Takedown Read online

  I tried, but the Squasher twisted out of my hold and rolled me over onto my back, winning points for a near fall. I strained with all my power as he tried to pin me. His left arm was holding down my left leg and his right arm was wrapped around my neck. But I was up on my elbows, straining hard, and he couldn’t budge me.

  We split points in the third period, he getting four more than I. The match ended with him scoring sixteen points to my ten. Three points for his team.

  We shook hands and looked at each other eye to eye. He’d won, but he wasn’t happy. I could tell by the disappointed look on his perspiring face. He had thought I was going to be easy pickin’s, that he’d pin me.

  Well, he didn’t. And if there was a next time…

  Oh, heck, I thought. I’ll wait until the next time came. The important thing was now. I wasn’t afraid of him anymore. Not a bit.

  “Good show, Sean,” Coach Collins said as he met me outside of the mat with a broad smile on his face. He shook my hand, put an arm around my shoulders, and gave me a squeeze. “You gave him a battle.”

  “Thanks, Coach,” I said.

  “You need more work on the roll,” he added. “And a couple of other holds. But don’t worry. You did okay, even if you did lose. Not only is that Nyles kid bigger than you are, he’s also more experienced. I hope you don’t feel bad about coming out on the short end.”

  I winced at the coach’s pun. “Not too bad,” I answered truthfully. I really hadn’t expected to get within ten points of the Squasher, let alone six.

  Neither Mom nor Carl looked half as pleased as the coach had.

  “I can’t understand why they put that big kid against you,” Mom complained. “Don’t they match you boys up by size?”

  There you go, I thought, bringing up “size” again. It would never end.

  “By weight, Mom,” I said, trying to shrug off my irritation. “He only weighed a few pounds more than I did.”

  “Mom’s right,” Carl cut in. “I think you’re lucky he didn’t make hamburger out of you.”

  Thanks, brother, I thought. He still enjoyed ridiculing me. Would his digs never end, either?

  “Anyway, you did okay,” Mom said. “Bigger or not, that Nyles boy showed he had more experience. In a couple of years — maybe even next year — you’ll give him a run for his money, I’m sure.”

  I smiled and shrugged. “Maybe,” I said.

  “Wish I was old enough to wrestle with the JV’s,” Carl said. “I bet I could handle most of those characters.”

  “I wish you were old enough, too,” I said.

  I meant it. Maybe a good wrestling match with some of those “characters” would teach him something about humility.

  I took a shower, got into my civvies, and started to head back to the gym when two girls came dashing around the corner. The first one crash-banged right into me.

  “Oh! I’m sorry!” she cried, grabbing my shoulder to catch her balance.

  “That’s okay,” I said, reaching out to catch my balance, too.

  She pushed back ringlets of her blond hair and stared at me with wide, grapelike eyes. “Oh! You’re Sean, aren’t you? Sean Bailor? You just wrestled Hunter Nyles.”

  I nodded. “Yes. And lost.”

  “Oh, but it wasn’t such a bad loss,” she said. “I thought you did fine.”

  “Yeah. Me, too,” the girl next to her said.

  This other girl had shoulder-length brown hair and wore a sweatshirt that had a picture of Garfield the cat on the front. Were they just being nice to me? I wondered. They were probably students of Franklin Junior High. I’d never seen them before.

  “I’m Gail and she’s Barbara,” the blonde said. She flashed a smile and waved. “Nice meeting you! See you again — maybe!”

  They ran off, heading toward the far side of the stands where the Franklin Junior High students and fans were sitting.

  Some of the Jefferson Davis fans yelled and waved as I headed down the gym, and I waved back.

  Suddenly I heard my name. “Sean!”

  I paused. It was the assistant referee, Clint Wagner.

  “Got a minute?” he asked.

  5

  He was sitting close to the scorekeepers’ table.

  “Have a seat,” he said, patting the vacant space beside him.

  I sat down, wondering what he wanted me for.

  “Referees aren’t in a position to take an interest in kids they referee,” he said. “But I think we have something in common. Right?”

  I shrugged. I could see only one thing we had in common.

  “Our height?” I guessed.

