CODY
Sweat dripped from my scalp and down my back as the referee declared me the winner. Two more matches, and the victory would be mine. I could taste it, sense it in every muscle strain and heartbeat.
The smell of burnt popcorn and scorched chili from the concession stand lingered in the stuffy gym causing my empty stomach to clench. Or maybe it was watching Blake take down his opponent, guaranteeing once again that he and I would be battling it out.
But not for first place this time.
Our brackets had collided, so whoever won the next match would be in the finals. The loser would wrestle for third. I wasn’t going to be the loser. Not this time.
My gaze drifted to the packed bleachers. Matt and Devon sat in the middle, watching and discussing every move. A halo of empty seats around them suggested I wasn’t the only one intimidated by their bulk and street-thug appearance.
My parents sat two rows lower, looking uncomfortable in their business attire. They had only arrived thirty minutes ago, and Blake had made a point to hug my mom and act like we were still best buds. My mom had even wished him good luck, which made me want to vomit.
I scanned the bleachers again, looking for the two scouts rumored to be here. North Carolina State and Georgia Tech. Both Division I schools. Each an opportunity I couldn’t miss. It wasn’t even about the money as much as it was about knowing I was talented enough to compete at that level.
“Looks like it’s me and you again,” Blake said, taking the seat next to mine in our team’s designated area. “Must be hard to lose so many times.” He reached down for his Gatorade and took a long swig from the bottle.
I wouldn’t play his game. Not today.
Looking for a distraction, I ruffled through my gym bag and found my phone. The missed text sent tingles through my fingers. Three words, but they were enough to light a fire inside my gut.
Skylar: Good luck today.
Skylar hadn’t returned to school, but we’d been slowly texting again. Little updates. New songs when we found them. Nothing too deep. But it felt like a fresh beginning. One that had no secrets.
Me: Thanks. Made the semi-finals. My match is in a few minutes.
Skylar: You’ll kill it.
Me: Everything okay with you? Your dad?
Skylar: I guess. It’s lonely here. He’s been sleeping a long time. Haven’t seen him yet today.
Me: I’ll come over right after the match.
Skylar: It’s ok. You don’t have to.
Me: I want to. I miss you. I miss your voice. I miss seeing your face. I miss your smile.
Skylar: You tell me that every day.
Me: It’s still true.
The wait for her answer stretched on to eternity. I held the phone close, as if my grip could make her reply come faster.
Skylar: Maybe we can start slow. A phone call?
Me: I’ll take it. Should be done in an hour or so.
Skylar: I’ll be rooting for you.
Me: That’s all I need.
I turned to Blake and smiled, feeling more empowered and eager than I did ten minutes ago.
He narrowed his gaze, then squeezed my shoulder in fake camaraderie when coach stood in front of us issuing last minute pointers.
Pointers I didn’t need. Because I knew something neither of them did. That while Blake sat basking in his stolen victory, I was learning how to fight him.
The ref called us out, and we each took our stance opposite each other within the inner circle of the mat.
The cheers were deafening. Most of them were for Blake, but my section had grown too. Another reminder that a shift was happening.
I lunged at the shrill of the whistle, capturing Blake by the neck. He pushed me off, countered and then we were both locked on. We spun in a bid for dominance. Knees knocked. Elbows slammed. Blake twisted, but I locked onto his thigh and pushed him out of the circle.
Two points.
They were the first of many, and I was the clear favorite to win when we stood ready for round three. The gleam in Blake’s eye warned me he’d do something illegal. Something to throw me off my game. But I was ready this time.
I started the round on my knees, Blake braced over me. But in one swift move, we were both standing, and I received another point for the escape. This match was mine.
Blake lunged, I countered. He grabbed. I escaped. I was one step ahead, one second faster, every time.
Then I saw it. His mistake. Three seconds later, he was locked on the ground, his back flat against the rubber and victory rang in my ears louder than Matt’s and Devon’s cheers.
*
I ducked my head, received the first place medal and walked to stand at the top of the small wooden podium a few feet away. Blake was to my right, on the floor, wearing a third place ribbon. I bit back a smile at the sight of his face. No arrogance. No smug satisfaction. That was all mine today.
