Chapter 8

“Hey Joe, pull into McDonald’s,” Herndon said. “Anybody else got the munchies?”

Fauquier cut across a lane of traffic and turned into the parking lot without a word. In fact, he hadn’t said much since they walked out of the secondhand store in Cherry Hill with their newly purchased set of stage monitors. He parked the van, then followed Herndon and Dumphries into the restaurant where they ordered some food.

“He’s the reason we bought the thing,” Fauquier finally said as he unwrapped his burger. “All of a sudden he couldn’t hear himself sing, so he had to have it. What, he’s too busy to bother showing up to help us pick it out?”

“Something must have happened,” Herndon said. “Maybe he had gambling debts. He might be wearing cement shoes, swimming with the fishes right now.”

Fauquier made a face of exasperation at Herndon, who shrugged his shoulders and smirked. “Or not,” he said.

“He had a wrestling match this morning,” Dumphries said. “It must have gone late or something. It’s not like Zach to just blow us off like that.”

“What are you, his lawyer?” snapped Fauquier. “Whatever it was, it had to be over long before three o’clock.”

The three ate in silence as the look on Fauquier’s face continued to darken. Herndon and Dumphries stared at the table as they chewed their food, occasionally stealing a look at Fauquier.

“You know, guys,” Fauquier finally said. “We were going pretty good until Zach went overboard with this Joe Athlete business. We were just starting to make a name for ourselves. People were starting to see that we’re not just another band.”

“I don’t know, Joe,” Dumphries said. “Face facts. We are just another band.”

“No way,” Fauquier said. “We’ve got something. I can do stuff with my guitar that nobody else around here can. And Zach has that voice. People are starting to notice us.”

“Well, if that’s how you feel you have nothing to worry about,” Herndon said. “Zach didn’t quit. He didn’t even miss a practice. He just missed a field trip, that’s all.” A smile crossed his face. “I’m more worried about those things you said you do with your guitar that nobody else does. Now that’s scary.” He looked over at Dumphries who was snickering hard enough to cough up a french fry.

“He’s good, but he’s just not into it anymore,” Fauquier said. “If he doesn’t care, nothing else matters.”

“Don’t you think you’re getting carried away, Joe?” Dumphries asked. “Like Bo said, all he missed was a shopping trip.”

Fauquier pulled the plastic lid off his cup of soda and tilted his head back to drink what was left. “I met a singer at work about a month ago,” he said after the cup was empty.

“A fellow sheetrocker?” asked Herndon.

“He’s a laborer but the foreman has him following us through the townhouses prepping for carpeting. Anyway, he’s pretty good. We sing a lot while we work. The acoustics are awesome once the walls are up,” Fauquier said, smiling for the first time in hours.

What are you saying, Joe?” Dumphries asked. “Are you thinking about kicking Zach out of the band? You just got done telling us how great he is.”

“How great he was,” Joe corrected. “He’s not giving us what we need anymore.”

“You can’t be serious,” Herndon said. “That’s like starting over.”

“I’m not saying we should do it yet,” Fauquier said. “It’s just something to think about.”

“Does your new guy play bass too?” Dumphries asked. “We’d also be losing our bass player.”

“He’s okay on guitar,” Fauquier said. “He says he could get up to speed on bass pretty quick.”

“You mean you already talked to this guy about it?” Herndon asked. “Without asking us first?”

“Cool it, Bo,” Fauquier said. “I didn’t invite him to replace Zach. I just told him about our problems. He just has a good imagination, I guess.”

“If he’s already talking about learning to play the bass, it sounds like you went a lot further than that,” said Dumphries.

“He’s pretty anxious to get in,” Fauquier allowed. “I can’t deny that. And I tell you what, he’d be in it a thousand percent. Not like wrestler-boy.”

“I have to take a leak,” Dumphries said, getting up abruptly and disappearing around the corner.