  “Right. And since I’m only an assistant ref, I don’t have to worry about expressing an opinion that might show prejudice. So I think it’s perfectly okay for me to give you a few pointers,” he went on. “That is, if you don’t mind.”

  I looked at him, a little surprised. “No, I don’t mind,” I said.

  Why should I? I was willing to accept any help I could get, especially from an assistant referee! That was just one hat he wore. During the daytime he worked at Wolcott’s Hardware Store. I’d first seen him there about six months ago.

  “We’ve only got a couple of minutes before the next match starts,” he observed, glancing at the scoreboard clock. “But I wanted to ask you if you’d mind if we got together sometime so I could teach you a few moves and holds. You show potential. I think I can make you a good wrestler. Maybe a champion wrestler.”

  He paused, probably to let his words sink into my head. When they did, they made my heart pound. Me, a champion? Well, why not? Why not, if I really trained for it?

  “We’re not giants, but I’m sure you took up wrestling for the same reasons I did. It’s an individual sport, one on one. What we do, we do on our own. It’s also a good body-building exercise, and it teaches you some valuable traits, especially self-reliance and initiative. But we must learn and improve.”

  I smiled. It was funny getting a lecture out of the blue, but it was nice, too. I appreciated the fact that he, Clint Wagner, whom all the kids liked, had taken an interest in my wrestling. We’d known each other for some time, but it wasn’t until now — wrestling season — that he really talked to me.

  He paused. “I like your style, Sean. And you’ve got guts. Whether you let me or anyone else help you, I don’t think you should ignore your potential. Know what I mean?”

  I nodded. “I sure do. And I’d definitely be interested, Mr. Wagner.”

  A whistle shrieked. It was time for the next match.

  He got up and headed for the mat. For a moment I sat there, feeling kind of special and honored. Then I took a deep breath, stood up, and searched the stands for Mom and Carl.

  “Sean!” a shrill voice piped up.

  I turned in the direction of the voice and saw a hand, with a bracelet sparkling on its wrist, waving like crazy. Then the waving changed to a beckon. It was Gail. With her was Barbara.

  I stood there, considering the invitation.

  I saw another hand waving and I recognized Mom. Carl was with her, but his attention was on the match taking place on the floor.

  I waved to her, then raised five fingers and mouthed the words “Five minutes,” while I pointed toward Gail and Barbara.

  I squeezed between two shoulders and climbed up to where the girls were sitting. Gail had pressed up against Barbara and was patting the empty space beside her, smiling broadly.

  “Thanks for coming!” she said.

  “You’re welcome,” I said.

  I sat down beside her, and something dropped out of my pocket. It was Max’s I AM KING button. I quickly picked it up and jammed it back into my pocket, hoping neither of the girls had seen it. But then again, if they did, so what? It wouldn’t mean anything to them.

  I looked down at the gym floor and saw that none other than the Octopus, Max Rundel, was wrestling with Dick Treman, our best in the 125-pound class. I cringed as I saw Rundel whirl Dick over onto his back and get o
n top of him in a crossbody ride, pulling up Dick’s left arm, which might’ve turned into a potentially dangerous hold if he hadn’t let go of the arm and spun onto Dick’s back.

  Both girls started to jump up and down, clap, and shout like crazy.

  “You two wouldn’t happen to be from Franklin, would you?” I said, grinning at Gail.

  She laughed. “How can you tell?”

  “You’re cheering for the Octopus. And nobody would cheer for him unless they were from the same school.”

  Her laughter faded. “Oh? Do you know him?”

  “Know him?” I was about to tell her about what had happened between us a week earlier, but then I changed my mind. How did I know that they weren’t good friends of Rundel’s? It was best that I kept my mouth shut. “Yeah, I know him,” I said, my tone of voice suggesting that I wasn’t elated about it. “But I think I’ll know him better one of these days.”

  She looked at me with those large eyes. “What do you mean? Oh, that you two might wrestle each other?”

  I nodded. “We might.”

  “You?” Barbara cried, sizing me up and down. “You and Max?”

  I could tell what she was thinking.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” I said. “I may be short, but we both wrestle in the same weight class.”

