Chapter 9

Mark Easton knocked on the metal door and waited for it to open. Practice was only twenty minutes away so he presumed that Coach Crisfield was in his office, although he hadn’t seen him go in. When the door opened Easton spoke immediately, almost as though he didn’t want to give himself a chance to change his mind. “Coach, can I talk to you for a second?” he asked.

“Come on in, Mark,” Coach Crisfield said, backing away from the door. Easton entered and collapsed into a plastic folding chair near the scarred wooden desk that Crisfield moved behind. “Mark, you have to wrestle-off again today. Why all the sweat gear?”

“Remember when I was talking about 160 last week?” Easton said. “I think I want to do that. I want to wrestle 160 this year.”

Crisfield put down the stack of papers he was holding and watched Easton over the top of his reading glasses without saying anything. Looking uncomfortable, Easton tried to fill the void with more of his own words. “I just think 171 is too heavy for me. I really haven’t grown since last year. I’ll do a lot better against 160-pounders.”

“Why did you wrestle off for 171 yesterday?” Crisfield asked. “When did you change your mind? After you lost?”

“Coach, I talked to you about this already,” Easton said. “Before the wrestle-off. Bowie just caught me yesterday. That’s what everybody thinks. I’m just worried that 171 isn’t the right spot for me.”

“What about today’s wrestle-off?” Crisfield asked. “I take it you don’t want to go through with it?”

“Don’t I have to wrestle off for 160 if I want to switch?” Easton asked.

“You can’t. Not this week,” Crisfield said as pulled his glasses off. “You didn’t sign up. I’ve already got three guys wrestling off for that spot. They’ll be going at it all three days.”

“But next week I can challenge whoever wins, right?” Easton asked.

“What about this week?” Crisfield asked. “The only way you can wrestle Saturday is if you beat Bowie. Two in a row,” he added.

“I’ll just skip it,” Easton said. “I can work on dropping the weight for 160.”

“It’s not going to look good,” Crisfield warned. “You dropping out like this, after he beat you. If you want my opinion, that’s not the way a team captain leads his team.”

Easton’s mouth opened slightly. He stared at the floor while picking at a small hole that had worn in the knee of his blue sweats.

“You might be right,” Crisfield said. “Even though you got a late start you won’t have any problem getting to 160, and you’ll be better there. I just don’t like the way you’re going about it.” He started to say something else but apparently thought better of it.

“I think so too,” Easton said, looking up. “It doesn’t have anything to do with the wrestle-off.”

“So you’re officially dropping out at 171, right?” Crisfield asked. “You don’t even want to wrestle-off today and tomorrow? And you know you’ll sit on Saturday, right?”

“I know,” Easton said.