“It’s just talk, Bo,” Fauquier said. “You guys shouldn’t be freaking out like this. At least I’m thinking about how to fix our problems.”

~~~

Wednesday was the day that Zach had been thinking about for quite some time, ever since he had signed up for wrestle-offs in the 171-pound weight class. The winners of the wrestle-offs would wrestle in the first match of the season on Saturday. So far nobody had come right out and told him he was crazy for challenging the team captain. They didn’t have to. It had been clear since the day that he printed his name on the sign-up chart right below Mark Easton’s that nobody liked his chances.

Despite what people were thinking, Zach felt confident about winning. He remembered what nobody else did, namely that he had held his own against Easton the previous season until his stamina gave out. With his much-improved stamina and newly developed strength he thought he had a pretty good chance. Judging by Easton’s body language and sullen tone in the past week, he was pretty sure that Easton felt the same way

“One-seventy-three and a half,” said team manager Lee Towson after adjusting the scale until it hit equilibrium. He searched the sheet on his clipboard until he found the proper column, in which he made a notation.

“What did Easton weigh in at?” Zach asked.

“Um,” Towson said, looking at Zach as if he was unsure what to do. “He must not have weighed in yet.”

“Sure he did,” Zach said. “I watched him do it. Come on, what did you write down for him?”

Towson shrugged. “I guess I’m allowed to tell you,” he said. “He was one-sixty-seven on the nose.”

“No kidding,” Zach said. “That’s pretty much what I expected.”

“He’s way under weight,” Towson said.

“No he isn’t,” Zach said. “He’s way over weight. He’s going 160.”

“That’s not what it says here,” Towson said.

“Not yet. You’ll see,” Zach said as he walked away.

After calisthenics Coach Crisfield had a few words to say about the important proceedings that were about to begin. “Men, you know my rules,” he began. “The room is to be absolutely silent during all wrestle-offs. If I hear anybody cheering, coaching or encouraging, that person will be thrown out on his ear. Understood?”

“Welcome to the FireHouse, baby!” yelled the likely 215-pound starter, George Prince. When Crisfield glared in his direction the smile quickly disappeared from his face. A nodding of heads and a murmur across the room signaled that everybody understood, so Crisfield continued. “If you own a weight class, the challenger has to beat you two times out of three. Since this is the first go-round, they’re all two out of three. We have today, Thursday, and Friday if we need it.”

There would be two wrestle-offs going on at a time, he explained. He would referee one and Assistant Coach Thad Hancock would referee the other. “Everybody else, you know the drill,” Crisfield said. “Spread out along the edge, make sure the wrestlers don’t crash into a wall and crack their skulls. After we’re done with wrestle-offs we’ll have a regular practice.”

Most of the wrestle-offs were predictable affairs, usually with upper-classmen easily fending off their challengers. Many ended with pins or lopsided scores. Zach watched from the corner while stretching his hamstrings. He saw Easton on the other side of the room, surrounded by some of the returning starters who had won or were about to win easy wrestle-offs. Each time one came off the mat the others clapped him on the back or initiated exchanges of “high-fives”, flirting dangerously with Crisfield’s rules.

When Coach Crisfield solemnly called Zach and Easton onto the mat when the time finally came for them to wrestle, Easton emerged from the pack of veterans who patted him on the back and shoulders as he passed. Zach, by contrast, had to step carefully through a group of disinterested JV wrestlers who’d gravitated to the corner almost by accident. Just before he reached open space he stumbled over somebody’s foot. He looked back angrily but the foot had been withdrawn. He pulled his headgear into place and snapped the chinstrap before reaching the coach.

Crisfield clearly knew this was the match that everybody had been waiting for. “Remember,” he warned everybody in the room, “There will be no cheering. Everybody’s mouth should be closed except mine and Coach Hancock’s.” Instead of refereeing a simultaneous wrestle-off across the room, Coach Hancock had come over to serve as timekeeper for this one. After the two combatants converged Crisfield told them to shake hands. Easton had a smile on his face but Zach was looking past him and didn’t appear even to see it. “Round two is tomorrow, gentlemen. Don’t forget,” Crisfield said. “Best two out of three.”

For the first few seconds after Crisfield blew the whistle neither wrestler moved. Then Easton began circling to his right, hands in front but keeping his distance. Zach knew Easton was trying to set him up for something but he was unsure what it was. He circled in the same direction as though he was being chased. Suddenly Easton reversed direction and pounced on Zach’s exposed leg. Within seconds he’d stood up with the leg. Zach tried to hop towards the heating unit on the side of the mat, looking for a new start, but Easton was too crafty to let that happen. He skillfully turned Zach back towards the center and then tripped the other leg. When Zach went down to the mat and turned away Easton was awarded two points for the takedown.

Zach took Easton’s wrist and tried several times to stand up. Each time Easton chopped him back down and covered. Zach kept moving, knowing that would make it harder for Easton to break him down and turn him onto his back. He again took the wrist and turned in, fishing for a Peterson roll. It wasn’t there because Easton obviously knew what Zach was thinking, but Zach was able to create enough space to back out and escape for a point. The period ended with Easton ahead by a score of 2-1.

Easton won the coin flip and chose the bottom position for the second period. Zach had always had difficulty riding Easton. He decided not to risk being reversed for two points. If he got into danger he’d release him, surrendering only one point, and take his chances on his feet.

It wasn’t long before that happened. Easton beat Zach on the whistle and nearly rolled him. After the situation stabilized Zach let him go. Easton crawled away to create a buffer zone rather than turning dangerously to face Zach at close range. Instead of allowing Easton to retreat, Zach followed, shoving him viciously onto his stomach and then fell onto Easton’s back. It was a dirty but legal tactic. It didn’t result in any points for Zach but he was glad he’d done it anyway because he knew it would confuse and upset Easton. Pleased with himself, he let Easton go again, and advanced quickly to try another shove. This time Easton was ready, at least enough to turn quickly and spring to his feet. As the two moved back to the center and squared off Zach heard a few catcalls from some of the wrestlers who didn’t approve of his mat decorum.

Without giving Easton a chance to calm down Zach grabbed Easton at the elbow and put Easton in a headlock with his other hand. After he felt the hold was tight enough he turned and pulled Easton over his leg and onto his back. Easton tried to roll through, and then to arch off his back, but Zach wouldn’t give him any room. After he lifted Easton’s head off the mat he could see clearly that both shoulder blades were on the mat. It was as though Coach Crisfield couldn’t bring himself to call the pin. Knowing he was doing everything he could for the pin, Zach smiled his creepiest smile as he looked directly into Easton’s face. Finally, after Easton had been immobilized and flat on his back for nearly thirty seconds, Crisfield blew the whistle softly and patted the mat gently to signal that the match was over.

