If he could have called the whole thing off right then, he would have. Not because he was worried about embarrassing himself if he puked, but because puking would mean disappointing all the people who had helped him.
He didn’t remember doing warm-ups with the guys. He barely remembered hollering with everyone during Randy’s match. He did remember Hollie frowning and snapping at him, though he didn’t remember what she’d said. It was like he was in a cocoon, there but not there.
Then suddenly it was time for his match.
Dad, Pop-Pop, Mr. Herrera, and Elsi were on the sidelines next to the mat, Elsi already hollering, “Squish him, Will,” in her kindergartner voice. Even Will’s opponent grinned, nervously, at the fierce pipsqueak.
Will didn’t. He heard her, but it was through the buzz of everything else in his head. Coach must have been able to tell something was up, because he pulled Will aside and asked, “You set?”
He wasn’t. After this match, he was going to eat bugs to try to get other people to eat bugs, which would never happen if he puked. And then there was the scorpion. Jeez, he might not even make it to the Buck-a-Bug table; he might puke right there on the mat.
“Blink twice for yes,” Coach said.
Will blinked but only as a reaction to being pulled out of his thoughts.
Coach Van Beek squared Will’s shoulders and bent down to look directly into his eyes. “Take a breath.” He waited until Will did. “Whatever’s going on, it’ll still be there when you get off the mat.”
That was exactly the problem!
“The mat is where you get to let it go. For six minutes, you get to forget it. Channel the energy into what you came here to do. Relax, and focus on that one thing.”
Coach was right in theory, but Will had never really needed to put it into practice until last week with the ants—and he’d tanked. And the ants were tiny compared to what was waiting for him this time.
Looking around, he spotted Eloy with Coach Taylor, readying for his own match. As usual, he looked serious and, unlike Will, actually ready, until Elsi shouted again, “Squish him, Eloy!”
Eloy was surprised into laughing and jogged over to her for a high five. He glanced at Will, a grin still on his face, and echoed her, “Squish him, Will.”
“Enough with the squishing,” Will’s opponent joked, his good sportsmanship getting through to Will enough that he nodded at Coach and stepped into the central wrestling area.
He picked up the green anklet, his opponent taking the red, and strapped it on. The anklets helped the ref score the match, so they were important, but they could be annoying, because the Velcro bands fell off a lot. Will pulled his extra tight; he already had plenty of distractions.
At the ref’s signal, Will stepped to the narrow rectangle marked in the center of the mat, taking his place at one end.
“All that squishing stuff,” his opponent said. “You must be Bug Boy, huh?” The little laugh he gave told Will he was nervous, which would have made Will feel more confident if he didn’t have a thousand nerves of his own.
“Her brother’s just started wrestling. I don’t think she knows the terms yet.”
The guy only nodded, his Adam’s apple making a big jump before settling again.
“Uh, good luck,” Will said, reaching out to shake his opponent’s hand. The handshake was how every match started, but not the “good luck.” Will gave his head a shake, trying to let go and focus the way Coach had said.
“Yeah, good luck,” the guy said.
They both crouched into neutral position, one foot forward, arms raised at waist height, facing off.
The ref’s short whistle blast was like a lightning strike.
Will’s opponent shifted down for a mid-level attack, stayed low as he took his penetration step, and grabbed Will behind the legs above the knees. The guy pulled up on Will’s legs, spearing his forehead hard into Will’s gut. Will grabbed at the guy’s ribs to try to regain his balance, but the guy tucked his limbs close so he could drive his shoulder into Will. Will landed hard on his back, feeling the smack of the double-leg takedown through his entire body.
His opponent squeezed his arms to maintain control of Will’s legs, digging his toes into the mat and driving his shoulders forward. He was so close to pinning Will.
What saved Will was Eloy.
It turned out Will’s opponent was a lot like Eloy—stronger than Will but not as technically skilled. And Will had been wrestling Eloy for weeks.
His body moved on instinct and reflex, curling around the other guy and wrapping him from behind. Will rolled hard, whipping the guy’s legs over his own head. On his back, the guy bucked to keep his shoulders from the mat, twisting and twisting until he was on his side and could reach to try to break Will’s hold. But Will was still on top and in control, which meant he’d earn points for riding time as well as the reversal.
Will smelled the mat’s fresh disinfectant and his opponent’s forest-y deodorant. His ears vibrated with shouts from the crowd. Colors were sharp but shapes were not. His muscles roared.
On the mat, Will knew what he was doing. Even when he made mistakes, he knew how they happened and why, and how to try to fix them. But off the mat, when he made mistakes, what he did to fix them seemed like good ideas until he tried them and found out they were more mistakes. So how could he trust himself anymore?
In the too-long pause while Will’s mind spun, his opponent managed to wriggle onto his belly and spread-eagle his free arm and leg to brace against another roll. After several seconds of stalemate, the ref piped a short whistle blow, breaking them up to reset in the ref’s position.
Will got the bottom and sat on his ankles, hands flat on the mat in front of him, his opponent giving him time to set up before kneeling to curl around him. Will had practiced this so many times with Eloy, the whistle blow jolted him to action without thought. He grabbed the arm the guy had curled over Will’s belly and used his weight and momentum to flip the guy over his shoulder. Will kept hold of the arm, rolled backward on top of his opponent, and grabbed one of the guy’s legs. He pressed all his weight onto the guy, trying to get the pin, but his opponent was strong enough to fight his leg free from Will’s hold.
The wrestling move was done, and Will was on to the next one before his brain caught up. The sequence forced him to see something: He didn’t need to trust only himself. On the mat, he trusted his training, the coaches, and all the work he’d done with Eloy. Off the mat, he could trust his family, the Herreras, Eloy, and Simon. They were all in on Buck-a-Bug.
It didn’t matter how other people reacted. What mattered was Will doing something he believed in. Doing it had made him feel closer to his family and strengthened a friendship that Will had learned was really important to him. Not that he’d say so to Eloy. Will probably already had to eat a scorpion today; he didn’t want to suffer another headlock in Eloy’s stinky armpit.
His grin confused his opponent enough for Will to make another takedown.
Will didn’t get the pin.
But he won on points, and that was fine by him.