

We wanted to stay at Chapel Forge and work hard without the strain of practicing with

another team. A few of the eliminated wrestlers had pledged to attend our practices to serve as workout partners.

Judy and I spent time together that week, but at the same time, we tried to let things

cool down. For me, that was especially important because I wanted to concentrate fully

on the state tournament in Atlantic City.

I was formulating an early-exit plan in the back of my mind. I wasn’t even sure how

much I cared about the wrestling anymore; I had always thought that after I had my “high

school do-over” and everything turned out better than the first time, I would find the

peace I was looking for. By this time I was beginning to believe that it wouldn’t help alleviate my anguish after all. I was learning that my earlier failure had been my only

“real” chance.

I already had an important part of the answer to my question. Given another season or

two on varsity, I would have been good enough to contend for the ultimate prize, a state

championship. Maybe, I was beginning to think, if I did well enough this weekend, I

should declare victory and return to my own identity and life in North Carolina rather

than coming back for a senior year at Chapel Forge. It was looking less and less like

Judy and I would end up together even if I stayed.

The seeding for the state tournament came out on Wednesday afternoon, and as usual,

I wasn’t very happy with them. There were twenty-four wrestlers at each weight class.

Despite being one of eight region champions, I was seeded ninth. That meant that unlike

the seven other region champs, I would have to wrestle a preliminary match early Friday

evening. If I won I would wrestle again that night in a regular quarterfinal match. It was

no consolation to me that my preliminary bout would be against the lowest-seeded

wrestler. My opponent would still be among the twenty-four best in the state.

Coach Miles told me that my lack of history in New Jersey had something to do with

my seemingly low seeding. He pointed out that three state placers from the previous year

had lost in their respective regional finals but were seeded above me because they had

placed in the state last year. “You’ve also got five losses, Ben,” he said. “That’s more

than most guys in the bracket.”

It seemed a little unfair to me. Three of those losses were to the same wrestler, Ken

Brown, who was a returning state placer. Furthermore, I had avenged those losses last Saturday in the region finals. There was no use in arguing the point though. What was done was done. If that’s the way they did it in New Jersey than so be it.

Brown, yet another returning state placer who didn’t win his region this year, was seeded tenth. Since I beat him head to head last Saturday he couldn’t be seeded ahead of me. The system seemed too complicated to me. I was relieved, at least, that his seeding placed him way over on the other side of the bracket.

On Thursday Judy and Karen stunned me. “We’re going to Atlantic City for the weekend,” Judy said cheerfully. “We already bought tournament passes over the phone.”

There was something different about her as she told me. She seemed very self-confident.

Actually, that was how she was when I first met her in the fall, very sure of herself and what she was doing. It was only during the months since I’d gotten to know her that she had become so tentative. I sensed that she had made a decision and a burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

“That’s great,” I said. “Did you get a room?”

“Yeah, we’re staying on the mainland. There weren’t any rooms left anywhere in

Atlantic City,” she explained. “It doesn’t matter, we’re only sleeping there.”

I felt guilty about that. Coach, Nick and I were sharing a room at Trump Plaza, a four- star hotel. Nick told me that not only was this hotel and casino directly adjacent to

Boardwalk Hall, where the wrestling would take place, but also that the two buildings were connected by an indoor passageway. We would only have to walk a few yards, all indoors, while Judy and Karen would be driving for miles. There was nothing I could do about it. I was just glad to know they would be there watching me on the mat. Nick and I were pretty tired of wrestling each other by Thursday. As the days passed

fewer and fewer teammates showed up for practice until it was just the two of us. I

couldn’t blame them. They’d put in a long season and it was hard to find the motivation

to keep coming back after their own seasons had ended. After Thursday’s practice we

agreed that we would meet in the gym the next morning at eleven o'clock to leave for

Atlantic City. Coach left it up to us whether or not we attended school in the morning or

not but promised to have us excused at eleven o’clock if we did.

Judy had already surprised me once that day, at lunchtime, when she told me of her

plans to be in Atlantic City for the weekend. When I emerged with Nick from the locker

room after showering and dressing after the last practice of the season, she did it again.

She was standing timidly against the wall and had evidently been watching the locker room door. She smiled when she saw us. “Somebody’s glad to see one of us,” Nick joked.

“Hi,” I said. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

“Hi Judy,” Nick said as he continued walking. “Ben, see you tomorrow, man.”

“Yeah, thanks Nick,” I called.

“I’m so glad I didn’t miss you,” Judy said. “I just walked in the door.”

“Isn’t your play tonight?” I asked. The Drama Guild was finishing a two-week run of

the winter production of Shakespeare’s “MacBeth”. We hadn’t talked about it much, and

I had been feeling selfish about that. All Judy and I seemed to talk about lately is my

world, wrestling.

She looked surprised. “Yeah,” she said, obviously pleased. “How did you know?”

“What do you mean, how did I know? You’re my girl, that’s how I know,” I said. “That’s sweet, Ben,” she said. “I just came by because I wanted to see you, that’s all.”

“At one point I was planning on coming to see the show,” I continued. “After Sunday

I decided it was a bad idea.”

Her face lit up. “It doesn’t start for an hour! You could still come!” Then she was crestfallen. “It’s sold out,” she said glumly.

Then it was my turn to surprise her. I reached into the pocket of my book bag, rummaged around and pulled out a ticket. “Not a problem,” I said flatly. Without telling

Judy, I had purchased a ticket last week, before the Sunday breakfast disaster. I had figured that it would be a nice way to spend the evening before the state tournament.

“You were coming all along?” she asked.

“Well, no,” I said. “After what happened Sunday I figured I shouldn’t,” I repeated.

She was beaming. It must have meant a lot to her that I was interested in something that

was important in her life.

“I don’t really look very presentable,” I said. “What do you think?” I was wearing

jeans and a sweatshirt.

“You look fine,” she said.

“Okay,” I answered.

“Ben?” Judy asked meekly. “I just had an idea.”

“Oh yeah?” I asked.

She was uncomfortable with what she was going to say. “Well,” she said again. “I

know how you must feel after Sunday, so I’ll understand if you say no.”

“Okay. No to what?” I asked. “Well,” she said again nervously. “We’re having a cast party after the show, and I

was wondering if you’d like to come. With me, I mean.” She spoke quickly, as if she wanted to get the words out before she lost her nerve.

“You mean I’d be your date?” I asked.

“Well, yeah,” she replied.

“They won’t have food there will they?” I asked. When it looked like she was taking

me seriously I quickly told her that I was joking. “You really want me to come with you? Craig won’t be waiting there to ambush me will he?”

“Come on,” she said, sounding genuinely irritated.

“Sorry,” I said. “I’d love to come, really.”

“Great,” she said. “You can meet some of my friends. You hardly know any of

them.”

“I hope they won’t mind my being there,” I said. “I’m not really their type.”

“How do you know?” she asked. It was a good question.

“How do I find you after the show?” I asked.

“Uh, just stay in the auditorium until it clears out,” she suggested. “I’ll come get

you.”

I was pretty happy about being invited by Judy although I was also nervous about

rubbing elbows with a bunch of people who I didn’t know, and who might not think

much of me. Then again, Judy liked me. Why shouldn’t they?

There was plenty of time before the show started. I went back into the locker room

and repacked my gear to kill some time. Then I headed down to the auditorium. The production of “The Tragedy of MacBeth”, as it was titled on the playbill, was a

fun time for me. Luckily it was one of the few works of Shakespeare that I was familiar

with. Judy played Lady MacDuff. It was a thrill for me to watch her doing something

that she was good at and was important to her. I guessed that my feelings were probably

a mirror image of what she felt when she watched me wrestle. How selfish it was of me that I had never until then shown any interest anything that was important to her. I wondered if she’d noticed that.

After the show ended and the lights came on I did just what Judy told me to do. I

loitered in my seat as everybody else filed out. Just when I thought the ushers were going

to start questioning me, Judy appeared through a side door. “Judy, you were great!” I

gushed.

“Thanks!” she replied with enthusiasm. “After twelve performances I finally know

the script.”

“I liked watching you,” I continued. “Can’t wait for the next one.”

“We’re just about ready to go,” she said. “This was the final show so we don’t have

to stay for prep tonight,” she explained. “Otherwise, we’d be here for at least another

hour.”

“Can we drive separately?” I asked. I assumed we would have to drive to the party.

“I can’t afford to stay out late, big day tomorrow,” I explained.

“Sure,” she said. “I was going to suggest that. Can you wait just another few

minutes?” she asked.

“Yeah, of course,” I responded. “I’d better go out in the lobby, I’m starting to get

some looks.” “Okay,” she laughed. “I’ll come get you in a few minutes.”

The party turned out to be at the home of the actor who played Duncan in “MacBeth”.

Stripped of their costumes and makeup, most of the cast turned out to be students that I

saw in the halls every day at school. Judy dutifully introduced me to everybody we came

across. I had asked her not to introduce me as a wrestler, and so she didn’t. Everybody

was receptive to me, and somehow, most seemed to know all about me anyway. I was

nervous and stayed close to Judy. I remembered the time when Judy and I had planned

on attending a party after a match in January, and she had been very nervous about it.

This time the tables were turned and I had a new appreciation for how she must have felt.

“We don’t get many wrestlers at cast parties,” said Mary Mason, who had played

Lady MacBeth in the play. “You’re welcome anytime,” she said with a dramatic flourish. She was quite an interesting person. I’d seen her slithering along in the hallways at schools and never imagined what a dynamic person she turned out to be.

I didn’t talk much at the party but I really did enjoy everybody who was there. I think that they were a bunch of motivated kids who had a lot more self-confidence than other students realized. They loved what they were involved in and they were good at it. I felt no animosity towards me at all. If anything, they seemed to be pleased that I, as somebody from a different crowd at school, had attended and enjoyed it, and even came to the cast party.

Judy seemed to enjoy shepherding me around the party by the hand. She never came

out and called me her boyfriend but it was obvious how we felt about each other. Maybe

that’s why nobody asked about Craig all night. “I’m going to have to get going soon,” I told Scott Sperry, the host of the party. “I’ve got a big day tomorrow,” I said, using the same cliché for the second time in one night to describe the tournament.

“Yeah, the state tournament starts tomorrow,” he said. “171, right?”

I was surprised that he knew that much about me. “Yeah, right,” I said, unable to hide the surprise in my voice.

“I wrestled for a couple years when I was little,” he said. “I won a few matches but I hated it.”

I’d never have guessed that he had wrestled but I couldn’t think of any reason why not. He looked like a normal healthy kid, just like any of us on the team. “Yeah, it’s the kind of thing you have to love to keep doing it. I notice I’m the only one here not eating,” I pointed out.

He laughed. “Yeah, I wasn’t even thinking about that part of it.”

“I think what you do is pretty fantastic,” I told him. “I wish I could do it.”

“Really? That surprises me,” he said. “It isn’t as exciting as winning the region championship 7-6.” When he saw yet another look of surprise on my face, he laughed.

“Judy told me,” he said.

“Maybe it’s a different kind of excitement,” I said as I got up to look for Judy. I stuck my hand out. “Thanks for having me, Scott,” I said. “It was great to meet everybody. I hope nobody minded an outsider crashing the party.”

“You’re not an outsider, Ben,” he said. “I’m glad you came. I like seeing her glow,” he said, gesturing towards Judy. Judy already had my jacket. “Can I walk you out?” she asked. “I’m staying for a while,” she said.

“Please,” I said, taking my jacket.

It was very cold outside, especially for early March. We found my car on the street and then it was time to say goodbye. “Thanks for inviting me, it was great to meet your friends,” I said.

“I was proud to have you with me,” she said. “It wasn’t too boring?”

“I don’t understand you sometimes Judy,” I said. “It was exciting.”

She reached gently for the back of my neck and pulled my face closer to hers. Before

I knew it she had kissed me softly on the lips. “Goodnight Ben,” she said quietly.

“Thank you for being my date.” It was nice seeing her so relaxed and confident. Being around good friends who believe in you can have that effect on people.

I was speechless when she kissed me. I was already replaying the kiss in my mind for the first of what turned out to be a thousand times. I drove home and crawled into bed.

There was a lot to think about.

Chapter 20 -- Atlantic City

I was excited but nervous as soon as we saw the Atlantic City skyline from the expressway early Friday afternoon. As we crossed the bay I caught a glimpse of

Boardwalk Hall, just to the south of us. When Judy and I had visited a few weeks ago we

decided not to explore the arena. I had hoped to be back to wrestle inside of it. Two

tournaments later that had become a reality. I looked at my watch and calculated that my preliminary match would begin in less than four hours.

We parked in the Trump Plaza Casino garage and entered the hotel. As soon as we

stepped inside I heard a strange sound that I’d never heard before. It was a constant

chiming sound that seemed to come from everywhere. “Hear the slot machines?” Nick

asked, knowing that Atlantic City was unfamiliar territory to me. “It’s the same sound in

every casino.”

So that’s what it was. I wondered how I hadn’t noticed the sound when I was here

with Judy before. Every time we turned a corner there were slot machines lined up. At

nearly every one sat a still figure staring intently at the machine.

“Let’s get out of here,” said Coach Miles. “That sound is driving me crazy. The hotel

is nice and quiet, trust me.”

We checked in and rode the elevator to our floor. I was hoping for a view of the

Atlantic Ocean but our room faced to the north, up the boardwalk toward half a dozen

other casinos. I could see the ocean only if I pressed my face against the window and looked to the right. Still, it was a stunning view. I thought about the view Judy would

have in whatever motel room she and Karen had booked, and again felt guilty. Hopefully

it would at least be safe for them.

We lounged around for a little while. The preliminary round was scheduled to begin at six o’clock so at four o’clock we began packing up to walk next door. Nick was more

relaxed than I was, possibly because he didn’t have a preliminary round match. Since I did have one I began to withdraw into myself, thinking about why I was there and what I

planned to accomplish.

My first opponent would be Tony Cantor of Tenafly. I had no idea where Tenafly was

except that it was pretty far to the north, ever further than New York City. Cantor had

placed third in his region. His record was unimpressive for a wrestler who had gotten all

the way to Atlantic City: sixteen wins and eight losses. He either came from a weak

region or had peaked late in the season. I would never allow myself to underestimate

anybody at this point in the season, but I thought this match should be mine.

We passed through yet another casino area, and then through a set of doorways and

corridors into the arena. After Coach Miles showed some paperwork we were issued

passes and allowed to enter. The arena was gorgeous on the inside, in contrast to its

dingy exterior. It was decorated in modern teal and purple colors on the concourse. In

the main arena the barrel-vaulted ceiling was adorned with colorful trim. On one end, on

the floor of the arena, was a stage on which wrestling mats had been rolled out. That

must be the stage where Bob Barker crowned Miss America every year, I decided. This

weekend it would serve as a warm up area for wrestlers. There were eight pristine

wrestling mats of disparate colors but identical in size covering the floor of the arena. Nick hadn’t changed out of his street clothes yet but I had dressed for competition

back in the hotel room. He headed down the concourse following the signs to the open weigh-in. I made my way down to the floor, spent a few minutes stretching, and then ran

a few laps around the perimeter to loosen up while I still had my running shoes on. I had worked up a good sweat by the time I took a seat at one of the empty scorer’s table to rest. After about a minute had passed I heard my name being called. It was Judy and

Karen, who were standing at the bottom row of the seats. They had made it in time! I scurried over and climbed the temporary steps up to where they were.

Karen spoke first. “How are you feeling, champ?” she asked good-naturedly.

“Really good,” I answered. “I’m glad you made it, I have an early match.”

“Yeah, a preliminary,” Karen complained. “What’s the region champ doing having a match in the preliminary round?”

It was a good question, I thought. I had asked Coach Miles the same question earlier

in the week. “That’s how New Jersey treats wrestlers from below the Mason Dixon Line,

I guess,” I said.

“I know you’ll do it,” Judy said after she leaned in to give me a quick hug. As she

spoke I saw that her cheek was slick and shiny with my perspiration.

“Thanks for coming,” I said. “Where are you sitting?” I asked.

“I know we have to sit way up top somewhere,” Judy said. “All of the lower seats are reserved.”

“Sorry,” I said apologetically.

“We’ll try to find you after your match, don’t worry about looking for us,” Karen said. “I tell you what,” I said. “I’ll come off the floor right here and head up there,” I said,

pointing up the steps. “Maybe we could meet there.”

“Okay,” Judy said.