  “Oh, no!” Barbara moaned, as if the Octopus and I getting together in a wrestling match would be like Rambo going up against Mickey Mouse. “That can’t be! It wouldn’t be fair!”

  “Why not?” Gail said, turning toward her. “Don’t you think Max is beatable?”

  “Yes, but…” Barbara leaned forward to look at me, sizing me up again to make sure her first evaluation was correct. She didn’t have to say anything more.

  “Size has got something to do with it,” Gail admitted, “but not everything. It takes guts, too. And Sean’s got a lot of that, in my opinion.”

  I laughed. “Thanks, Gail,” I said. I could’ve hugged her, but I didn’t have the nerve. After all, we’d just met.

  Suddenly, there was a loud cheer and I saw the ref put up an arm — the one with a green band on it — and raise a finger. A point for Dick Treman. Hooray for the home team.

  Moments later, however, the Octopus surprised him with a half nelson and pinned him.

  Both girls cheered, Barbara much louder than Gail. I wondered why she wasn’t down on the floor with the Franklin JV cheerleaders. She certainly had the enthusiasm — and the voice — for it.

  I sat with the girls about five minutes longer, then excused myself. I said I hoped to see them again, looking directly at Gail as I said it, and they both promised that I would.

  I found Mom and Carl, and we watched Bull win his match with no problems at all, scoring the most points of any of us, which was no surprise.

  Later, after he’d showered and dressed, Bull came up into the stands and squeezed in beside me. After watching a couple of ninety-eight-pounders go at it for a while, Bull said, “How about you and me going home by ourselves? We’ll stop at Hungry Mike’s and I’ll treat.”

  “Sure.” I seldom refused Bull’s offers to treat me, and he never refused my treating him.

  I got permission from Mom, and we left. The matches were almost finished, anyway. We walked about two blocks to Hungry Mike’s, split a submarine sandwich, exchanged expert opinions about the match for about ten minutes, then left. It was about a quarter of ten, and a cool breeze was chilling the air. I pulled the collar of my light jacket tighter around my neck.

  “This is the kind of night I like,” Bull said, the bright red light of the Hungry Mike’s sign flashing on his face. “Cool, quiet, and lazy.”

  The breeze was teasing his hair and ruffling the sides of his open windbreaker. “Lazy?” I echoed.

  “Yeah.” Then Bull stiffened. He stared down the street, his mouth parted. I looked in the same direction, and my mouth dropped open, too.

  “I guess I spoke too soon,” Bull whispered.

  “Okay, Runt,” Max Rundel blurted, stepping up to me from the night shadows. “My button. Hand it over, or you know what’s coming to you.”

  In the soft light behind him I could see his left- and right-hand buddies, Hunter “the Squasher” Nyles and John McNeer.

  “What button?” I said.

  I knew what button, but I wasn’t about to hand it over to him.

  How did he know about it, anyway? I hadn’t told him, and I knew Carl hadn’t.

  He grabbed me by the collar of my jacket and stared down at me, his eyes on fire. I could feel his breath as he snapped at me, “Don’t give me that bull, Shortfry! Barbara told me she saw it fall out of your pocket! Hand it over! Now!”

  I was sick. So Barbara had seen the button when I dropped it. I didn’t want to think that she got me in trouble on purpose. Maybe she didn’t know it belonged to Max and had mentioned it to him without thinking.

  I grabbed his wrist with both of my hands and tried to loosen his hold. He hung on like a vise.

  Bull stepped up to him. “Let him alone, Rundel,” he ordered. “If he’s got a button it’s his, not yours.”

  “Out of the way, Bull Durham,” Max quipped, without taking his eyes off me, “or these two guys behind me will mop up the street with you.”

  “Is that so?”

  Bull started to rush at Max.

  “No, Bull!” I cried, putting out a hand to stop him. “Keep out of this!”

  He paused in his tracks, just as Nyles and McNeer ran up to him, each grabbing him by an arm.

  Max, still holding the collar of my jacket, poked me in the stomach with his other fist and snarled, “You gonna give it to me, or do I have to take it from you?”

