Takedown

by Laura Shovan

  “She wants to quit?” That’s what I wanted, isn’t it? But my eyes feel hot. I try closing them. The headache pounds. “What am I supposed to do about it?”

  “You’re the softie in the family, Lev, not me,” Dalia says. “You could start by talking to her.”

  “Maybe,” I say.

  Yesterday at school, Nick stuck a paper heart on my locker with the initials LS + MD. If I’m nice to Mickey, what if Josh and Isaiah stick hearts in my wrestling bag or make kissing noises behind my back at practice? Forget that.

  When I get into bed and take out my notebook, I can’t concentrate on what I learned at practice tonight. I’m thinking about Dalia, how things used to be before she turned into Miss Annoyed Teen USA.

  The two of us used to play Uno 500 every summer. We brought our cards everywhere and kept track of points in the loser’s hand. The first person to get five hundred points was Loser of the Year. We played on the long car ride to the beach house we rent with Gran and O.G. We played after lunch on rainy days. It took the whole summer. The last time we did Uno 500, Dalia was Loser of the Year. She didn’t even get mad. She laughed and said she’d get me next time.

  Then Dalia started summer field hockey, going to Disney World tournaments with her club team instead of coming to the beach house. That’s when our family changed. One of our parents was always driving or flying somewhere with my sister. And because she had practice, or her team was going to a tournament out of state, we hardly ever had Shabbat dinner on Friday nights anymore.

  Abba, Dalia, and I used to bake challah on Thursdays after school so the bread would be ready to eat on Friday. Every Thursday, I’d rush home to get my homework done. Dalia put all the ingredients out so when Abba got home from work, we could start baking. Sometimes he let me proof the yeast. That was my favorite part. I loved watching the dried flakes of yeast plump up and fizz in warm water, knowing that they were going to turn our flour into delicious bread. This past summer, Abba and I only made challah a few times. Dalia wasn’t there to help.

  Our family is changing. We’re busy with wrestling, and field hockey, and the papers Mom has to write for graduate school. I miss Friday nights when we sat and ate and talked about the week. I think I’m the only one who’s noticed we’ve lost the habit of making special bread for Shabbat, saying our Friday night prayers over candles.

  * * *

  Mickey’s mother shows up at the next practice. I watch her from the bleachers. Ms. Delgado is kind of chubby, but otherwise she and Mickey have the same square face, minus the braces and wrestling headgear. My mom hardly ever stays at practice. She says she’s not the wrestling mom type. Which is dumb because I’m a wrestler and she’s my mom. But Mom says she’ll never get used to this sport. It’s too violent for her. She doesn’t come to practice, doesn’t make friends with the other parents. Abba brings me to meets and tournaments. He doesn’t mind hanging out with team dads.

  We have a preseason scrimmage against the Eagles tomorrow. Coach wants us to wear our Gladiators singlets. He takes every meeting with the Eagles seriously. Billy the Kid used to be assistant coach for the Eagles. He left so he could head up the Gladiators. Josh says his uncle and Nick Spence’s dad argued. I guess Dr. Spence wanted Coach Billy to be his assistant forever. Now our two teams are rivals. There’s nobody Coach Billy wants us to beat as bad as the Eagles.

  We all strip down to our boxer shorts and pull on the singlets that Ms. Delgado and Mrs. Oliver are handing out. Our singlets are red, with the gray and black Gladiator logo on the chest. Down our backs, there’s one word, written in gray: GLADIATORS.

  Josh and Isaiah are whispering. I roll my eyes at them. Nobody cares that we’re walking around in our underwear. Wrestlers weigh themselves at every competition, sometimes at practice too. There’s no privacy, but we’re used to it. Or we were, when our team was all guys. Over by the parents, Mickey’s mom is handing her two singlets. She points to the gym door. I forgot. Mickey can’t try on her singlet in here with the rest of us.

  I don’t like the way Josh and Isaiah are watching her.

  Dalia said Evan wants me to be nice to Mickey, so I shake my head at the guys. Why can’t they leave her alone, act like she’s not here? Mickey’s not making a big deal about seeing us all in our underwear. But Josh and Isaiah are.

