tape Dink’s match?” Joey asked.
“And yours, if you like. Make a copy for you.”
“Oh, thank you, sir.”
Dink glared over to Joey. “Sir?”
Joey didn’t like Dink making fun of him, or maybe making fun of his dad. Maybe he should give them some quality time. “Well, I gotta go see when I’m up.”
“Later.”
“Have a good match, Joseph.”
“Thanks.”
Taped up along a wall were the result sheets for Qualifying, Prelims, Consolation rounds and Finals, each name on a line narrowed toward the single line for Champions.
“So, you gonna bust ass today?”
Pauly Somebody, from . . . “Irvington?”
“Kearny.” Pauly pulled up his T-shirt to show his singlet, which bore his school name.
“What exit?”
“The first one. North.”
“That’s right.” Joey remembered the match quite well. He’d been screwed into the ground in twenty seconds, a sprained finger his souvenir. He couldn’t draw for weeks. He wasn’t about to let that happen again.
They didn’t give each other’s names, didn’t want to make it seem as if they forgot, or cared if they forgot. It was cool.
But there was something new, along with what looked like several more pounds of muscle. On his shoulder he had a small tattoo of Wile E. Coyote. Although Joey wanted to touch it, compliment him.
He did neither.
“Man, I’m psyched,” Pauly said as Joey pulled his gaze from the guy’s shoulder.
“Really?”
“Oh, man, not you?”
Joey grinned. “I’m not even awake yet and I already flattened a guy.”
“What school?”
“Hackensack.”
“They are so gay.”
“Whatever.” They looked at each other, not speaking, then he returned his gaze to the wall. The line-ups came out printed from a computer that one of the coaches had brought.
Joey could feel the guy still glancing at him. “Ya get nervous when it gets down to the wire?” Pauly asked.
“Naw,” Joey said, pointing at the chart like an art critic. “It’s kinda like lookin’ at the Empire State Building, only sideways, so it’s more relaxed than like, just one match, more …linear.”
“You’re weird.”
Then Joey figured it out. His eyes followed the rows of his name, Pauly, oh, that’s it. Tucci. They would spar later that day.
Against each other.
He was trying to psyche Joey out.
“Well, good luck,” Joey said, lightly smacking Pauly exactly on that tattoo.
He retreated to Camp Little Falls. Hunter, the Shiver brothers, Lamar, Raul Klein, and Tommy Infranca, a JV gunning for varsity, sat in a lazy circle. Joey parked himself down. They were talking about football. Joey didn’t say anything until Dink approached, stretched out, laying his feet on Joey’s shins like a human foot rest. Toying with Dink’s shoelaces, he even began to untie them and relace them together, but Dink didn’t protest.
“When you up?”
“Two more on Mat Three.”
“Good. You got time to massage my back.”
“What, is he your slave?” Hunter sneered.
“And my massss-ter!” Dink said in a prissy way that made everybody laugh.
Hunter looked shocked.
“Didn’t you ever see Kids in the Hall ?”
“No.” Hunter said, still waiting for an explanation. But apparently Raul and the Shivers and even Eddie Whitehirst and a few other JVs who came to watch had seen the show, too. The boys started imitating the “I’m crushing your haid” guy, pinching their fingers at each other, until Raul crawled over, actually grabbed Tommy’s head, hooking his arm around the boy while another guy plucked off his shoes. All Joey could see was Tommy’s crewcut getting noogied by Raul, then a few others. Tommy ripped himself out of it, chuckling, his face flushed.
Hunter said to Joey, “Hey, go talk to Chrissie. She wants you.”
What for, he wanted to ask. He didn’t want to move, wanted to lay there, retain his post as Dink’s sofa.
Chrissie and Kimberly were busy with the score keeping. With their hair hidden under baseball caps,
“And yours, if you like. Make a copy for you.”
“Oh, thank you, sir.”
Dink glared over to Joey. “Sir?”
Joey didn’t like Dink making fun of him, or maybe making fun of his dad. Maybe he should give them some quality time. “Well, I gotta go see when I’m up.”
“Later.”
“Have a good match, Joseph.”
“Thanks.”
Taped up along a wall were the result sheets for Qualifying, Prelims, Consolation rounds and Finals, each name on a line narrowed toward the single line for Champions.
“So, you gonna bust ass today?”
Pauly Somebody, from . . . “Irvington?”
“Kearny.” Pauly pulled up his T-shirt to show his singlet, which bore his school name.
“What exit?”
“The first one. North.”
“That’s right.” Joey remembered the match quite well. He’d been screwed into the ground in twenty seconds, a sprained finger his souvenir. He couldn’t draw for weeks. He wasn’t about to let that happen again.
They didn’t give each other’s names, didn’t want to make it seem as if they forgot, or cared if they forgot. It was cool.
But there was something new, along with what looked like several more pounds of muscle. On his shoulder he had a small tattoo of Wile E. Coyote. Although Joey wanted to touch it, compliment him.
He did neither.
“Man, I’m psyched,” Pauly said as Joey pulled his gaze from the guy’s shoulder.
“Really?”
“Oh, man, not you?”
Joey grinned. “I’m not even awake yet and I already flattened a guy.”
“What school?”
“Hackensack.”
“They are so gay.”
“Whatever.” They looked at each other, not speaking, then he returned his gaze to the wall. The line-ups came out printed from a computer that one of the coaches had brought.
Joey could feel the guy still glancing at him. “Ya get nervous when it gets down to the wire?” Pauly asked.
“Naw,” Joey said, pointing at the chart like an art critic. “It’s kinda like lookin’ at the Empire State Building, only sideways, so it’s more relaxed than like, just one match, more …linear.”
“You’re weird.”
Then Joey figured it out. His eyes followed the rows of his name, Pauly, oh, that’s it. Tucci. They would spar later that day.
Against each other.
He was trying to psyche Joey out.
“Well, good luck,” Joey said, lightly smacking Pauly exactly on that tattoo.
He retreated to Camp Little Falls. Hunter, the Shiver brothers, Lamar, Raul Klein, and Tommy Infranca, a JV gunning for varsity, sat in a lazy circle. Joey parked himself down. They were talking about football. Joey didn’t say anything until Dink approached, stretched out, laying his feet on Joey’s shins like a human foot rest. Toying with Dink’s shoelaces, he even began to untie them and relace them together, but Dink didn’t protest.
“When you up?”
“Two more on Mat Three.”
“Good. You got time to massage my back.”
“What, is he your slave?” Hunter sneered.
“And my massss-ter!” Dink said in a prissy way that made everybody laugh.
Hunter looked shocked.
“Didn’t you ever see Kids in the Hall ?”
“No.” Hunter said, still waiting for an explanation. But apparently Raul and the Shivers and even Eddie Whitehirst and a few other JVs who came to watch had seen the show, too. The boys started imitating the “I’m crushing your haid” guy, pinching their fingers at each other, until Raul crawled over, actually grabbed Tommy’s head, hooking his arm around the boy while another guy plucked off his shoes. All Joey could see was Tommy’s crewcut getting noogied by Raul, then a few others. Tommy ripped himself out of it, chuckling, his face flushed.
Hunter said to Joey, “Hey, go talk to Chrissie. She wants you.”
What for, he wanted to ask. He didn’t want to move, wanted to lay there, retain his post as Dink’s sofa.
Chrissie and Kimberly were busy with the score keeping. With their hair hidden under baseball caps,
Similar Books