“When do you wrestle next?” Karen asked. “After the preliminaries, I mean?”

“If I win, the next round starts at eight o’clock. The matches will probably go pretty

quickly with eight mats going,” I told them.

Judy gave me a final squeeze before letting go. “I know you’ll win,” she said again.

Right then I heard my name being called again. At the top of the concrete steps, on

the concourse level, Coach Miles was waving me up. “You have to weigh in!” he was

shouting.

“Oh yeah, weigh-ins,” I told the girls. “I hope I’m on weight. I’d better go.”

“Okay,” Judy said. “Good luck.”

As expected, I made weight easily. The metal balance on the scale never moved from it’s resting place. That was a relief because there would be weigh-ins the next two

mornings and it looked like I wouldn’t have any problem with it.

Coach Miles joined me on the stage during the 145-pound preliminaries. “I’ll be down on the floor,” he said. “Nick and I are going to scout the 160 matches.

When my match was announced as being on-deck on mat 5 I headed in that direction.

As soon as I spotted Coach Miles and Nick I walked over to join them. The three of us walked over to the mat and I began the ritual of stripping off my warm-ups, more stretching, and snapping my headgear into place. I looked up at the rapidly filling seats in the arena knowing that Judy was out there somewhere, probably watching me closely.

I made a thumbs-up motion. Later, if she had seen it, I would tell her it was for her. Cantor and I wrestled cautiously at the outset of our match. We circled each other for

the first minute of the first period. Then I tapped his headgear to distract him and shot in

deep on a double-leg. I tried to lift and dump him but was unable to. I ended up tripping

one leg and pushing straight through, driving him to a seated position. From there I was able to step over and take control for a two-point takedown.

I started the second period in the top position but I was unable to ride him for very

long. He sat and turned in, and quickly took my leg. I tried a whizzer, hooking his left

arm from behind with my right arm, but he shook it off. He sucked my leg in and pushed me onto my butt. I was in danger of losing control. Just as I had done to him in the first period, he persistently worked to step over my body until I couldn’t fight him off.

Surrendering the two points, I flipped over and established my base. That left the score tied at 2.

There was still half a minute left in the second period. I didn’t want the period to end with the score tied so I worked furiously for an escape. I wasn’t panicking yet because I was still sure I could beat this guy, but I had reached the time to start making it happen. I sat through and pivoted to my right and buried my arm between his legs, attempting a switch. The move worked perfectly, as his arm, still around my waist, provided the leverage for my movement and also served as an anchor to keep him from moving to defend. I slipped behind for two points, and regained the lead. The period ended with no further scoring. I led 4-2.

Miles yelled “Ben!” as soon as we untangled. He pointed down vociferously,

reminding me to choose to start the third period in the down position. It was an

unnecessary reminder but I nodded obediently. When the period started it was obvious that Cantor was trying to cradle me. I made sure to keep my head up and away from my

knees, so as not to make it easier for him. Still, he worked relentlessly for it. I thought

about trying to score by using a switch again, because I had succeeded almost effortlessly

with it before, but he wasn’t in a good position for that since he was working for a cradle.

Eventually did manage to lock his hands for the cradle, but when he did he slipped too far

forward.

“He’s too high!” I heard Nick yelling. Any wrestler knew what that meant. Cantor

had shifted his own center of balance too far above and in front of mine, leaving him

vulnerable to several dangerous possibilities. I reached up for the back of his neck, and

than hipped up, forcing him to slide even further forward. I had hoped that with my hold

on his neck he might roll onto his back, but that was wishful thinking. I was, however,

able to slip out backwards between his legs and take control. I had scored a reversal and

led 6-2.

There were twenty-five seconds left. As happened earlier, I was unable to ride Cantor.

For the remainder of the match we replayed his second period reversal. He sat, turned in,

took my leg, and stepped over for a two-point reversal. I was happy to let him have the points, knowing that time was ticking away. Time ran out shortly after the referee signaled the reversal. I had won a workmanlike 6-4 victory.

“A lot closer than I hoped,” I choked out between breaths as I came off the mat.

“This is states, Ben,” Miles replied. “Every wrestler here is tough. We’ll take any wins, no matter what the score is.”

“Yeah,” I said. “But he’s the lowest seed and I only beat him by two points.” They ignored me, as they should have. It was true, what they had said. At that point in the season everybody left is tough and victories by any score are hard to come by. I

pulled the straps of my singlet down to my waist and put on my Chapel Forge tee shirt,

leaving the rest of my warm-ups in the gym bag for later after I cooled down. I had

another match soon and I didn’t want to risk getting overheated in the warm building.

Nick and Coach headed toward the warm-up mats on the stage, presumably for some last

minute preparations for his match. Instead of following I climbed the concrete steps up

to the concourse level, where I had told Judy and Karen I’d meet them. Judy was already

there.

“You did it!” Judy exclaimed as she charged forward and hugged me. This time my entire body was drenched in sweat. It must have felt awful for her but she didn’t seem to

mind.

“It’s only one match,” I reminded her.

The next instant she suddenly tensed up and backed away. Something was happening

and I didn’t have a clue as to what it was until I suddenly spied a familiar face

approaching. As the face drew closer I quickly realized that it was Craig! What on earth

was he doing here?

He had a sour look on his face that I’d never seen in any of our prior encounters. This

was probably the nasty, jealous side of him that I’d only heard about. There was no way

of knowing what he would do so I braced for trouble. Unlike last Sunday he didn’t have

the upper hand because he was on my turf. I worried that he might be feeling desperate. When he was upon us he ignored me completely, as if I wasn’t even there. “Come on,

Judy,” he said forcefully. “We need to get going.” Where he felt they needed to go went

unstated.

Judy finally turned to face him. “No, Craig, I’m staying here. Ben has another match

coming up tonight.” Her voice cracked twice. At that point I understood more about

how she had been behaving. She was finally determined to stand up for herself.

Craig began to fume. I could see his anger building before my eyes. Karen had once

mentioned that his malicious alter ego usually emerged when he and Judy were around

Judy’s friends. I had no idea what he would do. One thing I had in my favor was that

this time he didn’t have Judy’s father at his side. There would be no ganging up on me

this time. I knew it didn’t hurt that I looked physically imposing at the moment. My arm

and chest muscles were still pumped up the way they always were after a match.

Besides, I was about five inches taller than he was, since he had forgotten to wear his

boots.

“Damnit, Judy!” he said angrily. “Let’s go!”

I wondered if that was my cue to speak up on Judy’s behalf. I thought not, but that

time was getting closer. I decided to wait until after she resisted his demands one more

time, and so I kept quiet.

“I told you Craig, I’m staying,” she said. This time she had more conviction in her voice. Craig sensed it just as I had, and it only infuriated him more. He finally gave in and acknowledged my presence.

“Look sport, I’d stay away from my girlfriend if I were you,” he said, pointing at me.

It was amusing and I couldn’t help smirking. My hands were at my side, where they had been the entire time. I dropped my bag and held my hands up, palms facing him. “I

don’t know what you’re talking about, Craig,” I said innocently.

He had no options at the moment and he knew it. I’m not sure how much he understood about what was going on. Really, I didn’t know myself, but I had a hunch that Judy was finally declaring her independence. Not just from Craig but from anybody

who tried to control her.

“Thirty minutes,” he barked at us. Before we could answer, he whirled and stalked

off.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

She ignored the question. The moment had passed, and she was trembling. I was

suddenly filled with affection for her, understanding what she had just done. She had to

know that Craig wasn’t finished. Neither he nor Mr. Voorst would give up that easily.

But even with their interference, maybe there was hope for Judy and me after all. The

only other obstacle, and it was a big one, was the lie I was living and how Judy would

deal with it. I suddenly knew that I would eventually tell her the truth. It was only a

matter of when.

Judy must have seen that I was deep in thought about what I had just witnessed.

“Ben, you can’t think about all of this right now,” she suddenly said. “Go back down and

get ready for your next match.”

“Are you sure?” I asked. “Will you be okay?”

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “Get going,” she repeated as she pushed me away. Her steely expression was one I’d never seen on her and it told me that she knew exactly what she was doing. I stepped back towards her, gave her one last hug, and disappeared back

down the concrete steps onto the floor of the arena.

I wondered if Craig had come alone, and if he was sitting with Karen and Judy. If he

was alone, Karen could neutralize him. If for some strange reason Mr. Voorst had come,

Judy would be in trouble. So far, on his own, Craig seemed to be on the defensive. His

ridiculous “Thirty minutes” ultimatum was actually a back pedal from his original

position, which was that Judy had to come with him immediately. My match was

probably about two hours away. I didn’t imagine it would be long before Craig started

badgering Judy again.

My next opponent was Dan Cortez, from Warren Central. Cortez was one of those

returning state placers who didn’t win his region this year. He had been seeded eighth,

one ahead of me, because he had placed seventh in the state last year. His record of 27-4

was excellent, but if he could lose four times, I knew he could lose a fifth. Of course, he

could have said pretty much the same thing about my record of 25-5.

Nick had a relatively easy time in his match. It looked to me like he was pacing himself and trying not to expend too much energy during the early rounds. Rather than going for a pin he was satisfied to score on tilts and takedowns, and to wrestle safely. I had to admire him for having the composure to control his match to that degree, although I normally believed that the best strategy was always to go for the pin. He advanced to the quarterfinals with a 13-3 victory. All three of the points scored by his opponent were because Nick had cut him loose in order to stay out of danger or to work for another takedown. My match was called on deck immediately after Nick’s victory. Every match I wrestled from then on was the biggest of my career. If I could win this one I knew I’d

already be near the top in one of the country’s best wrestling states.

When it was time for my match Cortez appeared in the opposite corner of the mat. He

looked surprisingly small, I thought with relief. That would be a nice change. “He was pinned three times this season,” Miles told me. “That must be the way to beat this guy.

Last year he was pinned here twice.”

I pulled up the straps of my singlet, running my thumbs between them and my skin to flatten them out. My mouth was very dry so I took a squirt of water before heading out onto the mat.

Cortez squeezed my hand hard when the referee told us to shake, and then threw my hand away. Good, I thought. I liked wrestling against guys who spent so much time and energy trying to intimidate their opponent. In most cases I found that they were less prepared once the match began. He was wasting his time trying to intimidate me, because I was far beyond that. So was everybody else in this tournament for that matter.

He continued with his attempts to intimidate me when the match started, by repeatedly slapping my headgear. Several times he missed slightly, making contact with my face and forehead. I kept my focus and decided to use his tactics against him. I timed his head slaps and when I was sure I knew he was reaching for another one I reacted instantly by shooting underneath for his legs. It worked perfectly; he had set himself up better than I possibly could have. Even after he knew I was coming for his legs he could do nothing because in the same split second he had already committed himself to lunging at my head. I easily took both legs. Wanting to send a message, I pulled both of his legs in tight. From my knees I lifted him off the mat and dumped him hard onto his butt.

There was still enough forward momentum that I was able to continue moving through him until he was on his back. Quickly, I moved up and inserted a reverse half nelson before he could roll away. At the same time I shifted my body so that it was perpendicular to his. When he then rolled towards me I switched my hold again, this time into a tight headlock. Ten seconds after the cocky Cortez was slapping my head and face trying to intimidate me, he was helpless on his back in a very non-intimidating position.

“Finish it off Ben!” Nick yelled. I trusted his instincts. There was still over a minute left in the period. I wouldn’t risk letting him slip out of danger by working recklessly for a pin but Cortez’s history told me that the best way to beat him was to pin him. He probably had good stamina and could outlast opponents who couldn’t get the pin.

Taking care to lift his head off the mat with my right arm, I used my left arm to lift on his elbow. Slowly and carefully, so as not to disturb the delicate balance that was working in my favor, I arched my extended body over and across his, driving his far shoulder closer and closer to the mat. I had always thought that as brutal as the throwing of a headlock can be, there is something artistic about the graceful balance and precise positioning required for maintaining it once it has been thrown. My head was cocked towards the ceiling and so I couldn’t see his back, but from experience I knew exactly how quickly space was closing between his back and the mat as I leaned and arched.

“Thirty seconds!” I heard somebody shout. It was a voice I didn’t recognize, so I figured it must be the Warren Central coach exhorting Cortez to hold on for another half minute. I was doing all I could and it was only the toughness of my opponent that was preventing the referee’s hand from slapping the mat. The effort had to be draining his energy. I, on the other hand, was hardly exerting any energy at all, so perfect was the pinning combination.

When it was starting to look like the period was going to run out with no pin call, I had to make a decision. When there wasn’t enough time for Cortez to score, I would go all out for the pin. I’d done this before with headlocks, with mixed success. It was risky unless time was about to expire, because it would open me up to being rolled. When there were eight seconds left, it was time. I un-arched my body and went chest-to-chest, while keeping the headlock as tight as possible. At the same time, I lifted my hips off the mat, posting on my toes. The result of this maneuver was that suddenly all of my weight was on my tired opponent’s chest. It was an awkward position because I was unbalanced but I had decided to risk being rolled. My gamble paid off. Cortez had endured a lot but this was too much. The referee signaled the pin just when I had concluded that it wasn’t going to happen. I immediately looked at the clock and saw that there was but one second left in the period.

When I looked over into my corner, Coach Miles was pumping his fist in the air and

Nick was just landing from a vertical leap. I was as excited as they were. Cortez ripped

off his headgear and threw it at his coach’s feet. He began to stomp off the mat until his

coach barked at him. Then he reluctantly trudged back to the center where we shook

hands. He mumbled something as my hand was raised, but I didn’t know or care what he

had said. Nick and I were both in the state quarterfinals. We celebrated with high fives

all around, and then quickly vacated the corner so the next wrestler and coach could

move in. I’d survived the first two sessions of the state tournament. Little did I know

that my struggles for that night were only about to begin.

Chapter 21 -- Sleepless Night

I put my warm-ups on before I had a chance to cool down after pinning Cortez, because I hadn’t gotten six minutes of work in and I still had to make weight in the morning. Maybe I could sweat off some weight before my body temperature returned to normal. Then, as soon as I could gracefully peel away from Nick and Coach I headed up to the concourse where I had met Judy earlier.

Judy wasn’t there but Karen was. I could tell immediately that there was trouble.

Before I could open my mouth Karen confirmed my suspicions. “Craig’s getting crazy,”

she said with a sense of urgency. “And so is Judy.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“You know what happened,” Karen said. “Come on, you know him by now.”

I was still out of breath from my match, which had ended only about five minutes earlier. That made me sound even more rattled than I really was. “What did that little creep do to her?” I demanded angrily. “Where are they?”

“Ben, get a grip,” Karen said. “We’re on the same side, remember?” I could see in

her eyes that she was pleased at my reaction. Finally, somebody else was as angry as she

was.

“Yeah, I know,” I said. “Sorry. I’m just worried.”

“Don’t you think I am too? I’ve been watching this from a lot closer than you, and for

a longer time too,” she pointed out yet again. “What do we do?” I asked. “It’s got to end here, don’t you think?”

“Not here, not now,” Karen said. “You’ve got to do what you came here to do.” I

wondered what she meant by that. Sometimes she seemed to know a lot more about me

than she should. “This has been going on for a while,” she continued. “It can wait

another day or two.”

She was right. The only problem was that I knew Judy was suffering. Even if I could

find a way to accept that for the time being, I wasn’t sure that I could concentrate on

wrestling. Karen must have known what I was thinking. “That’s what she’d want, if we asked,” she said.

I sighed. “He would never hurt her would he?” I knew that sounded silly, like

something from a bad movie, but it was on my mind.

“Not physically,” Karen answered, “if that’s what you mean.”

“What should I do?” I repeated.

“I already told you. Win your matches. This is your only chance for that. After that’s

over, we’ll tackle this next problem,” she said.

I liked how she said “we”. I knew better about the “only chance” part. I knew that

anybody who willing to compromise their morals and was willing to break the law could have extra chances. I gave Karen my room number at Trump Plaza because somehow it

seemed like a good idea. Then we went our separate ways.