  “Let’s follow her,” Josh says. “I want to see where she’s going.”

  “She’s going to the girls’ room to change, you idiot,” I say.

  Josh ignores me and stands up. Isaiah follows him out of the gym.

  Stay out of it, I tell myself as I step into a singlet and pull it over my chest. I check to make sure the shoulder straps aren’t too loose, that the elastic on the thighs isn’t too tight. But then I remember what Bryan said at lunch, that day we argued. Why don’t you cut her a break?

  I leave the gym in my singlet and jog down the hallway. Isaiah’s leaning against the girls’ room door. Mickey tries to reach past him for the door handle, but he shifts his long body to block her. Josh grabs the singlets out of her hands. He holds them behind his back, where she can’t reach.

  Mickey sticks her chin out. Her hands are in front, ready to make a grab.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” she tells them.

  “Leave her alone,” I say.

  Isaiah scoots away from the door, says, “C’mon, Josh,” and goes back to the gym.

  Josh glares at me from under his dark bangs. “I thought you wanted to be my partner.” He hands over the singlets. Mickey slips into the girls’ room.

  “I don’t have much choice,” I whisper, in case she’s listening. “She’s a decent wrestler. We should give her a chance.”

  “Whatever,” Josh says. “Come on. If we hurry, we can wrestle each other while she’s changing.”

  I shake my head. “I’ll wait for Mickey.”

  He gapes at me like I’m a traitor or something, then runs to catch up with Isaiah.

  Did I do the right thing? Mickey’s tough. Maybe she won’t like me any better for sticking up for her.

  When she comes out in her shorts and T-shirt, she holds the singlets behind her back, as if I might grab them. “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “I’m used to it.” Her eyes are bright and glassy, the way Dalia’s are when she’s had a fight with Evan.

  “I’m sorry.”

  I wanted Mickey to get annoyed and ask for a different partner. But that was because I didn’t want to wrestle a noob. I didn’t want to deal with the guys teasing me for wrestling a girl. How did ignoring her turn into this?

  I can’t look her in the eyes. “I should’ve been a better partner.”

  “Obviously.”

  I follow Mickey to the gym. “My sister said you’re thinking about quitting.”

  “What do you care?”

  “You’re good,” I tell her. “For a first-year Gladiator, you’re really good.”

  It’s true. I beat Mickey most of the time when we’re live wrestling, but that’s because I’m stronger. She’s quick, and she picks up new moves faster than I do.

  “I have to be better than good if I want your friends to leave me alone.” Mickey stops outside the gym door. “So you’re on my side now?” she asks. “For real, or because my brother asked you?”

  Better than good. That’s what I have to be if I’m going to beat Nick Spence and make it to States. That’s when I realize, she may be a noob and a girl, but Mickey is the best partner for me. Every time she walks into practice, she has to prove herself. She understands better than anyone what it means to work hard and push yourself.

  “For real,” I say. I put out my hand. “Shake on it.”

  Mickey’s grip is tight. “Partners.”

  I want to put the so-called Fearsome Threesome nonsense behind me. My mom always says boys will be boys. But that’s a stupid excuse for acting l
ike idiots.

  Even though it’s late when I get home from practice, I ask Kenna to video chat.

  “It’s an emergency,” I say in my message. We talk while she sketches makeup ideas for the “Thriller” zombies.

  “I’m tired of boys,” I tell her. “I can’t get away from them. They’re in my house. They’re on my team. Ugh.”

  “Try sharing a bathroom with a five-year-old. He pretends he’s swimming in the bathtub. And he has bad aim,” Kenna jokes.

  I laugh. Her little brother Caden is more adorable than annoying.

  “Multiply that by fifty,” I say. “I’m one girl in a room full of fifty foul-smelling, sweaty boys.”

  “But how’s the wrestling?”

  I still feel like I have to prove myself every time I walk into the practice room. I’m still showing them that a girl can work as hard as they do. But I don’t tell Kenna that. I haven’t given up on her. Maybe if I make the Gladiators sound awesome, she’ll come back. “You’d love it. Coach teaches us new moves every week. Cool stuff we never did in rec. Ankle picks and duck unders.”

