Takedown Read online

  “That I can admit, too,” Dad said, nodding.

  Just the same, I wished Dad had been at the meet. I was proud of the win. It was a nip and tucker, all right. It would’ve been nice to have seen him up there in the stands cheering for me.

  But maybe his not being my natural father had something to do with it. If he were, he probably would’ve been there, whether he cared for wrestling or not. A lot of other fathers came, and I bet they weren’t all wrestling nuts, either. They came because their sons were there, giving it their best, putting every bit of their heart in it, in a one-on-one competition.

  Then I thought of Clint Wagner, of the pleased, proud expression on his face after my match with Lucas was over. Only a father could look that way. Oh, Clint! Please tell me you’re my father! Please!

  The next evening — Friday — after I returned home from wrestling practice, I waited for a call from Clint. I was hoping he’d ask me to go fishing with him again. Maybe this time I’d finally break the ice. Maybe I’d have the nerve to ask him: Clint, are you my father?

  But eight o’clock came and he didn’t call. And then eight-thirty, and nine o’clock rolled by, and he still didn’t call.

  I was disappointed. Well, maybe he had a commitment. Or maybe a date. Would he still date women at his age? Maybe. There were a lot of maybes when it came to Clint.

  Thinking about Clint kept me awake half of the night. I could call him in the morning, I thought. Or I could ride over to his place. I didn’t know where he lived, but I could find out by looking it up in the phone book. Mom wouldn’t have to know about it — she’d think I was pestering him. But what was so terrible about visiting a friend, anyway?

  After breakfast the next morning I checked out Clint’s address in the phone directory and rode over there on my bike. Mom was busy vacuuming the rugs, so she wouldn’t even miss me.

  When I rode up toward the apartment building where he lived, I saw a small U-Haul truck parked in front of the main entrance, its tailgate down.

  I pulled up beside it, letting the engine of the bike idle, and wondered if somebody was moving in or out. I didn’t have long to wonder.

  Within five seconds the entrance door swung open and a guy wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, and a baseball hat came out, carrying a large cardboard box.

  “Mr. Wagner!” I said, stunned. “What… what are you doing?”

  “Oh, hi, Sean,” he said. He placed the box in the truck and looked at me. Sweat shone on his forehead. “I’m moving.”

  “Moving?” Oh, no! My mind whirled.

  “Yes, I’m moving, Sean,” he said softly. “I would’ve called you, don’t worry.”

  “Why? Where?” I stammered.

  “I got a new job, and it’s out of town,” he explained. “I hadn’t planned on staying here forever, anyway. When there was a job opening here, I applied for it and got it. But it wasn’t one I hoped to spend the rest of my life doing. It was just to fill the gap until I found the right one, the one I wanted. And that’s what happened.”

  “You mean you didn’t come to Mount Villa just to…just to referee?” I asked, feeling a lump form in my throat. You didn’t come to be near me, your son? was what I really wanted to ask him.

  He smiled. “Oh, no. I can referee anywhere, and I have. I’ll probably get a refereeing job in my new town, too. A head refereeing job, if possible, since my other job will be permanent.”

  Clint took off his cap and mopped his brow. “Well, I’ve got to get a move on. I have to be out of here by tonight.”

  I should’ve offered to help, but my tongue — like the rest of my body — seemed frozen in place. He was leaving, just like that. I’d probably never see him again. And that meant I’d been wrong about him all along.

  Clint must have read the disappointment in my face. “It’s too bad this had to happen just when we were becoming friends. But pretty soon you’ll be too busy for an old guy like me, with girlfriends and wrestling and all. Just remember some of those new moves and holds I taught you, okay?”

  He extended his hand and, after a moment, I shook it.

  “Sure,” I managed to mutter. “Thanks for everything.”

  Suddenly my body was in working order again, and I pulled out of the driveway without looking back. I rode off down the street, thoughts churning in my head. Who needed him, anyway? I’d gotten along fine before I met him. I didn’t need Clint or anyone else.