Thinking again of weigh-ins, I dug my jump rope out of my gym bag and got busy

with that near the warm-up mats on the stage. I was so agitated over everything Karen

had told me that I had trouble concentrating on what I was doing. Luckily I was only

jumping rope. If I can’t clear my head, I’ll really be in trouble tomorrow, I thought. After twenty minutes of that I’d had enough. The pre-quarterfinal session was nearing completion and the building had already started to empty. There was no need to look for

Nick and Coach because I had an electronic key-card for the hotel room stashed in my gym bag. I put on my sneakers, rode the escalators down to the main lobby and exited the arena. I couldn’t find the direct passage back to Trump Plaza so I left through the doors that led to the boardwalk. The blast of cold salty air was refreshing, even though I was covered with perspiration. I walked north, knowing that my hotel was the next building. When I got inside, I found an eclectic mix of gamblers, most of whom were clad in polyester, and wrestling fans in jeans with jackets proclaiming their allegiance to a high school team. I worked my way through the crowds until I found an elevator.

“There you are,” Coach Miles said when I inserted my key and pushed the door open.

They were going over arm drags, and more importantly, counters to them. “Nick’s got

Boyle tomorrow morning,” Coach explained. “I’ve never seen so many arm drags as I have in his match tonight.”

“Cool, good thinking,” I told them, although I had no idea who Boyle was, and then flopped onto one of the beds. “I’ve got Nate Scheinhorn,” I said. “Know anything about him?”

“I didn’t get to see him tonight,” Coach answered. “He was up at the same time you were. He’s got a pretty good record. You’d better be on your toes.”

“Pretty good,” I said. “Try 32 and 0,” I said grumpily.

That was the first time all year that I’d expressed any wariness about an opponent, and

Nick noticed. “What’s wrong, man?” he asked. “You’re not yourself tonight.” I lied. “I guess I’m a little worried about my weight. I drank too much water between

matches. I’ll probably get up early and walk over to check it.”

“What time do the scales open?” Nick asked.

“Six-thirty,” I said. “We can weigh in anytime up to nine o’clock.”

“I’ll call somebody from the Shore area about Scheinhorn,” Coach Miles promised.

“We’ll see what we can find out about him.”

“Thanks, Coach,” I said.

I stretched out on the bed to rest while they continued working through the arm drags.

I wasn’t tired, exactly, but it did feel good to get off of my feet. All I could think about was Judy, wondering if Craig was bullying her somewhere at that exact moment. I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew the room was much darker. It looked like

Coach was sleeping in the other bed and Nick was on the pullout couch bed. While I was in the bathroom brushing my teeth, there was a knock at the door. It was nearly eleven o’clock.

Honestly, I wasn’t surprised when I opened the door and saw Judy. “Hi Ben, I didn’t wake you up did I?” she asked.

“No, not really,” I answered. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” she said. “I didn’t get to see you after your match, that’s all.”

Nick and Coach were sleeping and I didn’t want to disturb them. Making sure I still

had my key in my pocket, I stepped out in to the hallway and gently pulled the door closed behind me. I’d been wondering how it was that Judy was there alone, but when I stepped into the hallway I had my answer. Craig was lurking about fifty feet away near the elevators. My temper flared. Normally I would have kept it to myself, but I must

have been tired. “What the hell is he doing down there?” I asked.

“He didn’t want to interfere,” Judy said. “I told him I was coming to wish you luck

tomorrow.”

“How could he interfere with that?” I knew I should have dropped it but it was late, I

was tired, and I was worried about her. I couldn’t stop myself. “The only way he could

interfere would be if you let him.”

She didn’t say anything. I knew she was helpless and I shouldn’t be belligerent, but I

felt so bitter. My feelings for her were so strong and the pressures of wrestling had

become so great that my emotions had reached a boiling point. “Why doesn’t he come

down here and wish me luck too?” I demanded.

“I shouldn’t have come,” she said dejectedly. “I’m sorry. The last thing I wanted to

do was upset you, especially tonight. You’ve got such a big day tomorrow.”

“I was already upset,” I snapped. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I can’t beat any of the guys left in the bracket, what’s the difference?”

“How can you say that?” she said. “You’ve been beating everybody. Besides, just

getting this far is incredible! You’ll be one of the top guys in the state next year.”

“I’m not coming back next year, Judy,” I said acidly. “So like I said, what’s the

difference?”

I’m not sure why I said that because I hadn’t decided yet. Originally the plan was to come back for a senior year but lately I’d been having second thoughts. Judy was obviously shocked that I had said it. I glanced down the hall at Craig, who was far enough away that he probably couldn’t

hear how my conversation with Judy was going. He saw me looking and waved. That

infuriated me even more. I waved him away angrily. He was a guy who was always

looking for a confrontation so that got his attention, and the next thing I knew he was

stomping towards us. That was fine with me. I was fed up with the situation, and still

angry about how he embarrassed me just a few days earlier.

“Beat it!” I yelled at him as he approached. I wasn’t about to let him get the first word

in. As I got angrier and angrier I noticed Judy staring at me. She had never seen me raise

my voice before. I was losing control of myself before her eyes.

“Ben, Ben, are we losing it here?” Craig asked condescendingly. He was throwing

gasoline on the proverbial fire.

I jabbed my finger in the air in his direction. “You better turn around and go back

where you came from,” I warned.

“Yeah? Why is that, sport?” he asked.

“Craig, we’d better go,” Judy said.

“You know, Craig,” I said. “You’re a bright guy. Why don’t you get it? It isn’t

working anymore. How could you not know that?” I wasn’t yelling, but I was talking

quite loudly. This had become a simple fight over a girl. I thought I was right about

what Judy wanted but as usual, she was saying nothing to confirm or dispel that notion.

That put me in a difficult situation.

“You’re delusional, my friend,” he responded. “Judy, tell him what ‘delusional’ means.”

“I see right through you and so does everybody else.” I said. “Don’t push me.” As I said that, the door to my room opened. Nick and Coach peeked out, saw the

confrontation, and intervened immediately. “Come on Ben,” Nick said, pulling on me.

“Get in here, cut it out,” he said firmly. He was standing between Craig and me. “You

don’t need this. Deal with it later,” Nick said. I allowed him to push me into the room.

Before the door closed I heard Coach speaking sternly. I don’t know what he said to

Judy and Craig but things were quiet when he came back into the room. He shut the

door, slid the deadbolt into position, and turned to me. “Ben, don’t blow this tournament.

Is this over the girl?”

I felt like such a moron, knowing that it was. He made it sound so silly. I opened my

mouth to answer but he cut me off. “It doesn’t matter. Just put that off until after

tomorrow. You owe it to yourself. I’m not saying it’s not important, but it can wait.

This tournament won’t.”

It was the last word on the subject. I was too angry to speak, even to him or Nick.

We turned out the lights again. Soon I knew by their breathing that they had both gone

back to sleep. I was envious, knowing that it would be hours before I would be able to. I

couldn’t remember anytime in my life, either my new one or my old one, when my mind had been so heavy with worry.

My thoughts eventually turned to the two wrestlers I had beaten that night. Both

Cantor and Cortez were seniors. I had probably ended not only their seasons, but

probably their high school careers as well. Cantor was eliminated by that loss, and

Cortez had disappeared down somewhere into the loser's bracket. The only consolation, I

supposed, was that neither Cantor nor Cortez could know how they had been cheated. At one-thirty I gave up trying to sleep and decided to go for a walk in the hotel.

Maybe that would settle me down. I shouldn’t have been so surprised that the casinos

were still open, and were packed with gamblers. If anything, the crowd was bigger than

it had been before. I walked through slowly, taking it all in.

My throat was dry so I stopped off at a vendor’s cart and bought a bottle of diet soda.

The only available size was twenty-four ounces, much bigger than I wanted. I was so thirsty, and not thinking clearly to begin with, that I bought it, planning to drink only a few swallows. On a whim, I also bought a bag of popcorn at a refreshment stand. I figured that a little popcorn couldn’t make too much of a difference at weigh-in time, especially since I already expected to be over the limit anyway. My thinking was so muddled at that point that I hardly knew what I should or shouldn’t do.

How strange it was that I was there at all. One year before I was in my second semester of classes at North Carolina State University in Raleigh. What if somebody had told me then that in one year I would be wandering around a casino in Atlantic City, New

Jersey, in the middle of the night, only hours before I wrestled in a state quarterfinal

match? What if they added that at the moment I was much more upset about a girl than I

was about the match? Would I have laughed? No, I wouldn’t have even bothered

laughing because it sounded completely unbelievable, to the point of being ridiculous.

So much had happened in a year!

Munching my popcorn, knowing but somehow not caring that I was creating a huge

problem for myself, I ambled slowly through the breezeway into the next casino, which

had a western theme. Until then I hadn’t realized that the casinos were interconnected.

When I left Caesar’s and entered Bally’s it was as if I had walked from the streets of the Roman Empire into the American West. Even the carpet changed drastically as I crossed

from one realm into another. Suddenly, cactuses and campfires surrounded me beneath a

faux sky filled with glittering stars. The casino was done up in a western town motif. As

soon as I looked around I saw that although the scenery had changed, nothing much else

had. The same cast of gamblers was seated at the slot machines. The constant chiming

sound created the impression that throughout the casino gamblers were winning fortunes with incredible regularity.

I spent a few minutes watching a group of men playing blackjack. After the

participants began glancing my way repeatedly, I moved on. The craps tables were even

more interesting. I had no idea how the game worked but the antics of the dice throwers

were entertaining. No matter how the dice landed, the players seemed to find something

to cheer about while throwing more chips onto the table. After a few minutes of

watching that, I turned and continued my tour.

By two-thirty I had passed through several other themed casinos before turning around to head back to Trump Plaza. I was finally feeling tired but was also upset with myself because the entire soda was gone. My mind wasn’t on wrestling at the time but I should have been more disciplined about drinking too much, knowing that I still had to make weight in the morning. I decided not to worry. With any luck I’d pee it off long before I stepped onto the scales. I found the elevator and returned to our room. The door made a loud snapping sound when I unlocked it with my electronic key card, but it didn’t sound like anybody woke up. I crawled under the covers, and this time was able to drop

off to sleep quickly.

Chapter 22 -- Five Pounds Over

Since I had only gone to sleep a few hours earlier it was no surprise that Nick and

Coach had to rouse me at dawn. “Ben, didn’t you need to check your weight?” I heard

Nick asking as I slowly returned to consciousness. Even after he said that it took me a

moment to remember where and who I was, and what was in store for me that day.

“Yeah, what time is it?” I asked.

“It’s six-thirty-five, the scales just opened,” Nick said.

I scrambled out of bed immediately. There was a taste of food in my mouth, the

popcorn I had eaten overnight, which reminded me of why I definitely needed to get to

the scales as soon as possible. As quickly as I could I pulled on some sweats and slipped into the bathroom to brush my teeth without bothering to shower. I gathered everything

I’d need and stuffed it into my gym bag.

“Is it okay if I meet you guys over there?” I asked Coach.

“Sure, Ben,” he replied. “Look, about last night,” he said. “I don’t know what that

was about but whatever it was, you’ve got to put it out of your mind today.”

“Yeah, I already have, Coach,” I said. “Today’s too important, I’m all wrestling

today.” I would make a sincere attempt to hold myself to that pledge.

“Good. How’s your weight?” he asked.

“Bad, I think,” I replied truthfully. He didn’t know how sure I was that I was in

trouble. Even before I had guzzled a 24-ounce bottle of soda and devoured a bag of popcorn, I had been worried. After what I’d done overnight I knew I would be racing the clock to burn off the extra weight. “I’d better get over there.”

“Do you have your rubber suit?” he asked while gesturing toward my gym bag with

his thumb.

“Yeah,” I said. It was a momentous question. A rubber suit was a shirt and pants

made of rubbery plastic material designed for one thing: to trap the heat of a body

causing the wearer to sweat heavily. We had used them back in North Carolina to drop

weight quickly, even though we knew it was unhealthy to risk dehydration by dropping too much “water weight”. In New Jersey the suits were illegal. I had already planned on using the suit, which had been issued to me unofficially at the start of the season.

Although they were illegal, the wrestling manager seemed to have plenty of them in the back of the storage room.

When I got to the weigh-in room, in the bowels of Boardwalk Hall, there were a few other wrestlers already there. Apparently they had the same problem I had. After stepping on the scale they quickly dressed and left the room with worried but determined looks on their faces. The crinkling sound most of them made as they walked past me made me laugh to myself. Like I was soon to do they were resorting to the rubber suit

out of desperation.

When I stepped on the scale the news was even worse than I expected. I deliberately

averted my gaze but I knew I had a serious problem just by hearing the clank of the

balance bar. I was more than five pounds over the limit, and had about two hours and

forty-five minutes to do something about it. I didn’t put my uniform or singlet on,

knowing that anything I wore would soon be soaked with perspiration. Along with the rubber suit I donned a set of thick cotton sweats. Onto my head I pulled my East

Carolina knit ski cap to trap more body heat. The room was filled with lockers, all

empty. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to use one, but I didn’t care because I needed a

place to keep my things while I worked out. I threw my gym bag into a locker, snapped

my combination lock into place, and crinkled out of the room.

I figured that I would divide my time between running laps, jumping rope and running

the steps. After an hour, I was drenched with sweat but I fought the urge to rush back to

the scale. If I stepped on the scale and was still over the limit I would have to put my sopping, smelly sweats back on. From experience I knew to avoid that if at all possible.

It would be best if I was done with them after the next time I took them off.

Nick and Coach Miles came in at eight o’clock and saw me running laps. I cut back

across the mats to where they were standing, leaving a set of dusty footprints. “I take it

you were over?” Coach asked.

“Yeah,” I said. I didn’t see any point in lying about how far I was over. “Five

pounds. I’ve got to be close now.”

“We’re heading over to weigh in now,” Nick said.

“I’m not quite ready,” I said. “Just go ahead without me.”

Coach was still dumbfounded. “How did you manage to be five pounds over?” he

asked.

I didn’t answer. The discouraged look on my face said it all, and he didn’t press me.

With a half-hour to go I decided not to run any more steps. That was tiring me out too

much. I knew that by then I had to be close to making weight and could sweat the rest

off without working very hard. Just for good measure I planned to spend a few minutes in the bathroom before stepping on the scale, to purge any weight I could in there.

Twenty minutes later I resolved to run one more lap and then check my weight.

The weigh-in area was much more crowded than before. I squeezed through the

crowd of wrestlers, many of whom were cramming food into their mouths after having

made weight. It was hard to stay calm watching them eat, not knowing whether or not I

too would make it. From my gym bag in the locker I pulled out my wallet, which

contained the ID and paperwork I would need to weigh in. Then I did what most other

wrestlers did. I got in line and removed clothing as I got closer to the scale. I was

completely naked by the time it was my turn. I tossed my clothes to the side where they

landed in a wet, steaming heap, and handed my paperwork to the official. He read the

papers and set the scale accordingly. As gingerly as possible I stepped on, as if I didn’t

want the scale to know I was there. The metal bar lurched from its resting position. In

that split second I knew that I may not be over the limit, but I was definitely not under the

limit either.

The second or two seemed to be passing in slow motion. I saw the bar slow its ascent

as it approached the upper restraint. If it hit the upper restraint, either silently or with a

resounding clank, that meant that I weighed too much. When it finally stopped, it appeared from my angle that it had indeed made contact with the restraint, and I was overcome with gloom. It could have been a mere fraction of a pound that I exceeded the limit by, and I could burn that off in a few minutes, but I felt a wave of hysteria rising in my gut as I watched. I really needed to be done with this.

The official bent towards the scale, squinted, and said “You’re okay.” As he scrawled his approval on my paperwork and passed it over to the official at the table, I’d never felt so relieved and thankful. He had been somewhat charitable towards me. I

wished I had thought to bring something to eat but there hadn’t been time. I returned to

my locker and put my uniform on. This was it. It hadn’t been easy but I’d made the

weight.

“I’m worried, Ben,” Coach said to me when I caught up with him and Nick.

“About me?” I asked.

“Yeah, you. I know you didn’t sleep much last night,” he said. So he had heard me

leaving the room after all. “Now, you had to work those pounds off. How did your

weight get so bad? You’ve never done that before.”

“I ate some popcorn last night when I went out,” I said.

“Five pounds of it? Well anyway, are you alright?” he asked. “You must be tired.”

“Both,” I said. “I’m alright but I’m also tired.”

“Look, you’ve got probably three hours before your match,” he said. “Do you think you could sleep?”

“No, I’m way too nervous,” I told him.

“Why don’t you go back to the room?” he suggested. “It’s a two minute walk. If

you’re not back in two hours I’ll assume you fell asleep and I’ll come get you. That way

we’ll be back in time for Nick’s match.”