  “Whoa.”

  I don’t tell her that I’m afraid to make a mistake. The last thing I need is for Lev, his friends, or anyone else to catch me messing up. I don’t tell her we ran sprints relays for so long the other night, a kid threw up.

  “I wish you were coming to rehearse with us,” Kenna says. She holds up a drawing, a bony face with green hanging-off skin and matted hair.

  “That looks…horrible. Perfect and horrible.”

  Kenna wishes me luck and we sign off. My first competition without her is tomorrow. I miss her like missing the summer when it’s cold outside and you think spring will never come.

  * * *

  The next morning, I feel better about the scrimmage, ready to show Dr. Spence I’m travel team material.

  Kenna and Lalita have a surprise for me, a digital file for my phone. They created a playlist of songs to help me get pumped for the tournament. The last track is Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” While I’m on the mat today, Kenna will be dancing and laughing with Lalita and our middle school friends, but I can’t get upset about it. I’ll save “Thriller” for later.

  During the drive to the community center where we have county dual meets, my friends send me texts that say Grrrl Power! and No Mercy.

  Mom’s driving. Evan and Cody have a preseason tournament in Pennsylvania and, of course, Dad wanted to go with them.

  When we arrive, I check in with Coach Billy, and Mom finds Mrs. Oliver, Isaiah’s mother. It’s not fair that she has a friend on Gladiators and I don’t. My mom collects friends the way normal people collect teapots or action figures.

  “How’re you feeling, Mickey?” Coach Billy asks. I can see why Lev and his friends call him Billy the Kid. He’s wearing jeans, a flannel shirt over a Gladiators tee, and a knit cap. Maybe he thinks that goatee makes him seem more mature, but Coach doesn’t look much older than Evan.

  “I’m awesome!” I say. But suddenly, I’m sick-to-my-stomach nervous.

  “I know you’ve got some history with the Eagles.” Coach Billy glances at Mom. She sends him a little wave and a big smile. Then Coach puts both his hands on my shoulders and looks right in my face. “It’s better to get it over with. You’ll be seeing more of these guys at tournaments once the season starts.”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  Maybe I’ll feel better if I try talking to Lev before the meet starts. He’s not exactly a friend, but on the Gladiators, he’s all I’ve got. It doesn’t take long for me to spot him sitting on top of the bleachers.

  “Nice view,” I say.

  “You said that last time.”

  “Still true.” Even though it’s not. I’m looking at a sea of blue. Eagles wrestlers cover the mat, warming up and stretching. “How’s the scrimmage going to work?” I ask.

  “Same as a regular dual meet,” Lev says.

  Dual meets are my favorite part of wrestling. Unlike tournaments, where you compete as an individual athlete, dual meets are two teams’ best wrestlers battling it out. You earn team points for minor decisions in close wins, major decisions when you win by eight points or more, and technical falls when one wrestler is up by so many points that they stop the match. You get the most points for your team if you pin your opponent, so everyone is out for the pin.

  When Kenna and I were on the Mustangs, dual meets were so much fun. Because it’s only one match at a time, Coach Brandon lined us up at the side of the mat to watch. We clapped and yelled for our teammates. At tournaments, there are so many matches happening at the same time, it’s hard to feel like a real team.

  Lev opens that notebook he’s always carrying and draws a chart for me. “These are the weight classes. One kid from the Gladiators wrestles one Eagle at each of the weights. It’s not like a tournament. Only weight matters, not age. A ten-year-old who weighs 105 could be up against an eighth grader. Although Coach doesn’t usually do that.” He scratches his forehead with his pencil.

  “Hold up,” I say. “You wrestle 95, same as me. How come we’re both wrestling today?”

  Lev nods. His too-long hair falls in his face, shaggy and brown. “Coach asked me to wrestle up today, so you could get a match in.” He frowns. “I was hoping I’d get to wrestle Nick Spence.”

  “You know him?”

