not all done up like in school, from behind they almost looked like boys.
A guy from one of the other schools stood from the table, conferred with the girls, stepped out onto the mat, tapping the ref’s back with a taped-up towel, the time clock in his other hand noting when each period ended. When Joey had defeated the Hackensack kid, his timer had tossed the towel, which sometimes happened. He remembered dodging it when the kid’s aim missed. Sometimes the towel would bop the ref in the head or back. People would laugh.
“Go ‘head.” Hunter shoved him.
“Naw. They’re busy.”
“Well, go tell Bennie he’s up soon.”
He obeyed. He didn’t know why. He just wanted to hang with Dink. He liked Hunter well enough, even though he and Bennie kind of scared him.
Bennie had moved to the bleachers, munching on something, his NO FEAR T-shirt showing spots of sweat. He lay on the footrest of a bleacher. Joey approached Bennie cautiously, watching him through the side guardrail as if observing some large creature in a cage.
Bennie tapped his finger lightly on his own chest to the beat of the music hissing from his earphones. Joey didn’t say anything at first, but then Bennie looked up, as if sensing him. His arm rose. Hands slapped low fives, fingers hooked, parted. Bennie pulled one ear free. “Good match, Neech.”
Joey brushed it aside, climbed around. Bennie sat up. Joey joined him. A bagel was offered. They munched. “He was out of it. Too easy,” Joey shrugged off his victory, but he still felt a surge of pride. One of the big guys rooted for him. He’d noticed.
Two rows below them sat two large older people, a man and woman Joey assumed to be Bennie’s parents. They didn’t look it. They were both overweight, really large, quiet. Occasionally the man leaned back to make a comment about a guy’s moves. They both nodded a silent greeting. Bennie introduced them. They nodded hello.
Joey tapped Bennie’s arm. Bennie plucked his other ear free. “Hunter says you’re up soon.”
Bennie replaced one earphone, continued to watch the match before them. “Aw, I got time. ‘Sides, I always beat that fag.”
The word hit like a little misguided splash of venom. He wanted to go talk to someone else. Paul E again? No. They were opponents. Not that there was any real animosity. Wrestling wasn’t like that, mostly.
Who would he talk to, if he did? Introduce himself to the kid he beat? He figured he’d get along well enough with any of them, but he didn’t know what to say. He’d sure acted stupid with Paul E. Coyote. Staying on the bleachers with Bennie felt safer, venom or not. They watched Dink wrestle a kid from Passaic.
“C’mon, Dink! Take ‘im down!” he shouted. Bennie clapped a few times.
Joey tried to believe that he got caught up with Dink’s matches because in duals, with just two teams, Joey always competed before Dink. He was already fired up.
But it was really about smaller things; how Dink’s buzzcut felt like bristles, the way Dink grabbed his ears when they played. He could almost see Dink considering which move to try, which one he’d fumble.
Bennie and Joey shouted encouragement, filling in the gaps between Coach’s yells and Dink’s dad, who sat down in front, videotaping.
Dink had nearly been pinned a few times. That always got people going, especially a takedown. Most people were watching as Dink and his opponent went at it. The match to the left had finished, and the one to the right had just begun, so almost everybody watched center ring.
Dink escaped an almost fumbled reversal, avoiding an advantage over their 7-7 tie. The kid at the scorekeeping table tossed the towel to end the period, but the ref, even though he stood only a foot away, didn’t see Dink get the reversal until after he saw the towel, so Dink didn’t get the two points.
Dink’s father jumped up, stepped to the mat, still holding the video camera, yelling at the ref like a baseball
A guy from one of the other schools stood from the table, conferred with the girls, stepped out onto the mat, tapping the ref’s back with a taped-up towel, the time clock in his other hand noting when each period ended. When Joey had defeated the Hackensack kid, his timer had tossed the towel, which sometimes happened. He remembered dodging it when the kid’s aim missed. Sometimes the towel would bop the ref in the head or back. People would laugh.
“Go ‘head.” Hunter shoved him.
“Naw. They’re busy.”
“Well, go tell Bennie he’s up soon.”
He obeyed. He didn’t know why. He just wanted to hang with Dink. He liked Hunter well enough, even though he and Bennie kind of scared him.
Bennie had moved to the bleachers, munching on something, his NO FEAR T-shirt showing spots of sweat. He lay on the footrest of a bleacher. Joey approached Bennie cautiously, watching him through the side guardrail as if observing some large creature in a cage.
Bennie tapped his finger lightly on his own chest to the beat of the music hissing from his earphones. Joey didn’t say anything at first, but then Bennie looked up, as if sensing him. His arm rose. Hands slapped low fives, fingers hooked, parted. Bennie pulled one ear free. “Good match, Neech.”
Joey brushed it aside, climbed around. Bennie sat up. Joey joined him. A bagel was offered. They munched. “He was out of it. Too easy,” Joey shrugged off his victory, but he still felt a surge of pride. One of the big guys rooted for him. He’d noticed.
Two rows below them sat two large older people, a man and woman Joey assumed to be Bennie’s parents. They didn’t look it. They were both overweight, really large, quiet. Occasionally the man leaned back to make a comment about a guy’s moves. They both nodded a silent greeting. Bennie introduced them. They nodded hello.
Joey tapped Bennie’s arm. Bennie plucked his other ear free. “Hunter says you’re up soon.”
Bennie replaced one earphone, continued to watch the match before them. “Aw, I got time. ‘Sides, I always beat that fag.”
The word hit like a little misguided splash of venom. He wanted to go talk to someone else. Paul E again? No. They were opponents. Not that there was any real animosity. Wrestling wasn’t like that, mostly.
Who would he talk to, if he did? Introduce himself to the kid he beat? He figured he’d get along well enough with any of them, but he didn’t know what to say. He’d sure acted stupid with Paul E. Coyote. Staying on the bleachers with Bennie felt safer, venom or not. They watched Dink wrestle a kid from Passaic.
“C’mon, Dink! Take ‘im down!” he shouted. Bennie clapped a few times.
Joey tried to believe that he got caught up with Dink’s matches because in duals, with just two teams, Joey always competed before Dink. He was already fired up.
But it was really about smaller things; how Dink’s buzzcut felt like bristles, the way Dink grabbed his ears when they played. He could almost see Dink considering which move to try, which one he’d fumble.
Bennie and Joey shouted encouragement, filling in the gaps between Coach’s yells and Dink’s dad, who sat down in front, videotaping.
Dink had nearly been pinned a few times. That always got people going, especially a takedown. Most people were watching as Dink and his opponent went at it. The match to the left had finished, and the one to the right had just begun, so almost everybody watched center ring.
Dink escaped an almost fumbled reversal, avoiding an advantage over their 7-7 tie. The kid at the scorekeeping table tossed the towel to end the period, but the ref, even though he stood only a foot away, didn’t see Dink get the reversal until after he saw the towel, so Dink didn’t get the two points.
Dink’s father jumped up, stepped to the mat, still holding the video camera, yelling at the ref like a baseball
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