I wasn’t sure if it was an order or not, so I went along with his suggestion. I could

hardly walk up the steps from the arena floor because I felt so worn out. It was going to

be a real challenge to be ready to wrestle in three hours, especially against somebody as

tough as Nate Scheinhorn. Even though it was my own responsibility to make weight, I

blamed Judy for putting me at such a disadvantage. If she hadn’t upset me I would have slept more and eaten less. Then I’d be less tired, and if I exceeded the weight limit at all it would have been a matter of minutes to drop the weight instead of hours.

As I walked along the concourse level I heard a familiar voice call my name quietly.

It was Judy, of course, and it looked as though she had been waiting for me. I realized that she was in our meeting spot from the night before. I couldn’t remember if we had agreed to meet there again, but there she was.

“Hi Judy,” I said quietly.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Look, Judy,” I said, ignoring her question for the moment. “I’m sorry for being so nasty last night. I don’t know what else to say, but you didn’t deserve to see me like that.”

“It’s okay, Ben,” she said. She put her arm loosely around my waist and leaned her head against my chest the way she often did. It felt wonderful and horrible at the same time.

“I take it Craig’s not around?” I said. It was a cheap shot and I regretted it immediately.

“Were you overweight this morning?” she asked, ignoring my question. “I saw you running.”

“Yeah, about five pounds,” I answered. “You were here?”

“I called your room early,” she explained. “Nick told me you were here. Can you really lose five pounds that fast?”

I smiled sheepishly. “It’s pretty sick, but yes. I did it. The worst part is that I’m beat now.” “Where’s Craig?” I asked, changing the subject. I nearly said ‘your boyfriend’, to be

spiteful, instead of ‘Craig’.

“At his hotel, I guess. He’s a late sleeper,” she said. It was an awkward subject, of

course, and neither of us knew what to say next.

“Ben, why did you say you wouldn’t be here next year?” she asked suddenly. “It’s all

I’ve thought about since last night.”

“I may end up going back to North Carolina,” I said flatly. It was true, ironically, just

not under any circumstances she was aware of.

“You just can’t go, Ben,” she half-whispered.

It should have made me feel good. By then, though, I had grown so tired of all of this

and it made me angry. Just like always, she was sweet as could be as long as nobody

was around. “Judy, every time I try to reach out to you I get beat up. I’m tired of

putting myself through it.”

She didn’t say anything. “What does ‘delusional’ mean, anyway?” I asked, trying to

make light of what Craig had said.

“You might go back to North Carolina?” she asked. I realized that she hadn’t heard a word I’d said.

“Look, I really need to get ready for my match, Judy,” I said.

That hurt her, that I was dismissing her. I knew by her dejected look

“Okay,” she said. “I understand.”

“Will you be there?” I asked.

“Do you want me to?” she asked.

“Very much,” I said. “It would make me feel good to think you’re out there.” “Of course I’ll be there,” she said, brightening somewhat. “I would have anyway,” she said impishly.

“Great,” I said, as my anger melted away. “I’m going back to my room to rest for an hour, coach’s orders,” I told her.

“Can we meet here after the match?” she asked.

“Even if I don’t win?” I joked.

“You’ll win,” she said with a smile. “But yes, either way.”

“It’s a date,” I said, and then I left the arena. I did return to our room in the hotel but I wasn’t able to sleep. Instead, I tried to prepare to wrestle. If Coach had turned up any scouting reports on Scheinhorn he hadn’t had a chance to share it with me. That meant I had no way to make any special preparations for this match. I’d just try to control the match as best I could and stay on the attack whenever possible. In other words, I’d do what I always did.

When I came back to the arena and made my way down to the floor, the 152-pound quarterfinals were under way. I found Nick on the warm-up mats. “Hey,” I said.

“Hey,” he answered, pausing briefly from his drilling. He was probably surprised that

I had interrupted his preparation.

“Wrestle smart, Nick,” I advised. “No body locks, right?”

He grimaced, recalling how he had been beaten in the region finals because of his failed body lock attempts. “I’m following your advice today. Keep it simple,” he said.

I had just been paid a serious compliment. Nick had won over 120 matches in his career and was the favorite to win the state championship. I was honored that he remembered my advice at all, let alone took it seriously. He was facing Chris Boyle of Chester. Boyle was tough and would almost surely end up as a place winner, but he

shouldn’t be able to beat Nick as long as Nick didn’t make any mental mistakes. That’s

why I took the chance of offending him with my comment. I wanted to make sure he

didn’t do anything reckless because this was his last chance.

When the 160-pound quarterfinals started I broke away from Nick to begin

preparations for my own match. I felt a little better than before. Adrenaline must have

washed away some of my fatigue. I did my usual stretching, keeping an eye on Nick and

Coach who were on the floor awaiting a mat assignment. When his match was called on deck I joined them. As expected, Nick won easily by a score of 8-2. I thought he could

have won by more but he was still pacing himself.

After congratulating Nick I withdrew to prepare for my match. Coach Miles told me

that Scheinhorn was good on his feet but that was all he had learned. It really wasn’t that

enlightening. Any unbeaten wrestler had to be good on his feet. I nodded anyway, as if the information was useful. “Be patient,” a perspiration-covered Nick said as I walked out onto the mat. I shook hands with my opponent and then the match began.

Scheinhorn attacked me from the start. I must have been tired because although I

didn’t surrender a takedown in the first minute, I was on the run. Then, after trying both

upper body and leg attacks, he attempted a fireman’s carry. He seemingly had pulled it

off. He controlled my arm and reached deep through my crotch, and quickly pulled me

across his shoulders. As he began to dump me onto the mat I somehow shifted my hips

and grabbed him around the waist. After I landed I popped off the mat immediately,

using the leverage I had from my tight-waist grip. Suddenly, being across his shoulders was to my advantage. I cross-faced hard and was able to slip behind him for a two-point takedown. I had been completely out-wrestled up to that point and hardly knew how I

had foiled the fireman’s carry attempt, but incredibly I had the lead. Scheinhorn had

executed a perfect fireman’s carry and must have been wondering how in the world he

got taken down.

My lead didn’t last long. I was unable to ride him and he escaped in seconds. Even

before we had broken contact he scooped up my leg and scored with a textbook single-

leg takedown. With the escape and takedown, I then trailed 3-2, and I started to worry.

There were still forty seconds left in the period and Scheinhorn was obviously not

planning to kill the clock. He pulled my arm between my own legs with one hand,

hooked the elbow of that arm with his other hand, and quickly tilted me long enough to

earn two back points. After I twisted away I saw his head on my left. Instinctively I

reached over and head-locked him. After the hold was in place I pulled him in front of

me. I thought I had him tight enough to put him on his back but I just couldn’t make it happen. I did manage to stay on top of him as he rolled so I did earn two points for a reversal just before the period ended. Somehow, although I felt I had been beaten badly by Scheinhorn, I only trailed by 5-4. I wondered if he was thinking the same thing. It had been one of the wildest periods of the season for me.

Coach Miles called the referee over to the scorer’s table after the period ended. In a matter of seconds Scheinhorn’s coach joined them. It sounded like Miles was questioning the award of both an escape and a takedown to Scheinhorn early in the period, rather than just a reversal. The same thing had crossed my mind but nobody expected the referee to change his call. It was unlike my coach to protest a referee’s call so formally. I suspected that he knew I was tired after what I had gone through earlier and was trying to buy me some rest time.

After about a minute the discussion ended and the referee returned to the center of the mat. I was given choice of starting positions, and I foolishly chose top. Coach Miles spread his arms with palms up in bewilderment over my choice when I looked over. He was right. I hadn’t been able ride Scheinhorn in the first period and yet I had put myself into position to be reversed again. It was nothing but a mental error. I was thinking bottom while signaling top.

I tried to use a spiral ride but he stood up and broke free after thirty seconds had passed. At that point I trailed 6-4. Remembering that he had scored with a single-leg takedown, he tried again and again for that. I was fading fast and wondered how he was still so strong and fresh. It was all I could do to back away from his leg attacks.

Suddenly he stepped in deep and grasped my legs in a tight double-leg hold, which resulted in another takedown. When the period ended I trailed 8-4. What was even worse was that I was completely worn out. I had no energy left. For the first time all year I wondered if I could even get through another period, much less make up a four- point deficit.

Scheinhorn had shown that I couldn’t ride him so I expected that he would choose the bottom position for the third period. Instead, he chose to start on his feet. Clearly he didn’t think he needed the point for escaping that would put us in the neutral position. If it was a psychological ploy to intimidate me, I thought, it had worked.

“Now you attack!” my corner yelled to me as the third period opened. I was so tired that I was hardly able to distinguish between the voices of Miles and Nick. “You’ve got to shoot Ben!” That time I knew it was Nick. I tried several half-hearted, powerless shots

that Scheinhorn fended off easily. With a minute left I knew I had no chance to win and

was only fighting to keep from being embarrassed. Scheinhorn went back to the

fireman’s carry, which must have been his go-to move. This time I was unable to stop

him although I did manage to stay off my back after he took me down. With thirty

seconds to go I trailed 10-4 and my opponent had shown that he could score at will. He

was taking me apart. I was hoping only to make it to the final buzzer.

At that point Scheinhorn slowed down markedly. Like Nick had just done, he was

apparently satisfied with the score and wanted to save his energy for the next match,

which would be the state semifinals. I was thankful. When the match ended I was so

tired that I could hardly walk back to the center of the mat. I shook hands with

Scheinhorn and stumbled back to my corner where Nick and Coach were waiting. “You

did alright,” Coach said. “Forget about this one.”

We walked over into a tunnel and I collapsed onto a rolled up mat. Nick remembered

my gym bag, which I had left on the mat, and he went back to retrieve it. I lay there on

the mat, wondering if I would ever cool down and breathe normally again. “Running that

weight off really took it out of you, I think,” Coach said, trying to console me.

He was right. I’d never been so fatigued all year. The truth was, though, that I didn’t think I could beat Scheinhorn under any conditions. He had demolished me in every facet of the sport, and the four points I did score were all a fluke.

“You’re dehydrated, I’ll bet,” he remarked. “Do you have any Gatorade?”

I shook my head. “We’ll pick some up,” he said. “It won’t be long before you go again, now that you’re

down in the consolation bracket,” he warned me. “You better get it together.”

That was the only way to handle an exhausted, discouraged wrestler. He could have

coddled me but instead he told me to keep pushing. We both knew that this grueling

tournament would be over soon and going all-out the only way to approach it without

having regrets later. It didn’t matter how badly I felt anymore. He slapped me on the

back and disappeared.

As soon as I was able to I picked myself up, put my warm-up jacket on and walked back out onto the floor. I headed over to the room in which up-to-date bracket sheets were posted. After studying them, and comparing them to the posted schedule, I realized that Coach Miles had been right. I didn’t have very much time before my next match.

While I had been losing in the quarterfinals, the losers from the pre-quarterfinal round had squared off in the first round of the consolation bracket. I would face a winner from that round at noon.

I remembered that I had agreed to meet Judy and so I dragged myself up the steps.

The burns on my face were burning and stinging. I touched the cut next to my left eye

and found a trace of blood on my fingertip. If Judy wasn’t at the meeting place I’d find a

bathroom and clean myself up.

She was there. “Oh Ben, are you okay?” she asked. She touched my face gently, as if

she could heal my wounds.

“Yeah,” I said. “I probably look worse than I feel,” I said. It was a lie. “This one’s

bleeding, isn’t it?” I asked, pointing to my left eye. “Yeah, a little,” she said. “Hold on, let me get something to clean it out.” She

disappeared quickly before I had a chance to answer. The burns weren’t a problem and I

didn’t think she could do much to help anyway. I liked the attention, though, especially

from her. She didn’t seem to be bothered by my sweat or blood. That had to mean

something, I thought with a laugh.

She came back with a wet soapy paper towel. “Yikes,” I said, still breathing hard.

“This is going to hurt isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” she said, looking up at me with a smile. “I have to take care of you, don’t

I?” This was the affectionate Judy, as opposed to her frostier alter ego that she assumed

when Craig was around. “You were tired out there weren’t you?” she asked as she

dabbed at my wounds.

“I could hardly move,” I answered. “I don’t think I could have beaten that guy

anyway,” I said. “He always knew what I was going to do. Typical senior.”

“That’ll be you next year,” she said. I had a feeling I knew where she was going. She

had set herself up perfectly. “Ben, why did you say you won’t be here next year?” she

asked again.

For a fraction of a second I considered telling her everything, right then and there. I

was so confused about who I was and what I was doing, that the truth seemed like the only way out. After I told her, I could walk out on this life and go back to my own, and

I’d take Judy with me if she wanted to come. Whatever that meant.

“I think I said I might not be here,” I said, correcting her.

She nodded solemnly as she finished mopping up my wounds. “You’re still sweating, I can’t really clean these out as well as I should,” she said. “Sorry, I know how disgusting it is,” I said apologetically. “You really don’t have to

do that.”

“I like taking care of you,” she said. “So why would you leave? Is it because of your

father? I know he isn’t here much anyway. I’ve never even met him, all the times I’ve

been over.”

I liked that she was mopping up my wounds, delicately patting them down before

applying the ointment that she knew by then to look for in my jacket pocket. There was

something primal going on and it felt good. “No, it’s not him,” I said truthfully. “It’s

you,” I said.

“Me?” she asked. She was putting on a good act, but she had to know. This was just

her way of drawing as much information from me as she could.

“Yeah. The way things are with us, I mean,” I said. “It makes it hard for me to be

here.”

She sighed, as if to signal that she was done feigning ignorance. “Ben,” she said.

“Can we go somewhere and talk? When’s your next match?”

“About three hours. Let’s go back next door, there’s lots of places we could hang out,” I suggested. “I’m going to put on my street clothes first. This singlet gets old

quick.”

She liked the idea. I thought I probably should have tracked down Coach Miles to tell

him where I was but it just didn’t fit into my plans, so I didn’t. I found a bathroom and

changed out of my singlet and warm-ups, and into the pair of jeans I had stuffed into my

gym bag at the last minute. Then we walked through the passageway out of Boardwalk Hall and into Trump Plaza. There was a lounge area near the hotel check-in counter, and

we found an empty couch near the back.

“So, you’re going back to North Carolina? After the school year?” Judy asked. At

least she had found a slightly different way to phrase the question.

I shrugged. “I didn’t say I was, I said I might,” I repeated.

“I know I don’t have a right to say this,” she said. “But I’ll be really sad if you go.”

She paused. “Now that I know you, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Look at it from my perspective,” I said. “It isn’t fun to always be the one who gets

embarrassed.”

About a minute went by before she spoke. Then she said something that must have

taken a lot of courage, if she really meant it. “I’ll do it,” she said. “If it’ll keep you here,

then I have no choice.”

“Judy, don’t make me feel like I’m giving you an ultimatum, because I’m not,” I protested. “You should do what you want.”

“That is what I want,” she said. “I’m just, well, afraid.”

“Of what?” I asked. I knew, but I thought it would do us both good for her to say it

out loud.

“Nobody wants me to do this,” she said. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, I guess.”

Usually she cried at times like this, but she didn’t. I thought I saw some resolve in her.

The wrestling day had hardly begun but I felt like it should have been over by then. At

eleven o’clock I decided it was time to get back over to Boardwalk Hall. Nick wouldn’t wrestle his semifinal match until three o’clock, but of course my match would be during the noon session. I felt like I should try to catch up with him and Coach. Judy walked back over to the arena with me. Halfway there she let me hold her hand.

When we got to the concourse level it was time for us to part. “You’ll stay for my match right?”

“Of course, silly,” she said.

“Can we meet afterwards?” I asked.

“Sure,” she agreed. “I’ll meet you the usual spot.”

I walked down the concrete steps and onto the arena floor. After changing back into my uniform I glanced around looking for Coach and Nick. They weren’t around so I headed up to the warm-up mats to do some stretching. The time for my next match was approaching fast and I was suddenly feeling a lot better about my chances.

Chapter 23 -- In Motion

I had worried that Coach Miles would be angry that I disappeared after my loss to

Scheinhorn but if he was, he didn’t say anything about it. When I finally caught up with

him all he wanted to talk about was my next opponent, Tim Austin of Red Bank

Regional. Austin hadn’t lost all season until the night before when he had been beaten by top-seeded Mark Kovacs. Then he had won his first consolation bracket match, earning him the right to face me. “You’ve got to win this one, Ben,” he said. “This one will make your season. If you win, you’ve clinched top eight.”