  “We go to the same school. He hates me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. I should be the one hating him. We wrestle each other every year and he always wins. He’s obnoxious about it too.”

  “I know kids like that.” When you’re a girl in a boys’ sport, you get to see bad sportsmanship front and center.

  Lev sighs. “He knocked me out of a state qualifier last season. I’ve got to beat him this year. Nothing else is going to make him shut up.”

  “But why are you wrestling up today? My dad says you never want to wrestle someone who has five pounds on you.”

  “We needed someone at a hundred. I know we’re not supposed to keep score at a scrimmage, but Billy the Kid wants to beat the Eagles. Bad. Josh told me he’s not going to forfeit any points.”

  “So who are you wrestling?”

  “Josh tried to get a look at Coach’s clipboard, but he guards that thing like an armored car.”

  I smile. My top lip curls up over my braces. I hate when that happens.

  “Hey,” Lev says. He leans in, staring at my face. “Your braces are red and gray.”

  “Gladiators colors. I had the bands changed last week.” Every time I look in the mirror and see red and gray on my teeth, it reminds me that I’m a Gladiator now.

  “That’s cool. Hey, Josh! Isaiah!” His friends are sitting at the bottom of the bleachers, playing a game on their phones. I follow Lev as he bounces down the steps. “Check out Mickey’s braces,” he says.

  I smile for them, which is awkward. Lev’s acting like we’re all friends now and it’s not weird that these kids who weren’t speaking to me three days ago are standing around staring at my mouth. I have never been so happy to hear Coach Billy blow his whistle. “Let’s go, Gladiators!” I jog over to join the team.

  Coach tells us a few wrestlers are coming late, so we’re not going in weight class order. Lev has one of the first matches.

  “Good luck,” I tell him as he leaves to warm up.

  Our team sits in folding chairs set on one side of the mat. The Eagles have matching chairs on the other side.

  With Lev warming up, I don’t have anyone to sit with. I try hanging out in the stands with Mom. I wonder if it’s as weird for her as it is for me, competing against Evan and Cody’s old team. It doesn’t look like it. Mom may be angry that Dr. Spence kicked me and Kenna off the Eagles, but the way she’s laughing with her old friends, I guess she doesn’t blame them. I should ask her
about it. Did any of Mom’s friends on the Eagles stand up for me, tell Dr. Spence that he was wrong, and girls should be allowed to wrestle? If they did, no one told me.

  Mom nudges me out of the bleachers. “Go join your team, Mikayla.”

  I take an empty seat at the end of the row, next to the youngest Gladiators. Little guys like Isaiah’s brother Devin don’t care that I’m a girl. They only see another big kid on their team.

  I’m sitting close enough to Coach Billy’s corner that I hear his advice to Lev.

  “Think about your opponent,” he says. “Your job is to outperform him, not only on the mat, but up here.” Coach taps Lev’s forehead. “Killer instinct.”

  Lev looks older with his shaggy hair pushed up under his headgear. His smile is gone. His eyes are intense and focused. I’m surprised that I’m excited. That’s my partner stepping onto the mat.

  It reminds me of wrestling rec with Kenna. I’d cheer for the other kids on the Mustangs, but when Kenna was on the mat, my heart beat harder. If she was losing, I almost couldn’t watch. If she was winning, I’d scream myself hoarse.

  Lev and the guy from the Eagles shake hands. I still can’t look at the royal-blue singlet, with its gray eagle logo, without thinking, That was supposed to be me.

  The ref blows the whistle.

  Lev lunges as he grabs his opponent’s leg, but the other boy steps back before he can get a hold.

  “Lower your level,” Coach calls.

  Lev goes for it again. This time, he owns his opponent’s leg, hugging it tight against his chest.

  Across the mat, Dr. Spence watches from his corner. He’s dressed up compared to Coach Billy: khakis, a blue Eagles fleece. Dr. Spence is quiet. Coach Billy is way more into the match. He leans toward the mat, miming the moves he wants Lev to make.

  When the Eagles kid loses his balance and puts his hands out to break his fall, Lev is on him. I can’t believe how good he is. I’m screaming, “Go, Lev!”