“I think you should wrestle-off for 171 anyway,” Coach said. “Finish what you start. But if you’d rather not, it’s your decision.”

~~~

The locker room was filling up quickly by the time Zach got there for practice after school on Thursday. He was customarily one of the last wrestlers to arrive and this day was no exception. By this point in the season, after showing that he was more committed to the sport than in the past, he had hoped to be treated less like an intruder and more like a teammate. So far it hadn’t worked out that way. Most of his teammates seemed frostier than ever as he worked his way to his locker with his head down.

Not all of them, though. “Zach, what’s up?” asked Tim Betterton, who had sidled up while Zach was pulling his shirt over his head.

“Tim,” Zach said. “Not much.” He thought for a moment. “Hey, you didn’t wrestle-off yesterday, did you?”

“No, nobody challenged,” Betterton said. “135’s all mine now.”

“Cool,” Zach said. “None of those guys could come close to beating you. Why bother challenging?”

“You blew everybody’s mind yesterday, pinning Mark,” Betterton said.

Zach smiled. “I get the feeling that nobody in here is too happy about it,” he said.

“Don’t be so sure,” Betterton said. “Things aren’t always the way they look. Not everybody likes the guy.”

“Most of them do, I’d say,” Zach said.

“So are you guys wrestling again today?” Betterton asked. “I just saw Mark come out of the office. He’s got all his sweats on, maybe even a rubber suit. He didn’t look like he was getting ready for a wrestle-off.”

“I don’t know why we wouldn’t,” Zach said. “Nobody said anything to me about it either way.”

The office door opened while they were both looking at it. Coach Crisfield stepped out, looked around, and met eyes with Zach and Betterton. He looked side to side and then waved for them to come over. “He must mean you,” Betterton said. “Probably what we were just talking about.”

Zach nodded at the coach, and then began pulling a pair of shorts on. “Yeah, I bet you’re right. Guess I’ll see you later,” he said as he grabbed his t-shirt and began walking towards the office.

“Close the door, Zach,” Crisfield said after Zach followed him into the office. Unknowingly, Zach sat in the chair that Easton had vacated only a few minutes earlier. The office felt cold to Zach in his shorts and t-shirt.

“Zach, things have changed,” Crisfield said. “Mark and I decided that he and the team would be better off with him at 160. So he won’t be wrestling you today or tomorrow.”

Zach saw no reason to pretend he was surprised, but he played along with his coach. “So I’m the starter at 171?” he asked.

“Yes,” Crisfield said. “Since the other wrestler dropped out, I guess it defaults to you.”

“Well, he didn’t just drop out,” Zach said. “I pinned him yesterday. Right before he made this sudden decision to help the team out. It wasn’t exactly handed to me.”

“I never said anything was handed to you,” Crisfield said. He stared at Zach, who stared right back. “It doesn’t matter how it happened,” Crisfield continued. “All you need to know is that there aren’t any more wrestle-offs for you this week. You’ll be starting at 171 on Saturday.”

“What about Easton on Saturday?” Zach asked. “He can’t wrestle 160, can he? It’s too late for him to wrestle-off.”

“Leave it alone, Zach,” Crisfield said, his voice getting louder and deeper. “It isn’t your concern.”

“Just because he’s the team captain, the rules don’t apply?” Zach said. “That stinks.”

“You’re crossing a line here,” Crisfield said, pointing a finger. “You don’t want to do that. I told you to drop it.”

“Okay Coach,” Zach said. “Whatever.”

Zach got up without another word and walked to the door. Just as his hand closed on the knob, Crisfield had one more thing to say. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Mark’s not wrestling on Saturday. Rules are rules. That’s the way I run my team.”

~~~

“I might as well tell you guys now,” Zach said from his customary seat in Fauquier’s van. “I’m not staying late. I have a match in the morning. If I have to ride with you guys you have to get me home early.”

Fauquier whirled his head around toward Zach. He was about to say something until Dumphries smacked him on the arm. “Light’s green,” he said.

They drove in silence. They were on their way to a last-minute job that Fauquier had landed, filling in at a private ‘sweet sixteen’ party after another local band spontaneously broke up earlier in the day. Dumphries and Herndon each pulled packs of cigarettes out and prepared to light up. “Hey, Zach, got a match?” he said, elbowing Zach in the ribs. “Get it?”

“Up yours,” Zach grumbled.

Dude, it just keeps getting worse and worse,” Fauquier said from the front seat. “What happened on Saturday? Where were you?”

“Sorry, I went to the mall with somebody and couldn’t get a ride back in time,” Zach said. “My bad.”

“Man, when are you going to get a drivers license?” Herndon asked.

“What’s the difference?” Zach asked. “My mom always needs the car anyway.”

“Do you still want to be a part of this band?” Fauquier asked. “Because we need to know now. Big things are going to start happening soon and we need everybody on board. One thousand percent.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Zach asked. “I don’t know anything you don’t know about stage monitors. You didn’t need me on Saturday.”

“Maybe we don’t need you tonight either,” Fauquier said. “Not if you’re not into it like you used to be.”

“Great,” Herndon said. “Right Joe, good thinking. We’re a rock band. What do we need with a singer and a bass player?”

“Maybe we just don’t need this one,” Fauquier said as he maneuvered the van through an intersection clogged with traffic.

. “Calm down you guys,” Dumphries said. “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Why are we looking for things to fight about? When we have a problem to solve, we’ll know it.”