Austin was a sophomore, I learned. At least this time I would be spared the agony of

ending somebody’s career if I won. Of course, it also meant that I would be wrestling

against a kid who was fifteen or sixteen years old. By then I had realized that I would

never get used to the shame of what I was doing.

As match time approached, I felt really good. Nick wasn’t around to warm up with

because he was holed up somewhere preparing for his semifinal match that would be held

later that night. I just concentrated on staying loose. Coach said that he had heard that

Austin was lousy on his feet. I had mixed feelings when he suggested that I cut him

loose whenever I got into danger, and go for takedowns. “You’re better from neutral

position than you realize,” he had told me. “You’re one of the quickest thinkers I’ve ever

had on his feet. I still don’t know how you got out of that fireman’s this morning,” he

said. I still felt tired but not the same kind of fatigue I felt earlier. I knew that I would have

no trouble sleeping when the time came, but I felt like I had plenty of energy for the

match and wouldn’t collapse the way I had against Scheinhorn. In view of the difficult

morning I’d had, I felt surprisingly strong. Even more important, I felt confident.

I stayed in the corner of the arena floor when my match was announced on-deck.

When there was only a minute remaining in the preceding match, I began my deliberate

walk over there, with my head down and my game face on. Coach Miles met me there.

After I checked in at the scorer’s table I trotted back over to my corner and stripped off

my warm-ups. As I pulled on my singlet and put my headgear on, Coach worked on

pumping me up. “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t pin this kid. He’s only a tenth-

grader, and he’s got to be shaken after what Kovacs did to him earlier. Put him away,”

he told me. “He’ll be scared.”

If Austin wasn’t good on his feet, I decided that I would try to convince him early that

I was. When the opening whistle blew I stepped right up into his space and tied up.

After a few lunges and reaches to make him think I was going for a headlock, I slipped

my right hand behind his neck. He was completely focused on defending upper body

attacks and had no clue as to what I was about to attempt. I freed my left hand, and

pushed his body to his right with my hand that was still behind his neck. He began

moving to his right. As he was shifting in that direction I grabbed his right ankle and blocked him from stepping back to maintain his balance. I continued to push him toward the blocked ankle until he fell backwards. Not only had my ankle pick succeeded, but I had taken him down all the way to his back. Before he had a chance to stabilize his position I moved up his body. I inserted the

reverse-half that I was becoming more and more fond of, and went chest to chest. I

under-hooked the far arm to restrict his ability to roll out of the pinning combination.

After the referee had counted off three back points Austin managed to turn back to his

stomach. I had built a 5-0 lead.

I heard Coach yelling for me to “cut him!” meaning that I should release Austin,

surrendering one point, and work for another two point takedown. I looked over and saw

that Nick was saying the same thing. It seemed premature and also risky, but I followed

their advice and released Austin. With forty-five seconds remaining in the period I led 5-

1. I had given up a point voluntarily and I was determined to make it up by scoring a

takedown.

This time I went back to what I liked best: leg attacks. I wasn’t having any success

when suddenly Austin attempted a double-leg shot. I sprawled, cross-faced hard, and

easily worked my way behind for another takedown, and two more points. I looked over

into my corner for advice. Nick pointed to the clock, which indicated that there were

twenty seconds left. “Stay there,” he yelled. That’s what I tried to do, but Austin had other ideas. He stood up hard and broke my tight waist grip, escaping for a point at the buzzer.

I had a 7-2 lead entering the second period. Austin had choice of positions and chose

bottom. Again, I was unable to ride him, and he escaped by standing up and breaking

free. All of a sudden he had stitched three escapes together and my lead was down to 7-

3. I didn’t panic, knowing that I had already taken him down twice. I showed him a

different look, moving side to side rather than directly at him as I had done before. I set him up by faking to his left, and then shot in for a single leg on his right side. I picked the leg up high, forcing him to hop backwards. We were on the edge of the mat and I knew he would try to hop out of bounds. I found a way to turn so that my back was to the boundary line, with his to the center, and then I simply ran at his free leg until he fell backwards. When I moved up from the leg the referee awarded another takedown to me.

After that takedown I led 9-3. I was willing to let him up again if I was in danger, but

I wanted to try to turn him for more back points while at the same time eating up some time. I came out to the side and managed to lock him up in a cradle, which was easy because he was still in a seated position. My hands weren’t locked close to his chin, though, the way I liked, and I wasn’t able to turn him to his back. He was slowly working his way out of my awkward cradle and I was feeling increasingly at risk of being reversed, so with fourteen seconds remaining I felt I had no choice but to release him. He had scored four points, all on escapes. The period ended with me in the lead, but only by

9-4. I was controlling the match but the outcome was far from being decided.

I didn’t have a strong feeling about what position to choose for the third period. I hadn’t been on bottom yet, and so it was risky to choose that because for all I knew,

Austin was good on top. I didn’t want to choose top because I hadn’t been able to ride him, and the only back-points I had scored had come directly off a takedown. By default then, I chose to start in neutral position. Only after I had made my decision did I look over at Coach, who had been signaling for me to choose neutral all along. Had he thought everything through the way I had, and come to the same conclusion?

As the third period unfolded, Austin wrestled with a surprising lack of urgency. He was trailing by five and the clock was ticking away. I didn’t sense that he was tiring, and looked increasingly like he would try for a jackpot takedown with back points to tie the

score after we got into the final minute. I didn’t want to allow him to be in a position to

try for that so I worked hard for another takedown. I took a few shots, sometimes taking

a leg momentarily, but he was adept at eluding those. He tried a few shots of his own but

he didn’t commit to them, and I decided he was just trying to set me up for something

else.

When there was one minute left he switched tactics, just as I had expected. Instead of

shooting he tried to tie up. My guess was that he would go for a headlock. We pummeled, as each of us tried to take the inside position with our arms. I didn’t like the tie up and managed to push him out of bounds for a new start. When he again tried for the tie up, I shot underneath his reach for a double-leg. I was in deep, and quickly picked him up and dumped him onto the mat for a takedown. There were only thirty seconds remaining and I held a safe 11-4 lead.

Again I had difficulty riding him and so I did the safe thing. With ten seconds left I

released him. By the time I had backed slowly into the center circle the match had ended.

It had been far more difficult than Coach Miles had told me it would be but I had clinched a top eight finish with an 11-5 victory. Nick and Coach slapped my back and

voiced their approval as I stumbled off the mat. “That was ugly,” I gasped.

“Nothing ugly about any win in the states, Ben,” Nick said. “You wrestled a smart match.”

“He’s only lost twice all year,” Coach reminded me.

“Yeah, ugly-shmugly,” Nick said. “Now it’s your turn,” I said to Nick. “One more win and you’re in the finals,” I said.

“This is why we came.” All three of us knew what I meant. Nick had entered high

school as a highly touted wrestler. Amazingly, this was the third time he’d reached the

state semifinals in his fourth high school season. He’d already been this far twice, and if

he again failed to get to the finals his season would be a bust. So would his career, as a

matter of fact. I wanted to remind him of this. The stakes were high for him.

“I’m ready,” he said confidently. His match was a couple of hours away, during the

three o’clock session. I told him I’d track him down when the semifinal round started,

just in case he wanted to roll around or needed me for anything else. Coach Miles seemed pleased at that. I don’t think Nick ever bonded with anybody on the team during the prior three years they way he had with me. As recently as January, even, he seemed to resent my growing influence and hadn’t taken kindly to advice from me. I got the impression from other guys on the team that Nick had always been somewhat arrogant and distant toward his teammates, and that may have backfired on him when he needed some camaraderie at times like this. Maybe, Coach may have been thinking, the support of a teammate could finally put him over the top.

I was excited about beating Austin and I was also excited about seeing Judy. I sat

down on some rolled up mats and mopped the sweat off my face with my tee shirt before

putting it on. I also put my warm-up pants on, and switched from wrestling shoes to

sneakers because they were more comfortable for walking around. Then I headed for our

meeting point. When I got there I was startled at who was there waiting for me.

Judy was there, of course. Also there was Karen, who I hadn’t seen since yesterday.

There was nothing surprising about that. To Karen’s right, however, were the three people I least wanted to see, especially at a time when I was feeling pretty good.

Immediately to Karen’s right was Craig. Next to him were Mr. and Mrs. Voorst. I

couldn’t imagine what had brought the Voorsts to Atlantic City. I would have thought

that Judy would have told me if they had been planning to be there. Somebody was up to

something but I didn’t know who. It could have been any of them.

I found it interesting that they all had cross looks on their faces except Karen. Even

more interesting was that Craig wasn’t standing anywhere near Judy. He usually became

very territorial when I was around. I wondered to myself if Judy had already begun to

make good on her pledge to break away from him.

As usual, it was Karen who broke the ice. “Good job, Ben,” she said cheerfully.

“You looked awesome!” Sometimes she was so sensitive to unspoken undercurrents.

Some unabashed kudos was just what I needed in front of this group and I appreciated that she recognized that and supplied them.

“Thanks,” I said. “It wasn’t pretty but I’ll take it.” Seeing Craig looking so

uncomfortable gave me a real boost. He was already on the defensive, and couldn’t think

of anything to say. This moment was mine and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Yeah,” agreed Mr. Voorst, out of a sense of obligation. “Congratulations,” he said.

“I just can’t get over how rough this sport is,” Mrs. Voorst said. No doubt she was

reacting to my face, which was dotted with mat burns and a trace of blood here and there.

“Every time I see you it looks like you just got beat up. What’s it like being all alone out

there in front of so many people?” she asked. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I sensed a

touch of admiration, rather than scorn. Was she warming up to me?

“I get a little nervous at first,” I admitted. “Then I forget about it.” Neither Judy nor Craig had said a word yet. I wondered what, if anything, had

happened between them.

“Say Ben, we’ll be having dinner over at the Trop later,” said Mr. Voorst. “Can you

join us?”

I immediately suspected that Mr. Voorst and Craig were trying to trap me again. I

was doing well in the state tournament and Judy seemed to think a lot of me, so they

probably felt a need to take me down a few pegs. It didn’t matter anyway. There was no

way dinner could work for me that night.

“Thanks Mr. Voorst, I really appreciate the offer,” I said as politely as possible. “But

I still have to make weight in the morning.”

“He had to lose five pounds in two hours this morning,” Judy said, exaggerating only

slightly.

“Nothing to be proud of,” I said. “I mismanaged my weight and I paid for it.”

“Did you have to watch your weight so closely all season?” asked Mrs. Voorst.

Again, it seemed to me that she was showing a little more respect for what I was doing.

“Yes,” I nodded. “And it does take discipline, you’re right.” She hadn’t said anything about discipline but I wanted to take some credit anyway.

I knew Craig would have to chime in then, because things were going my way. I was right. “You’re going to miss dinner for this?” he said, derisively waving his hand toward the mats on the arena floor. “I don’t get it.”

No longer was I going to take any disrespect from this guy. “What are you going to

have accomplished by this time tomorrow Craig?” I asked him. He shrugged, but seemed surprised that I jabbed back. “Hey, whatever,” he said. “To

each his own.” This round goes to Ben Pietrak, I thought to myself. Oops, Petrovic, I

mean.

Since it didn’t look like I’d have any quality time with Judy I didn’t see any reason to

hang around. If Judy didn’t care, why should I? “Anyway,” I said, “my teammate has an

important match. I’d better get going.” I picked up my ever-present gym bag.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Judy said quickly. I didn’t know what door she meant,

since I merely had to walk back down the steps to the arena floor, but I certainly didn’t

have a problem with it. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll see all of you later,” I said casually to everybody else. Then we turned and walked away.

“You didn’t need to walk me, Judy,” I said. “Now they’ll all be waiting around for you.”

She took hold of my arm as we walked, which surprised me because we weren’t very

far from her friends and family. I was absolutely certain that they were watching and that they saw what Judy had done. I was becoming more certain that something was happening.

“I told him I wanted to talk later,” Judy whispered, as if we were still within earshot of

Craig.

“You did?” I asked.

“Yup,” she said. “It was hard.”

“What are you going to say?” I asked.

“I haven’t really decided what words to use,” she admitted. “I was hoping something

would come to me but it hasn’t yet.” “Judy,” I began.

“Yes,” she responded.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” I said.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

I thought for a second. “I’m not sure. I guess I mean that you should do what you

want to do.”

“Thanks,” she said sarcastically. “I thought for a second that you were giving me an

easy way out.”

There was going to be trouble if she went through with it. “I’m here for you Judy,

don’t forget,” I said. “Okay?”

“I’m glad,” she said. “That’s why I’m doing it.” By then we’d reached the bottom of

the steps. “I really can’t stand the idea of you going back to North Carolina,” she said.

“Will I see you later?” I asked.

“I have a feeling I’ll need that,” she said. “I’m not sure about our schedule. What

time will your match be?”

“That session starts at three o’clock, so probably some time around five,” I guessed.

“Okay. Even if you don’t see me, I’ll be there. I have your room number, I’ll call and leave a message about where I’ll be later, okay?” she asked.

“Okay,” I agreed. “But keep it G-rated, Coach and Nick will probably hear it,” I said

with a smirk.

“Ben!” she replied, in mock horror. “Tell Nick I said ‘good luck’,” she said as she

turned and left.

Chapter 24 -- Showdown

I showed my participant’s pass to gain access to the arena floor, and then tried to assess the schedule. There were still six mats running. Since everybody presumably wanted to watch as many semifinal matches as possible, only two mats were dedicated to that round. The remaining four were being used for consolation bracket matches. That meant that the consolation matches would go much quicker, and I would wrestle earlier than Nick would. The 112-pound semifinals were being wrestled when I reappeared.

Coach and Nick were nowhere to be seen. I imagined they were in a secluded place nearby preparing for Nick’s match. I could hardly blame my coach for not spending as much time with me as he had with Nick this weekend. I was constantly disappearing.

Mark Kovacs, my next opponent, was a senior from Grover’s Mill near Princeton. I

knew that town only as the site where Martians first landed on Earth in ‘War of the

Worlds’. Kovacs had been the top seed but had been upset in the quarterfinals by my

nemesis, Ken Brown.

I felt worse about the fact that he was a senior than anything else. If I managed to beat

him his high school career would end in disappointment. The only way I could alleviate

my guilt was by stressing to myself that Kovacs was in at least his second year on the

varsity. He’d been given a greater chance to shine than I’d ever had. As I had before, I

took comfort in the knowledge that he’d never know that he’d been cheated. It seemed

that I was coming back to that more and more to deal with my guilt. We headed over to mat 4 when I was announced on deck. On the other side of the mat

I saw my opponent, who was stocky and very short. From a distance he didn’t look big

enough to be a 171-pounder at all. “Work up high,” Nick suggested after seeing my

opponent, who cut a short and stock figure. “He’s probably tough to shoot on.”

“Ken Brown beat him easily,” Coach said. “8-0.”

It was hard to believe that a number one seed had been beaten so badly. He was

telling me that because only a week earlier I had beaten Brown in the region finals. That

was no guarantee that I could beat Kovacs but it certainly gave me hope. It wasn’t

unreasonable to think that I could win.

I nodded as we waited for my match. When the current match on mat 4 ended, I

removed my warm-ups, snapped my headgear on, and reported to the scorer’s table.

Seconds later I was at the center of the mat and the match began.

Kovacs was very strong. That was immediately apparent. Following Nick’s advice, I reached to tie up. If I could work an upper body move I thought I could get his feet off the mat, greatly diminishing his ability to resist.

He sprang into action while I tried to tie up. Apparently he had been timing my

lunges. Suddenly he under hooked both my arms and pushed himself backwards and

down toward the mat, using my own momentum against me. As he landed on the mat he

hooked my legs with his, and tried to kick my entire body over his head. He was trying

an exciting takedown that I seen only once before. I’m sure it had other names but I

knew it as a ‘huckleberry’.

For a fraction of a second it seemed to me that I would indeed be catapulted over my

opponent’s body, which was the intent of the move. If that happened I would likely end up on my back, although it would take quick follow-up by Kovacs to keep me there. I

forced my body to go limp in an attempt to slow my own momentum. Just before my

body reached the point of no return, all motion stopped. Suddenly I was in a strong

position because Kovacs was on his own back. I immediately moved to the side and sank

a reverse half nelson before he was able to scramble out of danger. I was awarded two

points for a takedown and then three back points. Kovacs’ gamble had failed and as a

result I had a 5-0 lead. I couldn’t imagine why he would try such a risky move in such an

important match. Maybe that was the way he always wrestled but it was almost as

though he did it on a dare.