  I must have headed for home out of habit, because I found myself there in a matter of minutes. But Carl was polishing up his bike in the driveway, and I was in no mood to deal with him.

  Instead, I gunned the motor and turned around. I needed to be alone, to clear my head. I knew just where to go — the dirt bike track.

  I hadn’t ridden more than a block when I heard a motor behind me and, glancing at my rearview mirror, I saw that it was Carl. Was he following me? I wondered. Well, if he was, I wasn’t going to pay any attention to him.

  I reached the track — there was no gate — and started to ride around it. Carl was still some fifty feet behind me. Figuring on widening the gap between us, I accelerated and felt the bike take off like a rocket. The track was bumpier than I’d remembered, but it had been three or four months since I’d ridden on it. I laughed out loud as the bike bounced crazily on the rough track. I went faster and faster, enjoying the rush of air against my face and the roar of the engine underneath me.

  For a second I glanced at the rearview mirror and saw Carl far behind me. He had one hand off the handlebars, signaling me hard to slow down.

  I laughed. “Slow down yourself, brother!” I shouted into the wind.

  I’d barely gotten “brother” out when the front wheel of my bike struck a sharp bump and the bike swerved. Icy terror shot up my spine as I lost my grip on the handlebars. The bike reeled over onto its side, and I went with it.

  13

  Carl pulled up beside me. “You okay?”

  I nodded as I slowly got to my feet. I was bruised and dirty, but nothing was broken.

  “Why’d you follow me, anyway?” I snapped at Carl. Now Mom would find out, and I’d be in hot water again.

  “I don’t know,” Carl said. “I felt like it. And you looked —”

  I cut him off. “Well, why don’t you bug off? I’ve got everything under control.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” Carl muttered before taking off.

  After he left, I lifted my bike and checked it for damage. Other than a few scratches here and there it looked okay. The engine started up again the first time I tried it.

  What a relief. The last thing I wanted to do was ask Dad to repair any damages.

  But, as Yogi Berra said, it’s not over til it’s over, and I still had to face Mom.

  When I got home, it was obvious that Carl hadn’t squealed to her, but my dirt-smudged clothes said enough. At first she thought I’d been in another fight, and to set her straight I had to tell her the truth.

  Her face turned beet red, and for a minute I thought she was going to swat me. But she didn’t. She just lit into me with words. “I don’t know what to do with you, Sean. I really don’t. Then again maybe I do. Whether it’ll do any good I don’t know, but you’re grounded for the rest of the weekend. Is that clear?”

  It was clear enough. But it was a punishment I didn’t think I deserved. No one had gotten hurt, after all.

  Trying to hide my resentment, I went upstairs to shower, change into clean clothes, and hole up in my room.

  When noontime came I was still there, lying on my bed.

  “Sean! You gonna have lunch?” I heard Carl call to me.

  “No!” I shouted back.

  I was hungry, but I wasn’t going to eat. The heck with it, I thought. The heck with everybody. Nobody around here cared about me, let alone loved me. Now that the only guy in the world who had ever shown any interest in me was leaving, I might as well be dead.

  Sometime later I heard a car start up and back out of the driveway. I went
to the window and peeked out. It was Mom, driving away alone. Maybe she was going out to shop or visit a friend.

  Two minutes later Carl went out and rode away on his dirt bike.

  I could hear the television on in the living room. Dad was probably watching a football game.

  I stood there a minute, thinking. What right did Mom have to keep me cooped up? I was fourteen, not a little kid.

  The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I decided I wasn’t going to stay here another minute. I was going out.

  I put on my boots, jacket, and helmet and left my room, closing the door behind me as quietly as possible. I didn’t want Dad to hear me, even though I figured he couldn’t care less whether I left or not.

  I treaded quietly through the hall, as the excited voice of the announcer on TV described an intercepted pass. I sneaked out of the kitchen, entered the opened garage, and got on my bike.

  I was wheeling it out of the garage when someone stepped in front of me. It was Dad. I froze.