  Pain shot through my stomach. That did it. I had to defend myself, no matter how much bigger he was.

  I closed both of my hands together and drove them as hard as I could against Max’s arm. He let go, and I heard him grunt. I knew the blow hurt him. It had hurt my left wrist.

  In a blink of an eye he ducked his head and dove at me. He struck me with his left shoulder, and I went down like a ton of bricks. My head struck the ground with a crunch, and for a few seconds the night filled up with a million lightning bugs.

  I rolled over before I could see clearly again, knowing that if I didn’t he would jump on me and probably put a hold on me — legal or illegal, it made no difference here. Maybe he’d injure me enough to knock me out of wrestling for a while. I didn’t want that.

  I started to jump to my feet, but lost my balance as he grabbed my left leg and yanked me down. I hit the ground again, and a ball of lead — that’s what it felt like — struck me on the thigh. The pain shot up my whole left side.

  I swung a fist at him and missed.

  Then he grabbed my arm and twisted it into a wristlock, putting on pressure that caused pain to shoot up my arm. I wanted to scream with pain, but I didn’t. I wasn’t going to give the Octopus the satisfaction.

  Suddenly I saw a figure loom up behind him and grab his arms. Instantly the pain stopped as Max released my arm and wrist. The figure pulled him away and hung onto him, despite Max’s trying to shake himself loose.

  Silhouetted against the sky the figure looked familiar.

  “Okay, you guys,” his voice — familiar, too — cut in. “Break it up. Fast.”

  6

  “Smart hold that was, but illegal. And you knew it, didn’t you?” Clint Wagner said to Max. “You only use a wristlock when your legal moves don’t work. And I can’t say I saw you use any of those on Sean.”

  I rose to my feet, wondering: How long had he been watching us before he’d decided to break up our fight?

  Max looked at him. His jaw muscles moved, but he kept his mouth clamped shut.

  “Okay. Take off. All three of you,” Clint ordered, shoving Max toward Nyles and McNeer. “You should’ve been heading for home, anyway, after those wrestling matches, not hanging around here like street bums. Go on! Scram! Or I’ll show you what real wrestling is!”<
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  The three glared at him for a few seconds, then headed down the street past Hungry Mike’s, Max looking so angry that he could have chewed leather.

  I looked at Clint. “Thanks, Mr. Wagner,” I said. “I guess you got here in the nick of time.”

  He grinned. “You boys want a ride home?”

  “I think that’s a great idea!” Bull answered, wiping his sweating face with a handkerchief.

  Clint led us around the side of the restaurant to his yellow jalopy, and we got in. “What started the fight?” he asked, as we drove out of the parking lot and headed down the street.

  Neither Bull nor I said anything for a minute. Finally I told him about my finding Max’s button with the words I AM KING on it.

  “Why don’t you want to give it back to him?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I will… someday.”

  Clint grinned at me. “When he proves he is king, right?”

  I shrugged again. “The kind of guy he is,” I said, “I doubt he can be king of anything.”

  Clint nodded. “Well said, my friend.”

  We changed the topic and talked about the wrestling matches until we got to Bull’s house. Bull thanked Clint for the ride, then I gave Clint my address and we headed for it.

  “I just got a terrific idea,” he said as he turned down Orange Avenue, my street. “How’d you like to go fishing with me Saturday morning?”

  I stared at him. Fishing? I’d never fished in my life! Dad didn’t care for it, so I hadn’t ever thought about it.

  “Sure,” I said, “I’d like to. But…” I paused, thinking.

  “But, what?”

  I didn’t want to tell him that my father had never taken me. I also wasn’t sure Mom would permit it.

  “For one thing, I don’t have a fishing pole,” I said, which was the truth.

  He looked at me. Dark tree shadows danced across his face. “Let me guess. You’ve never fished before, right?”

  “Right.”

  “Oh, you’ll love it. One thing about fishing: even if you don’t catch anything, it’s fun!”

  I laughed.

  “The pole’s no problem,” he said. “I’ve got three or four of them. Ask your parents if it’s okay — I know you’ve got to do that — then give me a call Friday night. Okay?”