The period ended with no further scoring. Kovacs chose the bottom position for the

second period. As I crouched down to assume the top position I realized how tired I was.

It had been a long day for me. I couldn’t imagine riding Kovacs for long, let alone

turning him to his back. I decided that I would cut him as soon as he came close to

reversing me.

After thirty seconds I let him go and began backpedaling to the center of the mat.

Kovacs tried the element of surprise again. As I moved backwards, he shot towards me,

seemingly skimming along the surface of the mat. He grasped my right ankle and stood

up with it. As a result of his clever quick-shot I was in serious danger. I didn’t think he

could lift the leg high enough to topple me, and that isn’t what he tried. Instead, he

simple ran at my other leg until I was unable to support myself. As we went down he

covered and was awarded a two-point takedown. The period ended after that with no change. I was clinging to a 5-3 lead. All my points had come not on my own initiative but as a result of his early gamble. I was getting the feeling that Kovacs was an unconventional wrestler who liked living on the edge and wasn’t worried at all about

giving up those points as a result of the risk he took. That made me worry.

I looked over to my corner hoping they could somehow calm my nerves. Coach was

signaling for me to choose the bottom position to start the period. I had forgotten that the

choice was mine. I quickly told the referee of my choice and then took my position.

When the period began Kovacs immediately began working on my head. He maintained

a tight grip around my waist with his right hand but came out to the side and cross-faced

me with his left forearm. I knew what was happening. He had sensed that I was

panicking and was trying to beat on me to try to break me. I heard Coach Miles

protesting the repeated cross-faces but of course it made no difference. Kovacs was

hurting me but he wasn’t breaking any rules. I had thought that my nose and face injuries

were completely healed but after Kovacs worked on me the same pain was back. If I had

a free hand I would have checked my nose for blood.

I reached out and took his forward leg. If nothing else, I figured, maybe I could force

a stalemate. Unfortunately, things didn’t turn out that way. When I reached for the leg

Kovacs saw an opening. He grabbed my arm at the elbow, took my head and wrenched me onto my back in a headlock. After the referee had counted off points for my opponent

I did the math and knew I trailed 6-5.

I tried not to panic. Ironically, the headlock I found myself in helped me to settle me

down. Both my ears were blocked by the body and arm of my opponent, and everything

became deathly quiet. I could hear my own heart beating and I could hear the air rushing in and out of my lungs. Somehow that was soothing. I had given up back points but the headlock wasn’t very tight. There was never any danger of my being pinned. I could feel that Kovacs was too far up towards my head because he had gone all-out for the pin, and that created some room. I grabbed him around his waist and slowly pulled myself behind him. That put Kovacs in an equally desperate situation. He was still maintaining control, but barely. If I could pop my head out I would be awarded two points for a reversal. Not being able to hear was a real disadvantage. There couldn’t be much time left in the match. I was sure that my coach was calling out the time for my benefit, but I couldn’t hear a thing. I tried momentarily to look around for the scoreboard to check the clock but I couldn’t find it.

I tugged and tugged but couldn’t get my head out. Fighting panic, I thought of something else I could try. Kovacs was in a sitting position. I released the tight-waist grip and moved my hands quickly under his armpits. Then I thrust my body backwards, feet first, pulling him towards his back. It didn’t matter that I was unable to expose his back enough for points. The purpose of my move was to force him to release my head to stave off my surprise attack. Once I took my head back I didn’t even try to score back points. Instead I re-applied the tight-waist grip and was awarded a two-point reversal, giving me a 7-6 lead.

It was only then that I got my first look at the scoreboard and I realized how close I had come to being beaten. There were only eight seconds left. I grabbed his ankle and held on tight. When the final buzzer went off I let go and rolled onto my back. I was exhausted and knew I had been out-wrestled. I was lucky to have won.

Even before I struggled to my feet I felt that familiar sense of dread, knowing that

Kovacs was finished. He would never again wrestle a high school match. This even though he had out-wrestled an opponent that, unbeknownst to him, was a couple of years his elder. When he woke up this morning he was in the state quarterfinals, just as I was.

Just a few hours and two defeats later, it was time for him to go home.

Nick and Coach acted as though I had wrestled well but I didn’t feel very good about anything. I pushed past them, grabbed my stuff and disappeared. After a few minutes of sulking in the hallway, I walked up to where Judy and I usually met. She wasn’t there. I was exhausted and sore, and still breathing as hard as ever. My face was raw and burning after spending so much time in the clutches of a headlock. I could feel several new scrapes along my neck and jaw, probably from my struggle to pull my head out. Red- faced and shirtless, I slid down the concourse wall into a seated position. Most of the people who passed by carrying sodas and hotdogs looked at me, but kept a respectful distance. About fifteen minutes went by and still Judy didn’t appear. I gave up and headed back down to the floor to rejoin Coach and Nick. It couldn’t be too much longer before Nick’s semifinal match.

Before looking for them, I headed for the weigh-in room. I checked my weight and was pleased that I was less than a pound over the limit. It was no surprise that I was already so close because I’d hardly eaten anything all day. While I waited for Nick’s match I intended to burn off some calories, so that making weight would be less of a problem in the morning. After re-packing my bag I returned to the arena floor. I looked for my coach and teammate, but first I worked up a good sweat jumping rope in the corner while watching the other semifinal matches. After I felt like I’d jumped enough I found Nick in the first place I looked, jumping up and down next to the rolled up wrestling mats in the tunnel we had adopted as home base. “Hey Nick,” I said. He nodded at me, but didn’t say anything. I understood perfectly.

Right then, he was all about his match. To distract him before he invited it would violate

an unwritten code. I pulled my rope out and did a few hundred more jumps to keep my

sweat going.

When the 145-pound semifinals started Nick asked me to come over to the warm-up

mats with him to roll around. He seemed sharp as he practiced single and double-leg

attacks on me. After that he tied up and worked through a front-headlock series that I

really didn’t know anything about except that it didn’t feel real comfortable as he was

doing it to me. When he paused to stretch his hamstrings I felt like it was safe to talk.

“Do you know much about this guy?” I asked simply. He was facing Bill Grimm from

Yardville High School. Grimm was being hyped at the time as being Mercer’s best chance in the near future for Mercer County’s first state champion. Mercer, which included the state capital, Trenton, was the only county in New Jersey that had never had a champion.

“He beat me one-to-nothing over the summer,” Nick said. “It was at camp at Blair,”

he explained. “I came close to taking him down a few times but couldn’t finish,” he said.

“Your shots look sharp,” I said encouragingly.

“Thanks,” he said. “That’s what I had trouble with against him over the summer, but

I’ll try again.”

By then Coach had spotted us and had wandered over. “How’s he feeling?” he asked me when Nick moved away to practice his shots alone.

“Seems a little nervous,” I said. “He says this kid beat him last summer,” I added.

“Yeah, he mentioned that to me too,” Coach said. “He’s been this far twice before, right Coach?” I asked.

“Yeah, when he was a freshman and again last year,” Coach told me.

“We’ve got to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Being turned back in the semis, I

mean,” I said.

“Tell him,” Coach said. “If he’s moping about facing this kid he probably needs a

kick in the butt like that. We’ll regret not pushing him if he loses.”

That was exactly what I was thinking but there was a fine line between motivating him

and annoying him by reminding him of past failures. He did seem a bit down and I

thought it was worth a shot. I ambled over and sat down next to where he was again

stretching his leg muscles. “You’ve already been this far before, don’t let this kid end it

for you,” I told him. I was apprehensive about how receptive he would be, but I

continued. “If you don’t win this one, you might as well have stayed home.” That was a

risky thing to say but I thought he needed it.

“I hear you,” he said. “I’m going for it. If I have to I’ll just go nuts, he’ll never be

able to ride me.”

“Good man,” I said. “Shoot like you did on me just now and there’s no way you won’t score. Don’t stop moving out there, okay? Because this is your last chance. None of that risky stuff, alright?” It was enough, and I knew to move away. It seemed like I may have gotten a little too personal. Then again, I didn’t tell him anything he didn’t know. If he failed again the last thing he’d care about was what I had said to him in the tunnel before the match. “Good work, Ben,” Coach said approvingly after we were out of earshot of Nick.

Apparently he’d heard every word. “You’re the kind of teammate he never had. I think

you’re the difference for him this year.”

“It’s his own fault. He doesn’t give anybody a chance to be his teammate. But I hope

I didn’t go too far just now,” I said.

“You did it just right,” he said reassuringly. “That’s the kind of thing he needs to hear, and better from a teammate than from a coach. How’s your weight?” he asked, remembering what I had gone through this morning.

“Less than one over, before this,” I said, holding my jump rope up. “I plan to be on

weight before I leave tonight. Then I can probably eat something.”

He nodded silently. I stayed nearby just in case Nick needed me but I backed out of

the way of the other wrestlers and resumed jumping rope. I wasn’t dropping much except

for water weight, but the next day was my last weigh-in and I really didn’t care how I

made weight as long as I made it.

“Say Coach,” I asked a few minutes later. “What do they call that takedown Kovacs

tried on me?”

He smiled. “I was about to ask you,” he said. “We used to teach something like that,

and we called it a ‘cobra’. It was a little different. He had under-hooks on both arms,

right?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure he did,” I answered. “I used to call that a ‘huckleberry’ where

I come from.”

“Hmm, that makes sense,” he said. “The ‘cobra’ was what we used to do, but I don’t

think we used the under-hooks.” “Who names these moves anyway?” I asked, smiling. It was a nice break from the

tension.

When the time came I followed Coach and Nick into our corner on the mat. It turned

out that whatever we had said to him had worked. He was motivated and prepared. In the first period he scored twice on single-leg takedowns and led 4-1. He worked relentlessly in the second period until he escaped for a point. In the third period they traded reversals. When the match ended in a 7-3 victory for Nick, there was no containing his excitement. He popped up and ran a victory lap around the edge of the mat before reporting back to the center. With a record of 31-1, he had finally made it to the state finals. I wondered silently how he could top that celebration if he won again the next day in the finals. At any rate, Mercer County would have to wait at least another year for a champion.

The three of us had a group hug before we turned over the mat corner to the new

occupants. Nick pulled on some heavy sweats and joined me in trying to burn off some

weight while he still had a good sweat going from his match. “You kicked butt Nick,” I

told him. “Do it again tomorrow, right?”

“I feel pretty good about it,” he said. “This was the one I was worried about.”

“We could tell,” coach Miles said.

When the heavyweights started we headed to the scales. The news was good for both of us. I was about a quarter-pound over, and he was a half-pound under. All we had to do is control our eating that night, and weigh-ins would be a breeze the next morning. It had been a good day for us in Boardwalk Hall, despite my weight trouble in the morning.

The three of us walked back to the hotel in silence. Suddenly we were all pretty tired. Nick collapsed into a chair as soon as we entered the room. I decided I really needed a shower. I had been sweating all day and my mat burns needed to be washed out. I stayed in the shower for twenty-five minutes until I was sure I was clean. My burns were stinging from the soap, but it was a good clean sting.

The phone was ringing as I emerged from the steamy bathroom wrapped in a towel.

Nick picked it up. I knew who it was even before he handed the receiver to me.

“Hello?” I said.

“Ben? It’s me, Judy. I’m in the lobby, can you come down?” she asked.

“Yeah, sure,” I said. “Where are you?”

“The same place we were this afternoon,” she said.

I hung up and told Coach that I was going to meet Judy in the lobby for a little while.

He didn’t look pleased but nodded his consent. He was probably put off by my independent behavior this weekend. I pretty much came and went as I pleased between matches, unlike Nick, who seemed to be in lockstep with Coach. As I quickly put on jeans and a sweatshirt I realized that I probably should have tried to act more like a high

school kid.

I had some trouble finding Judy. She wasn’t on the couch where we had talked

earlier, as she had said. I rode an escalator to a lower level where several huge gaudy

chandeliers hung. Then I saw her sitting in a small lounge area beneath one of the

chandeliers. She hadn’t sounded upset on the phone but as soon as I saw her I knew that

it had been an act. Her eyes were red, her nose was running and her face was tear-

streaked. As soon as she saw me she began crying again. “I was here when you guys

passed by earlier,” she said, “but I didn’t want anybody to see me. Did Nick win?” “Yeah, he won,” I said quickly as I sat down next to her and pulled her into me.

“What happened, Judy?” I asked.

“I told him,” she sobbed. “I told him that I wanted to stop seeing him.”

She had done it. I wasn’t sure that she could do it but she did. “How did he take it?”

“You mean after he realized I was serious? That jerk, he laughed at me at first.” She said angrily. “He got mad when he saw I wasn’t kidding around.”

“What did he do?” I asked.

“He got loud,” she said. “He asked if this was about you, and I told him it was. Then my dad figured out what was going on, and he started in on me,” she said.

“Craig hardly said a word after that,” she continued. “He didn’t have to. Dad just went on and on, yelling right at me in front of everybody! It was so embarrassing and I got so mad that I got up and left.”

“Was this at dinner?” I asked, wondering how it had been so public.

“Yeah,” she said. “We ended up eating at the Tropicana. This all happened like an hour ago, maybe a little more. However long it took me to walk up the boardwalk.”

“Are you officially my girlfriend now?” I said, trying to lighten things up. I felt her head nodding as she burrowed her face into my neck.

After a minute I looked up and saw what I already knew was coming. It was a little sooner than I expected. Wandering through the lobby was Craig with Mr. and Mrs.

Voorst. They must have remembered that I was staying at Trump Plaza and guessed that

Judy would go there. We had made it easy by sitting in the lobby near the boardwalk entrance. I didn’t care. If there was going to be a confrontation, a showdown, that was as good a place and time as any. So they knew I wasn’t afraid I waved until they saw me. I let them get close enough to see Judy with her face buried into me before I alerted her.

“Here they come,” I told her. I felt her body stiffen immediately.

When they reached where we were sitting none of them even bothered to acknowledge my presence, which made me angry. Craig reached over and patted Judy on the shoulder.

“Judy?” he said.

“Leave her alone!” I said firmly. “She’s had enough for now, leave her alone!”

“This isn’t any of your business,” Craig said to me, folding his arms.

“Like hell it isn’t,” I said. By then Judy had untangled herself from me and sat up.

Craig was right up against the couch and wasn’t giving me much room to stand up. As a little guy he must have learned that confrontations like these worked best when he was standing and his foe was sitting. Unfortunately for him, he forgot that he was dealing with a wrestler. I leaned forward to stand and deftly slid to my right where there was more room, stepping over his feet gracefully as I did it. For good measure, I purposely bumped Craig lightly as I came to my feet. I turned to face him, and then we were literally toe-to-toe. I looked down at his face and told him that “It’s my business now, and I told you to leave her alone.”

I knew from experience that a guy like Craig wanted no part of me and that this wasn’t going to spiral into a fistfight. Mr. Voorst, who probably knew it as well, nevertheless went through the motions of pretending to break up a fight. It would make Craig look braver than he actually was. “Back off, both of you,” he commanded. I didn’t move but

I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t like Mr. Voorst much but my beef was with Craig. I really wanted to avoid a fight with Judy’s father at the same time even though he was making that difficult. “Ben, this may be how you resolve disputes in your sports world,

but we’re not going to do that here,” he said.

“I won’t stand for anybody bullying Judy anymore,” I said. "Not by anybody.” What

I didn’t quite say was that he was at least as guilty as Craig was of that. I wondered if he knew what I meant. I glared at him, and then at Craig before looking past them at one of

the flashy chandeliers. A staring contest wasn’t something I wanted to get into with

them.

Craig, who probably got tired of my towering over him, moved away and sat by Judy

on the couch in the spot that I had been sitting in. I considered that to be a retreat. “Judy,

what’s this all about?” he said. “We’ve talked about this before.” That was news to me.

I turned to watch. Would Judy stand her ground?

“I already told you,” Judy said. “I don’t want to see you anymore.”

“And you’re hitching your wagon to this meathead?” he asked in exasperation. The

remark was partially designed to goad me into a childish response. I resisted the

temptation and said nothing.

“Judy, you’re infatuated with him now,” he said. “In a few weeks he’s yesterday’s

news. Guys like him just fade away after their done with their sports,” he told her.

I was really getting angry. He was talking about me as if I wasn’t there, and the things

he was saying were getting to be too insulting to let pass. “Guys like what, Craig?