  “So, you’re disobeying your mother again,” he said calmly. If it was Mom, she would’ve grabbed me and yanked me off the bike, but Dad never showed any emotion.

  I sucked in a deep breath. “I don’t think she’s being fair.”

  “But she’s your mother,” he said. “Whether it’s fair or not, you’re expected to obey her.”

  “I’m no little kid!”

  “Then why are you behaving like one?”

  “I’m not!”

  “But you are, Sean,” he said. “You’re fourteen, and acting like ten. You think you can do anything you want and get away with it. Well, you’re wrong. We’re your parents, and we decide what’s best for you.”

  “But how can you decide that when you don’t even know me?” I blurted out.

  A look of pain crossed his face, and I immediately regretted my words.

  “Maybe we don’t know you,” Dad replied after a minute. “But maybe that’s because you haven’t been acting like yourself lately. Did you ever think about that?”

  I shrugged. I didn’t know what I thought anymore. I was tired of thinking.

  I started to back up the bike.

  “That’s right,” Dad said. “Put it back. Don’t let your mother get any angrier than she already is. Show her that much respect, at least.”

  I put my bike back into place. Then I walked out of the garage. As I passed Dad, he grabbed my arm.

  “Thanks, Sean,” he said.

  I just nodded and went back into the house.

  I didn’t feel much better. I was still mad at Mom, but I wasn’t up to creating any more waves.

  I had another problem to face later that week: we were meeting Franklin on Friday, and I was scheduled to wrestle my old nemesis, Max “the Octopus” Rundel.

  At a practice meet on Tuesday with Bosworth Junior High, I was matched up with a dark-haired kid named Tommy Burke. He was about two inches taller than me and about two pounds heavier. This would be my last chance to try out my holds and moves before tangling with the Octopus. I was hot and eager. I was going to beat Tommy Burke no matter what it took.

  Burke seemed quite slow, or maybe too cautious, and I earned the first few points on a half nelson. Seconds later Burke got a quarter nelson on me and started to work it into a headlock — legally, the way he was applying it — making me realize that my first impression of him had been wrong. This kid knew what he was doing.

  I didn’t pick up another point during the first period. He picked up five.

  “More halves, Sean,” Coach Collins said softly to me as Burke and I got in position for the second period. “And the roll.”

  He was referring to the half nelson and the shoulder roll. But I figured I understood Burke better than he did. He wasn’t wrestling Burke, I was. I knew the effective moves.

  I considered using the double leg, one of Clint’s favorite holds. But just thinking of Clint hurt. I wanted to forget about him and everything he’d taught me. I didn’t need his help, either.

  I tried my own version of a leg hold, but it didn’t work, and Burke scored a reversal. Little by little he kept earning points — a lot more than I was. Not only was I getting beat, I was getting angry.

  In the third period I tried every hold I could think of on him, including a half nelson that I wanted to turn into a pin. I figured it was the only way to stop him now.

  The ref declared the hold illegal. More points for Burke.

  I was furious.

  By the time the match ended, Burke was so far ahead of me I didn’t even want to know the score. I left the mat in a huff.

  “Sean!” Coach Collins yelled at me. “You didn’t listen to a word I said!”

  “I’m sorry, Coach,” I said numbly, sweat rolling down my face and into my eyes.

  “That wasn’t like you, Sean,” he went on. “You used any move that came into your head, except the ones I taught you, and it showed.”

  “I suppose I did,” I said, and I started to head for the locker room, leaving him staring at my back. I was in no mood to discuss the match any further.

  “Sean!”

  I paused. Gail’s voice.

  I looked behind me. Barbara was with her. “Hi,” I said.

  They were both staring at me as if I’d changed into a werewolf.

  “We came to see you wrestle tonight,” Gail said softly. “But that didn’t look like you on the mat.”

  “Oh? Who did I look like?”

  “Those guys on TV,” she answered. “Those big, he-men wrestlers who put on a show, not like the Sean Bailor I’ve seen.”