Flashes blinded me as parents, friends and coaches took our pictures. My mom’s face held a proud grin behind her iPhone. I smiled back. For all the times my parents disappointed me, there were moments like these. When they showed up, the other days faded into the background.
Our moment was over. I stepped down and into my mother’s strong embrace.
“We’re so proud of you, Cody!”
“Thanks.” I felt proud of myself, too. Not just for the win, but also for everything I’d become through the journey.
My dad’s firm handshake came next. “Good job, son.” His face beamed with pride although we both knew my dad had no interest in sports or anything that caused perspiration. I think he owned one pair of sneakers. The ones he wore to his company’s mandatory picnic each year.
He pulled me in for a quick hug and then released me.
“Thanks, Dad.”
They offered dinner out, but I declined, wanting a shower and a long conversation with Skylar. I wanted to tell her about my victories. All of them. At school and at the match.
Blake was suddenly next to me with his hand outstretched. “Great match, Cody. That last move was wicked.”
Matching his performance, I quickly shook his hand and then jammed my fists into my warm-ups.
“The team’s heading to dinner. You should come.”
My mom’s smile broadened at Blake’s invitation. She still worried that the reclusive, depressed kid I used to be would appear again. The kid who had no friends, no invitations and certainly no gold medals around his neck.
“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” It was a lie. My stomach was a hollow pit of hunger, but I wouldn’t subject myself to an unnecessary hour of Blake’s company.
“Oh, Cody, go. It will be fun,” my mom said, getting that look I remembered too well. Worry. Misplaced concern.
Blake wrapped an arm around my shoulder and squeezed tighter than necessary. “Yeah, come on.”
Pushing him off, I agreed. For my parent’s sake, though Blake and I both knew I wasn’t going.
My parents said their goodbyes and left the gym.
I spotted Matt, waiting. Watching Blake and me with arms crossed and keen eyes.
“What do you want?” I growled, facing off with Blake, his innocent expression long gone.
He took a step closer.
So did Matt.
“You lost, Blake. And not just today’s match. Lindsay’s done with you. I’m done with you. You’re losing your power at school, and soon you’ll just be some has-been jock who used to be popular.”
Blake didn’t move. Not his body or his expression. “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”
Maybe I was high from my win or maybe having Matt there gave me a confidence I shouldn’t have, but I smiled. The kind of smile that provoked. “You’re right, but I no longer care. You’re insignificant.”
The last word hung in the air. Two things powered bullies. Our fear and our insecurity. I had just deprived him of both.
The hostility in our stance must have driven Matt forward, because he was suddenly next to us, his words careful and slow. “It’s time you boys take a step back.”
I obeyed, but Blake made a point to meet Matt’s eye, then dropped his gaze down the length of Matt’s body.
A beat later, he stepped back too. At least the boy wasn’t completely brainless. He snatched his gym bag. “Later.” Not a goodbye, but a promise.
Matt kept his focus on Blake until he was through the double doors of the gym, and then faced me. “Nice match.” I was expecting a reprimand for the face-off, but there was nothing but pride in Matt’s eyes.
“Yeah, it was.”
We walked out to our cars. Several kids from school congratulated me. The same kids who just weeks ago had mumbled “loser” under their breaths. Unreal.
“I’ve got a new move I want to show you. It’s a tough one, but I think you’re ready.”
“Okay. Sounds good.” I wanted to focus on what Matt was saying, but my head was no longer at the match or even on wrestling at all.
As if Matt could sense my distraction, he let me be. Told me to enjoy my moment and he’d see me in the gym next week.
“Hey Matt,” I called after him.
He turned, waited.
“Thanks for coming today. It meant a lot.”
A rare grin split his face. “You’re welcome. Now go talk to that girl of yours. I can tell she’s all you’ve got on the brain anyway.”
I laughed, set my bag on the hood of my truck and rummaged for my phone. A missed text from Lindsay was on the screen. I slid the lock and everything stopped with her words.
Lindsay: The news just said Donnie Wyld is dead.