You’ve got it all figured out? Let’s hear it.”

“Please,” he said, as if that was enough to shut me up.

“No, I insist,” I said. “You don’t even know what you’ll be doing six months after you finish high school,” he declared derisively. “But I do. I know how guys like you end up. We talked about this last week, don’t you remember? Judy needs somebody better than that.”

This was something I had expected to face again after last Sunday’s disaster at the

Voorst brunch. This time I was prepared. “I know exactly where I want to be,” I retorted. “I just didn’t share it with you because I thought it might be over your head.”

My delivery was just right, mostly because it was heavily rehearsed.

“Oh,” he said patronizingly. “That I find hard to believe. Why don’t you give me a chance? Does it involve a ball or a bat?” he asked derisively.

“Yes Ben, do share with us,” said Mr. Voorst.

“Sure,” I said. “Craig, let me know if you need me to slow down or repeat anything,”

I said. I had really gone on the offensive. If he were going to try to ridicule me I would do the same to him. “I’ll be studying AI with Dr. Richard Mooney in Chapel Hill. Do you know what ‘AI’ is, Craig?” I asked, in a tone dripping with the same sarcasm and contempt that he often used on me.

“Artificial Intelligence, isn’t it?” he asked. His tone was momentarily civil. I had ambushed him and he hadn’t recovered yet.

“Very good,” I said.

“When did you come up with that?” he said with a smirk, after regaining his composure. “Who taught you to say that?”

The funny part was that he was right that I had made it all up. Only Dr. Mooney, who really was a well-known figure in the world of artificial intelligence, was real. I remembered him from a presentation he’d given at my high school and concocted the story based on that. Since the entire life that I was living was already a lie I had no reservations at all about adding more deception to it, especially knowing that it might shut Craig up.

“Ben, that’s interesting,” commented Mrs. Voorst, who hadn’t yet said a word. “I

wouldn’t have expected that from you.” She probably thought she was complimenting

me. “Is that North Carolina University?”

“The University of North Carolina, to be exact,” I answered. “That’s where I’m from.”

“You’re full of crap!” Craig said hotly. He seemed about to careen out of control. All

this time he had believed his own propaganda about what an empty head I was, and his

supposition had been abruptly was dashed. It looked to me like he was heading for a

meltdown.

“Which part of what I said is ‘crap’, as you so cleverly described it?” I asked.

“All of it, dirt bag!” he said, as he crumbled before our eyes. “Why didn’t you tell us

about this last week?” he demanded.

It was a legitimate question and he probably knew I was lying. It didn’t matter

though. I was winning and I was also very angry. He was being verbally battered and I

couldn’t stop. I had anticipated the question and everything else he had said, anyway, so it was easy to respond. “Because I didn’t care what you thought,” I said. Then I turned to Mr. Voorst. “And I still don’t. You can hold to your silly beliefs all you want. I couldn’t care less what you think of me. You don’t know squat except about people who are just like you. Why should I care what you think?"

“Judy, what about all the plans we’ve talked about?” Craig said, turning back to Judy.

It was getting pathetic. “We never made plans, Craig,” she said. “You did. It was always all about you.

You’ve never cared about what I want or what I’m interested in. How many times have

you ever asked me about what’s going on in my life? Have you ever bothered to come

see me act?”

Boy, was I glad at that particular moment that I had attended that play last week! I

was also very proud of Judy at that moment. She had found her tongue and wasn’t

holding back anything.

“High school is so childlike,” he said. “I thought I would uplift you from that,” Craig

said awkwardly.

“I’m in high school!” she said, raising her voice for the first time. In fact, I guessed that it was probably the first time she had raised her voice in her life when she wasn’t on a stage.

“Judy,” Mr. Voorst said. “Take a deep breath. You and Craig have been through a

lot together,” he said, looking toward his wife in a plea for support. I noticed with relief that none came.

“Why are you so sure about everything?” Judy demanded of her father. “Just because you didn’t get along with guys like Ben when you were in high school?”

It was a very insightful thing to say to her father. I believed that she was exactly right

about the roots of her father’s beliefs. His expression didn’t change but she had managed

to silence him.

“I think everybody needs to cool down,” said Mrs. Voorst. It was starting to look like

she was my ally here.

“I agree,” I volunteered. “We’ll have to sort this out later,” Craig said.

“It’s already sorted,” I said.

“Let’s go gamble,” Mrs. Voorst said to her husband firmly. It didn’t look like she would take ‘no’ for an answer.

Mr. Voorst sighed. “Alright,” he agreed. “Judy, what are you going to do?” he asked.

“I’m staying here with Ben,” she said.

Before her parents had a chance to get alarmed by that I spoke up to diffuse it. “Not

for long. I need to rest up for tomorrow.”

There was nothing for Mr. Voorst to do but admit defeat and walk away. Call us

later,” Mrs. Voorst said to Judy. “Okay?”

“Sure Mom,” Judy said.

Craig had no idea what to do. He lingered a few steps behind the Voorsts, but suddenly whirled and stalked back to me. “I’ll deal with you later!” he fumed, pointing a

finger at me. It sounded silly, like something out of a comic book. I had really taken him

apart this time. The finger came very close to my chest, which I was not going to

tolerate. I warned him about going too far.

“Craig, I know you’ve lost control of yourself, but you don’t want to touch me,” I

said. “Trust me on this one.”

I could see the wheels turning in his head. If he jabbed me, something that I think he

was considering, and I made good on my threat, he had to know he was in for trouble.

Even a pompous jerk like him could see that I was ready to whip his ass.

“Get out of here, hothead,” I said calmly. “Be a man for once.” I’m not even sure what I meant by that. Luckily nobody asked me. “Like I said,” he snapped angrily as he withdrew the finger and began walking away.

“I will deal with you. Make no mistake about that.” He then stomped ahead to join the

Voorsts, who were watching Craig’s finger from across the lobby with horror. Mr.

Voorst stared over at me while Mrs. Voorst and Craig disappeared through a doorway. I

stared right back.

Then it was over. It was painful and ugly but not as bad as it could have been. It had

definitely not been as bad as I expected. As far as I was concerned Judy was as free of

Craig as she wanted to be. There would still be some irritating ties. Her parents still seemed oddly fond of Craig, and of course Mr. Voorst presumably still worked with or for Craig’s father. As long as Judy didn’t let them, those things wouldn’t be problems.

“I’m sorry I got so angry, Judy,” I said. “I’m a little embarrassed. You’re not mad are

you?”

“No Ben,” she said. She leaned into me and buried her face in my neck, and wrapped

her arms around me. I put my arms around her shoulders and held her. It had been a

very emotional fifteen minutes for all of us, and she was entitled to a good cry, I thought.

I started to feel self-conscious, because there were so many other people coming and

going. “Do you want to go outside?” I asked gently.

She nodded silently. I took her hand and we wound through the growing crowds until

we saw the glass doors that led out to the boardwalk. It was cold and windy out there,

but somehow it felt good to be hit in the face with a blast of salty air after what we’d just

been through. We walked the boardwalk for a few minutes, trying to settle down. When

we returned to the arena we took shelter in the colonnade across the boardwalk from the grand arena entrance. On a plaque I hadn’t noticed before was inscribed ‘Kennedy Plaza’. I realized as we walked between the columns that I’d seen this on TV many times.

“I’ve treated you so badly,” Judy said. “All along I knew you didn’t deserve what I

did to you, but I did it anyway,” she said.

“You were in a fix,” I said. “I always understood that.”

A few minutes passed before either of us spoke. “What will you do about your dad

and Craig?” I asked.

“I think I did the hard part,” she said. “Now I just need to stick to my guns.”

“Craig seems like he can be pretty stubborn,” I remarked. “Will he leave you alone?”

“I just don’t know,” she said.

“Where will you go tonight?” I asked.

“I still have my room on the mainland, remember?” she said. “Karen had to go home

this morning but we still have the room. I’ll just go there.”

“I wish you could stay here with me,” I said without thinking.

She smiled. “I wish I could too.”

“Can we go back inside?” I asked. “I’m getting cold.”

“Me too,” she said. I led her back through the foot traffic on the boardwalk and we re-

entered Trump Plaza. I hoped that we wouldn’t run into any of her family or friends

there.

“It’s after ten o’clock,” she said. “Don’t you need to get your rest?”

“Yeah, especially today,” I agreed. “It’s been a really long day. In lots of different ways.”

“Tell me about it,” she said, rolling her eyes. “What time do you wrestle tomorrow?” “In the nine and twelve o’clock sessions. Win or lose, I wrestle twice,” I explained.

“It’s just a matter of placing third, fourth, fifth or sixth now.”

“I’m so proud of you when you’re out there,” she said quietly.

“I’m glad, Judy.” I said. “Because most people don’t think very much of what I do,” I answered.

“I’ll be back in the morning, okay?” she said.

I pulled her closer and kissed her, this time on the lips. I was still flirting with felonious behavior but the other hurdle, her boyfriend, was gone. It was our most passionate kiss yet. I didn’t want it to end and it seemed that she didn’t either. When it finally did, though, she pulled away to leave.

“Judy, be careful driving, okay?” I said.

“You’re so sweet, Ben,” she said, touching me on the cheek. “Get some rest,” she said, and then she was gone.

Chapter 25 -- The Reason

After saying goodbye to Judy I went directly back to the hotel room. Coach was

asleep on top of the covers but Nick was laying awake on the couch-bed. The light

wasn’t even turned off. “Nick, you didn’t leave the light on for me did you? You should be sleeping.”

He laughed. “I’m not ready to sleep yet. Would you believe I’m not even nervous?”

he asked.

It was hard to believe, considering that he would be wrestling in the state finals in just

a few hours. “You sleep on the bed tonight, alright?” I said. “You have more important

business than I do tomorrow, and I had the bed last night anyway.”

“We could always roll him onto the couch,” Nick said, jabbing his thumb through the

air towards our sleeping leader. “Yeah, I would like the bed if you wouldn’t mind.” I

was struck by how unguarded he was around me. There had been a time when he

resented my arrival at Chapel Forge but our relationship had become strong. I couldn’t

know, but I felt like I had become his closest friend.

“Definitely,” I said. We talked for a few minutes, but he didn’t seem to want to think

about his match. I wasn’t concentrating much on mine either. Maybe we were just

burned out, or maybe we were both realizing at the same time that there was only so

much mental preparation you could do. I preferred to think about Judy and that’s all I did, especially after we turned out the

lights. Nothing had ever been so important to me in either of my lives. There were so

many problems associated with that, all of which she had no idea about, but even so she

was pretty much all I had on my mind that night.

When I woke up the next morning I didn’t have much confidence about winning any matches that day. I planned on giving my best effort, of course. However, I would be up against some of the best wrestlers I had ever faced. The first match would be against

Tracy Strothmann from Passaic River. I had watched Strothmann manhandle his first three opponents in the tournament. How he had ended up in the consolation bracket was a frightening thought that I didn’t want to pursue.

On that last morning of the season I didn’t feel the same drive or motivation that had

carried me through the long season. I seemed to have turned back into the tentative

wrestler I used to be, looking for reasons why I had no chance to beat somebody. Deep

down I found that I suddenly didn’t seem to care as much as I thought I had, and that may

have been part of it. It had something to do with Judy, I thought, but I wasn’t sure. By

that time I had acknowledged that there was something more important to me than my

redemption on the mat. If I had to choose between the girl and the victories I knew I

would choose the girl.

Was that the satisfaction I'd been searching for since I’d thrown that match away in

the regional tournament two years earlier? I’d always thought that whatever peace I

needed could only be found on the mat. Since then, especially during this season, I had

been determined to win in an effort to drive away the memories that haunted me. That

had been all I cared about but that burning feeling was gone. It wasn’t that I didn’t care at all how that day’s matches turned out. I wanted to win. I knew, though, that I would

finish no lower than sixth in the state and that seemed to be enough. I was upset with

myself because of this new complacency but I couldn’t deny that it was how I truly felt.

Then again, it was difficult to analyze my own thoughts as I lay there in bed on that

Sunday morning. Maybe I still had the same burning need to win that had pushed me all

season. How could I really tell? Just because there was something else important going

on didn’t mean that I couldn’t still be intense about wrestling. I would wrestle twice that

day and I knew I would wrestle as hard as I could.

Nick was still loose and cheerful when he woke up. That was surprising to me in light

of the pressure that was on him. It would be his last chance to finally live up to all the

acclaim. If he lost he would forever be remembered as an underachiever.

We were both awake early so we stole over to Boardwalk Hall for weigh-ins before

Coach Miles even woke up. Both of us made weight easily, which didn’t surprise us but

always came as a relief. When we returned to the hotel, Coach was in the shower. After

all three of us were ready there was still time to go out for a light breakfast.

The first session at Boardwalk Hall would begin at nine o'clock. Nick wouldn’t

wrestle until the finals session in the afternoon but I would wrestle in the first and second sessions. We walked over to the arena and I changed into my uniform for the last time.

Both before and after changing I slipped up the steps to the concourse location where

Judy and I had met so often over the past few days. She wasn’t there, either time. After I stretched and warmed up some with Nick I sneaked back up, but again she wasn’t there.

It was still pretty early and she had to drive over from the mainland. I had no right to expect her to be here as early as I was. I’d have to be satisfied with seeing her after my

first match.

“You go after him Ben!” was the last thing Coach Miles said to me before I walked

onto the mat to face Strothmann. After thirty seconds I knew that this was the best

wrestler I’d ever faced in this or any other season. He didn’t fall for any of my setups,

and before I had taken a shot he scored on a double-leg takedown. I struggled to break

free but couldn’t twist out of the tight-waist he had on me. When he began pushing down

on my head while coming out in front of me I knew what he was trying to do but I

couldn’t stop him. I felt my neck stretched painfully and then I was on my back. I had

avoided being pinned all season and I desperately fought to preserve that by keeping my

shoulder blades off the mat. After what seemed an eternity had passed the buzzer

sounded. I was exhausted and in pain, and I was behind 5-0.

For the second period I was given choice of starting position. Not knowing what I

wanted to do, I looked over at Coach Miles. He signaled for me to defer the choice. That

meant that Strothmann would have choice this period and I would make the decision for the third period.

Strothmann was on a mission. I knew that as soon as the whistle blew to start the

second period, when he immediately threw a leg in, hooking mine. Before I could begin

to work a counter he reached across my back, took my far arm, and pulled it behind his

head. He was attempting what I knew as a ‘can-opener’. My shoulder was already being

stretched, and it hurt, but unless I could stop him I knew that I would soon be experiencing pain that was much more excruciating. He kept the leg in position and levered my arm and back towards the mat. I grunted

helplessly as the pain ratcheted up. Seconds later as I grimaced and struggled, the referee began counting off back points. One of my shoulders was flat and the other was moving

closer and closer to the mat but all I could think about was the pain. That, of course, was

the key to that pinning combination. When the referee slapped the mat to end the match I

was hardly even aware of it. I lay there dazed as I watched Strothmann leap up and pump his fist through the air.

After over thirty matches since the season began I finally had one that I was ashamed

of. Not because I didn’t win, not even because I was pinned, but because I wasn’t sure if

I had tried hard enough or not. I had been intimidated even before the match began. That

was something that I had vowed not to let happen anymore. When Strothmann put me in

the can-opener and began to put the hurt on me I had to admit to myself that I had folded

quickly. Wasn’t that how I got into this mess in the first place, giving up in a match

when the going got tough? I had a disturbing revelation as I climbed to my feet after the

pin. The relief that the match was over outweighed the disappointment of losing. I had

lost my edge.

Coach Miles and Nick were very supportive. I knew what they were thinking even

though they didn’t say it, and they were right. Even on my best day I couldn’t beat a guy

like Strothmann. They didn’t really understand what I was worried about. It would take

a bit of soul-searching before I knew whether I had quit out there or not.

For the moment there was no time for that type of reflection. In that tournament no

special accommodations were made for the guys working through the consolation

bracket. Unlike Nick and the other finalists, who had plenty of time for rest and preparation, consolation matches were being stacked together on the schedule as quickly

as they could be wrestled. I would wrestle again within two hours and so would

Strothmann. He would face Ken Brown in a match that would decide who placed third

and who placed fourth. I would wrestle for fifth place.

I flexed my sore shoulder trying to loosen it up as we walked away from the mat.

“You can still take fifth, Ben, there’s no shame in that,” Coach Miles said. “You’ll be set

up for next year too,” he added.