~~~

Kevin Salisbury waited outside the locker room for his best friend. He hadn’t yet had a chance to talk with Easton and was worried about how his spirits were holding up. “Hey Buddy,” he said when Easton emerged. “Don’t even worry, this is just a speed bump for you.”

Easton looked Salisbury in the eye momentarily but said nothing. The two hoisted gym bags, zipped coats and donned knit hats as they walked down the hall towards the door. “I’m in trouble, Kevin,” Easton finally said when they were outside. “I don’t know if I can beat him anymore.”

Salisbury was about to answer but just then a rusty sedan pulled up to the curb right in front of them. The wrestlers altered their path, cutting in front of the car after it had stopped moving. Easton seemed unconcerned but Salisbury glared angrily into the car at the woman behind the wheel.

“Sure you can,” Salisbury said a minute later as they walked through the parking lot. “You’ve been beating him for years.”

“It’s different now,” Easton said. “Back then I just had to wait until he ran out of breath and turned into a rag doll. Now he’s in better shape than I am. He doesn’t get tired and he’s strong as friggin’ ox.”

Salisbury remembered how his friend had derisively dismissed Zach Bowie a few weeks earlier but wisely didn’t bring it up. “You’re still better, Mark,” Salisbury said. “Just chill out, okay? He just surprised you today. Heck, I’m glad he’s on the team. He’ll help a lot at another weight class. You’ll win tomorrow and Friday, and then you can forget all this happened.”

~~~

Jeanine carefully watched the teenager who was looking through the windshield at her. When she realized it wasn’t Zach she looked away, worried that she might have missed him. Finally, she spotted him walking directly in front of the car.

“Zach!” Jeanine called out as Zach walked past the car. “Zach, it’s me. Jeanine.”

Zach stopped and squinted into the headlights. “Jeanine! What are you doing here?” he asked.

“Get in,” she said. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

Seeing no reason not to, he walked to the passenger side of the car and stepped in. “I didn’t know I had a chauffeur,” he said.

“Look, I thought you should know about something,” she said. “Man, what happened to your face?”

“It’s just from wrestling,” Zach said. “I always get a few burns here and there.”

“The guys are talking about kicking you out of the band,” she said. “They were pretty mad about you not showing up the other day.”

“Kicking me out?” Zach asked. “Just for that?”

“Well, not just that,” she said. “They think you don’t care enough anymore and it’s starting to show.”

“That’s garbage,” Zach said. “You don’t really mean ‘they’, do you? You’re talking about Joe, right?”

“Yeah, mostly,” she said. “But what Joe says usually goes, right?”

“They won’t do it,” Zach said. “Joe’s up to something, that’s all.”

“He’s already got your replacement lined up,” she said. “Some guy from work.”

“Whatever,” Zach said. “They can do whatever they want. I’ll be okay either way.”

“Come on,” Jeanine said. “You’re not fooling anybody. Don’t let it happen, Zach.”

“Thanks for the ride,” Zach said curtly when they reached his house. “Don’t worry too much about what Joe says. I never do.”