  Her words stung like a bee. I tried to think of something to say in return, but my mind went blank.

  She wasn’t finished. “I thought you were smarter than my brother, that you were a real athlete. But I guess I was mistaken.” She turned and stalked off toward the exit door with Barbara at her heels.

  I stood glued to the floor, staring at the closed door, pondering Gail’s words.

  I guess I hadn’t been too far off when I thought I must have looked like a werewolf to her.

  Carl and I rode home with Bull and his parents. Because it was just a practice meet, Mom hadn’t come. I wondered what she would’ve said about my performance. Nothing good, that’s for sure. Carl’s remark was enough to make up for hers.

  “I hate to think of what Max is going to do to you on Friday,” he said. “If I were you, I’d forfeit.”

  14

  “The half, Sean! The half!”

  “The double leg, Sean!”

  “Pin ‘im, Max!”

  The cries came from both the Jefferson Davis and Franklin fans, like armchair coaches watching a Saturday afternoon football game. I ignored them, just as Max did, I’m sure. We were fighting our battle now, the battle we’d been talking about ever since we’d gotten into our first scrap.

  The match with Burke was behind me. This was a new one, the big one, and with an opponent who had brought me nothing but trouble: Max “the Octopus” Rundel. He still thought he was king, and I had to knock off that crown… forever.

  Right now he had me in a near cradle, a hold he was leading up to when he swished his right arm over the back of my neck and started to reach his left through my crotch. He was grunting as he exerted all the pressure he could to put me away.

  “Shoot the half, Sean! The half!”

  Coach Collins’s voice came to me as I was on my hands, my left knee down on the mat, and I made my move. I rolled over onto my back and swung my right arm around his neck. In a second I had him in a prone position, got my arm under his near shoulder and twisted him toward the floor to apply the half nelson.

  “That a way! You’ve got him, Sean! You’ve got him!” I heard the coach cry.

  I was using all the muscle and power I had to finish the Octopus off — and the match had started only a minute ago. Already he’d won several points — on reversals and escapes. Me, I had only two, both on escapes.

  I couldn’t comple
te the half nelson. Max’s sweaty body slithered out of my grasp, and, like a puppet yanked up by a string, he was on his feet, hands held out to defend himself.

  Another escape for him. Another point. The points were building up, slowly, surely.

  He was panting, just as I was. Our eyes locked as we tried to read each other’s mind. What was he going to do next? I’d heard that the single leg was his best move. But he had already tried it on me and failed. Twice. Did he have another favorite?

  But I couldn’t wait for him to think of his next move. I had to make mine… now.

  I thought of the double leg, the hold Clint had taught me. Could I count on it? Could I count on anything Clint had told me? He’d left me in the lurch.

  The few seconds I hesitated allowed Max to get a single leg on me. Luckily, by sheer strength and quickness, I was able to squirm out of it and earn a reversal.

  “The double leg, Sean!” I heard a voice shout.

  At first I thought I was imagining Clint’s voice. But no, it was Carl’s. He echoed my own hunch that it would work. Why not use everything I knew? Clint had only wanted me to win; what was the harm in following his advice? I was still the one who had to make the moves!

  Fired up with new hope and determination, I dove at Max’s legs and grabbed him above the knees. The Octopus let out a grunt and fell backward, putting both his arms around my shoulders as he did so, and spreading his legs to avoid my completing the hold.

  His effort worked. I was able to get a strong hold of only one leg, but I used it to the best advantage. I rose quickly to my feet, lifting his leg up off the mat with the hope of dumping him and then falling on him with maybe a double leg, a half nelson, or even — oh, wow — a treetop finish, in which I would have him up on one leg, dump him, and shoot for the pin.

  I got as far as pulling the Octopus’s leg up to my right ear when the whistle blew, ending the first period. I’d never know whether I would have pinned him then or not.

  Every second that we’d been together on the mat I’d learned more and more about the Octopus. My final analysis was he was just as tough as, or tougher than, he had pretended to be.