“I want to walk around some,” I said. "I’ll be back down here in an hour, okay?” I

asked my coach. He had made me uncomfortable by talking about the next season.

What I really wanted to do was see Judy. I hadn’t seen her since the previous night. It

wasn’t that I was worried about her backing out on what she had done the night before. I just missed her and that was all. Until then I had been pretty sure that we’d agreed to meet at our usual spot without specifying a time but I couldn’t actually remember. I

walked up the concrete steps yet again and emerged on the concourse. She still wasn’t

there and neither was anybody else I knew.

I couldn’t understand what had happened. She had said she was returning to her room the night before but that she’d be back in the morning. I was sure of that. Could she

have changed her mind about me? Had her father and Craig gotten to her? I waited a

few minutes but then had no choice but to return to the arena floor for my last match. My

opponent would be Dan Cortez, who I had pinned on Friday night.

I was distracted as Coach Miles tried to prepare me. “This guy was pretty hot when

you pinned him, he’ll come out swinging,” he told me. “Make sure you’re ready for it.”

I nodded, but didn’t say anything. “Ben, are you okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, sure,” I said passively. “I’m ready.”

“Look, Ben,” he said. “I know you’re disappointed, but fifth or sixth in the state is a great season for you. And you’ll be back next year. Most of these guys are seniors.

They’ve been here before.“ Was he was trying to prepare me for another loss? Funny, only a few days earlier I would have been upset about that but this time I was finding that

I wasn’t very concerned. After two years of angst it somehow wasn’t very important to me anymore.

I played along with him. “I know, Coach,” I said. “I’m not down. I feel pretty good about it, I just hate losing.”

I went through the motions of being prepared and motivated, but I knew I looked tired and sluggish as the match was about to begin. Cortez had wrestled all the way back through the consolation bracket after the early loss, which was a pretty admirable accomplishment. He had probably had to win four matches yesterday and another this morning.

Cortez came after me even more ferociously than he had the first time we wrestled. I could tell that he wanted the headlock, probably because that was what I ended up using to pin him on Friday. I tried to avoid the tie-up, remembering that I had scored with a single or double-leg takedown in that match. He would not be denied, however. He threw the headlock immediately after we made contact. It felt loose and I was sure I could slip it and come behind for two points.

The strength I reached back for to resist the headlock just wasn’t there that morning. I struggled to get to my knees but somehow he was able to squeeze the headlock tighter and pulled me forward onto my back. For the second time in a space of three hours I was

in serious danger.

He swore at me under his breath as he settled in to his pinning combination, but that

was the least of my worries. There was more than a minute to go before the period would

end, and I had to find a way to get off my back. I fought as hard as I could but Cortez

was rabidly determined to avenge the results of our first meeting. When I knew my last

unpinned shoulder was about to make contact with the mat I rolled hard the other way.

He was expecting this, as I would have, and shifted his balance accordingly the same way

I would have. Despite my best efforts the referee called the pin with thirty-one seconds

remaining in the first period.

Cortez swore at me again after the pin was called, and then pointed somewhere in the

crowd. This time he was willing to shake my hand. I was upset with myself for getting

stuck by the headlock but in some ways it was actually a relief that I cared about this match enough to be upset about losing. I was alive.

“I’m sorry, Coach,” I said despondently. “I thought I could slip the headlock so I

didn’t fight it,” I explained between breaths. “I really sucked today,” I said, forgetting to

keep my language clean.

“Ben, you had a great season,” he said, putting his arm around me. “You’re like found money. You came out of nowhere and placed sixth in the state. Heck,” he laughed. “That makes me look good.”

“I hate that I lost to somebody I already beat,” I answered.

“Let’s face it,” he said. “You and Cortez are pretty even, even if I don’t care for the

guy. You were bound to split the matches.” I put my Chapel Forge Township warm-ups on as we talked. He reminded me to

leave them on even if I took the singlet off. The top eight place-winners in each weight

class would be brought up to stand on the championship podium to receive medals and

pose for pictures. That wouldn’t be for hours, of course, after the finals were held.

“I’m going to check up on Nick,” he said. “We can catch up later. Keep your head

up.”

“Okay, Coach,” I said. That was fine with me because I wanted to look for Judy

again. I bolted up the steps to our meeting place but again she wasn’t there.

I spent the next few hours sitting in the stands, alternately watching matches and

checking for Judy. By the time the finals started I knew she wasn’t going to be there so I

stopped looking. Nick and Coach probably expected me at mat side for Nick’s match but

with all my worrying about Judy, it slipped my mind until it was too late. When Nick

walked onto the mat for his match I snapped out of my daze in time to realize I had let

Nick down but not in time to do anything about it. All I could do at that point was watch

the match helplessly from a distance, just like the other 20,000 spectators in the building.

Nick was facing Blake Hughes. It was Hughes who had ended Nick’s dream last year

in the state semifinals before going on to win the state title himself. He was currently riding a streak of forty-eight consecutive victories. It was projected that Hughes, still only a junior, would break the state record for victories some time during the next season.

Coach had told me a little about that match. Both wrestlers were unbeaten and most

people were surprised that Hughes had won. Apparently Nick had tried a first-period

throw that Hughes had re-rolled into a five-point takedown. Despite a valiant comeback

Nick lost that match 7-5. It sounded like Nick had outwrestled Hughes but was done in by the failed attempt for a glamorous takedown. To me it was vintage Nick, always his

own toughest opponent.

It looked like Coach must have reminded Nick about what happened the year before because Nick started the match looking for a leg takedown rather than any risky upper- body moves. Halfway through the first period he took a deep shot near the center and stood up with Hughes’ leg. Before Hughes had a chance to counter Nick neatly tripped

the other leg and covered for a 2-0 lead. Although he gave up an escape in the waning

seconds of the first period Nick seemed to be in good shape with a 2-1 lead.

He began the second period on top, most likely as a result of Hughes’ choice. Nick

was able to control his opponent’s body but kept drifting around front as if he was

looking for some type of headlock with which to put Hughes on his back. I saw Coach

Miles frantically waving his arm, signaling Nick to move back behind Hughes and try

something safer. Had I been there I would have been saying the same thing. I breathed a

sigh of relief when Nick moved behind.

Instead of trying to break Hughes down the way I would have, Nick took control of

Hughes’ arm and then lunged to the side, obviously trying for a quick tilt. When I saw

Nick’s hips on the mat while Hughes remained on his base, I knew what was coming.

Easily fending off the tilt attempt, Hughes stepped over Nick and inserted a reverse-half-

nelson as he did it. Besides scoring a reversal, he held Nick on his back long enough for

two back points. Just as he had the previous year, Hughes had scored only after Nick

made what I considered to be a tactical mistake. Instantly I felt guilty for not being there.

I might have been able to warn him off trying for the tilt, knowing that there weren’t any

shortcuts or easy scores against a guy like Hughes. Going into the third period Nick trailed 5-2. Starting from the bottom position, Nick

first tried a granby roll, the flashy move that most experienced wrestlers knew how to

stop. Apparently, I thought as I watched, Nick still wasn’t remembering out team motto

of ‘keep it simple’. If only I was down there to remind him, I thought regretfully.

Coach Miles saw the match the same way I did, because I saw him yelling at Nick and

pointing to his own head as the wrestlers tumbled out of bounds, in an attempt to get him to wrestle smarter. When the match resumed my spirits soared as I watched Nick hit a perfect switch right on the whistle, earning him a reversal that was worth two points.

That meant that he trailed only by a single point with about a minute left in the state final match.

At that point I saw Nick do something I’d never seen him do before. Usually he tried

to put his opponent on his back directly from referee’s position rather than forcing him

off his base. This time I was amazed to see him use a simple tight-waist grip and arm-

chop, followed by a few hearty shoves, to force Hughes onto his stomach.

At that point there were fewer than thirty seconds left and I wasn’t breathing anymore,

so thick was the tension. Hughes was obviously tired and looked like he hoped to survive

the match through passive resistance. Nick moved steadily up towards Hughes’ head and

labored for a few seconds until he was able to slip his own arm under Hughes’ and then

across the back of his neck. With only eighteen seconds left Nick had again done

something I’d never seen him do before by sinking a half nelson.

Coach was yelling at Nick, most likely to remind him to hurry, but nobody was more

aware of the urgency than Nick was. He moved out to the side so that he was

perpendicular to his opponent and then began driving into him. It didn’t take long before Hughes was on his back. When I saw the referee begin counting back points with nine seconds left on the clock I leaped out of my seat with my fists in the air. I expected Nick to show some exuberance when the buzzer went off but he calmly shook hands at the center and walked over to shake the hand of his opponent’s coach. It was only when he had returned to his own corner that he showed any emotion as he and Coach Miles embraced and Nick’s fist plunged skyward. I felt tears running down my face as I watched, knowing how difficult it must have been for them to fail so many times before.

After the way Nick had wrestled, using basic strategies and moves, I knew that I had something to do with his victory. Knowing that I’d helped him overcome the mental barriers that were holding him back gave me a powerful feeling of satisfaction that helped ease my pain about what I had done.

Before finding Nick to congratulate him I thought I’d take a quick look for Judy again. I was really concerned about her absence. Maybe she’d had a change of heart since the night before after all. A lot of time had passed, plenty of time for Craig to get to her. I was beginning to wonder if he had found a way to talk her out of, well, of me.

The more I thought about it the more I worried. It began to seem conceivable that

Judy’s commitment hadn’t lasted the night. I doubted if she had changed her mind about

Craig. She had to have seen him for what he really was a long time ago. The previous night she finally found the means to make a clean break from him, and she had done it.

Maybe she’d changed her mind about me, too.

That led my thoughts in a direction that I resisted at first. Had I simply been a prop, an excuse for getting Craig out of her life? Could Judy have been setting me up for that all along? It didn’t seem possible that she could have scripted our relationship to the point where all the key players converged in Atlantic City at just the right time for a final

confrontation. Then again, I still couldn’t understand why Judy’s parents, or even Craig,

had begun appearing one by one between tournament sessions.

Another question loomed in my mind. Where had Karen disappeared to, and why?

She was somebody that I was sure I could trust, and it seemed that she respected me.

Had she left because she didn’t want to see what she knew was going to happen?

I suddenly needed to get outside, and so I worked my way through the throngs of

wrestling fans and out the doors onto the Boardwalk. Remembering how Judy had

pointed out the Atlantic City skyline from Ocean City a few weeks ago, I peered south

down the shoreline. There were no landmarks that I could recall but I could guess about

where Ocean City must be. With plenty to think about, I began walking slowly along the

boardwalk in that direction.

Just a few weeks ago I had thought my journey back to high school had been a

success. I enjoyed school, I was very popular, and had been successful in wrestling.

Besides that, there was Judy. Even during the most painful moments my relationship with her had been the most exhilarating thing that had ever happened to me in either of

my two lives. Now, on a cold March Sunday as I trudged along the boardwalk on the

Jersey Shore, I felt like I had nothing. Where had it all gone?

Most of the joy I had experienced since coming to New Jersey, and there had been a

lot of it, had been empty and hollow. This was something I had always acknowledged

along the way. I tolerated that because the ultimate purpose of what I had done was to

achieve redemption on the wrestling mat. I felt that I had achieved that redemption by

placing sixth in the state. I believed that I was a contender for the title next season and my coach seemed to agree. That was enough for me, I was realizing as I walked alone in the cold. I had proven that I had the talent and drive to be an elite wrestler. It wasn’t necessary anymore to actually go through with it, if it ever was.

The rest of it meant very little. Sure, I was popular and successful in school. How

couldn’t I be? It was only the advantage of experience and maturity that made those

things happen. To my credit, I had known this all along and had never tried to see it in

any other way. I realized that day, though, that it was all over. Even Judy, the one part

of this life that I would have liked to keep, seemed to have slipped through my fingers. I didn’t know that for sure because I had no way of knowing where Judy was, why she hadn’t come back, or what her plans were. I also didn’t know how she would feel about me if she knew the entire truth about what a liar and a fraud I was.

There was one thing that I did know. I had accomplished my mission and there really wasn’t any reason to stay. I had succeeded in reaching the place in wrestling that I'd ached for. The result of my success was a letdown; a complacency that I believed was the reason for my horrible performance on the mat that day. All season long I wrestled with a burning passion because of what I yearned for. After I had achieved my goal that passion was gone. I knew that if I came back the next year I would wrestle the way I did that morning instead of the way I wrestled all season.

I also realized belatedly as I walked that I had replaced one agony with another. Sure,

I had learned that I had the ability to be an elite wrestler. In my own mind I had made up

for that devastating loss in my first high school career and I was sure the anguish I had felt about it ever since would never recur. It had come at great cost, though, because I had done something that I felt even worse about. I had cheated current high school kids out of their own rightful accomplishments. My judgment had been so clouded by pain

when I decided to embark on this course that I had made a very bad decision. The

teenagers I had cheated this season were far worse off than I had ever been after my own

self-inflicted debacle. It was fair and appropriate for me to have to live forever with self- recrimination about what I had done. I knew that even if I didn’t go back to accept my medal, I would be more miserable than ever.

As I passed in front of the expansive Hilton Hotel and Casino a song I’d never heard

before was being piped onto the boardwalk. It sounded like another Hoobastank song, but the most peculiar thing was the lyrics. Somehow they seemed to be describing my own feelings about what I’d done, and what was weighing heavy on my mind.

I'm not a perfect person. There are many things I wish I didn’t do. But I continue learning. I never meant to do those things to you. And so I have to say before I go, that I just want you to know. *

Somehow, in a strange coincidence, these words reflected my muddled feelings.

Remarkably, it was only by chance that I had heard it at all. I had left the arena just

when I did, and walked in the direction I did, at the pace that I had.

I'm sorry that I hurt you, it’s something I must live with everyday. And all the pain I put you through, I wish that I could take it all away. And be the one who catches all your tears, that’s why I need you to hear,

I've found a reason for me, to change who I used to be. A reason to start over new, and the reason is you.

I've found a reason to show a side of me you didn’t know. A reason for all that I do, and the reason is you.∗

∗ Estrin, Daniel, and Robb, Douglas (Hoobastank), “The Reason”, The Island Def Jam Music Group, 2003

There really was so much Judy didn’t know about me. About my past, or even my future. For a few seconds I considered going back to Chapel Forge, telling Judy

everything, and trying to get her to come back with me, if that was even possible. What

would she do if I asked her to?

Impulsively, I took off my Chapel Forge Township warm-up jacket. Trying not to

attract any attention, I wadded it up and slipped it into a nearby trash barrel as I passed by, carefully pushing it below a wet brown paper bag that was coated with ketchup.

After a few seconds without the jacket I was miserably cold, so I stopped and pulled my

blue zippered sweatshirt out of my gym bag and put it on. When I put my hands in the

pockets after resuming my walk, I found something that hadn’t been there before. It was

a sealed yellow envelope with my name written across the front in a feminine script that I

instantly recognized as Judy’s. What was even more jarring was that it wasn’t my new

name, but my old one. My real one.

“Oh, God,” I said out loud, feeling faint. For the first time since I’d arrived in August,

I knew that somebody had found out who I really was. I was sickened. My knees felt

like they would give out so I found an empty bench and sat down. I needed to collect my

wits before pulling the envelope back out of my pocket.

I had so many questions. If it was from Judy, how had she gotten the envelope into

that pocket, and when had she done it? How long had she known who I really was?

What was she going to do now? What was I going to do now? I gently opened the

envelope and pulled out a handwritten note.

Dear Ben,

I think I know you well enough to be sure that you’ll be making an important decision today. It’s better that I’m not around while you’re deciding.

There’s no time right now for me to explain how, when or why I have learned who you really are. I just want you to know that even though I was shocked at first, it doesn’t change at all how I feel about you.

If you do what I think you’ll do, we won’t see each other again for a long time, if ever at all. I have a lot of living to do before I catch up with you.

Will you wait for me?

Your Judy

I wondered if the boardwalk in Atlantic City continued down the coast all the way to

Ocean City. That was a long way. It had taken Judy and me about twenty minutes to make the drive on that warm day a few weeks earlier. I suddenly had plenty of time.

After all, I thought. I’m Ben Pietrak. Nobody even knows I’m here. Nobody knows where I am at all. Nobody is waiting for me or expecting anything from me. Even if I walked for the rest of the day, nobody would know the difference and I wouldn’t be missed. There didn’t seem to be anything to do but keep walking. So I did.