Bryan and I decide to go classy for the social. The day after I quit, we talk our moms into taking us shopping for bow ties. Real ones, not clip-ons. Bryan’s tie is black with musical notes. Mine is navy with paw prints. We watch a YouTube tutorial and practice tying each other’s ties.
After dinner that night, Mrs. Oliver and Isaiah stop by. I introduce Isaiah to Grover, and then we play video games in the basement while the parents drink tea and talk. He wants to know if I’m quitting for real, but I don’t have an answer.
“You know how Coach is,” Isaiah says. “The second he’s done yelling, he forgets what he was mad about.”
“It’s not about Coach. Wrestling’s not fun anymore, at least not at tournaments. I still like hanging out at practice with you and Josh and Mickey.”
“Fearsome Foursome,” Isaiah says, holding out his hand for a fist bump. “It’s not going to be the same without you. We need you to keep Josh in line.”
“Mickey can handle Josh.”
“It’s not the same.”
On Friday, we turn in our mythology projects. Mr. Van knows how stressed out our class has been. We play musical chairs for the rest of the period. Instead of music, Mr. Van recites Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Raven.” When his voice pauses, everyone dashes to get their butt in a chair.
Marisa is meeting us at the social, because it’s not a date, but Bryan and Emma come to my house to get ready. All our parents want to take pictures. Emma loves the bow tie idea so much, she’s wearing one too. It’s pink with black mustaches. Mrs. Hong and Mom gush about how cute the three of us look dressed up, even if we are wearing jeans and high-tops with our button-down shirts and ties. With the three of us back together, it almost feels like middle school never happened.
When we get to Meadowbrook, Marisa is in the art room. The tables are set up for card games: Uno, Pokémon, and Magic: The Gathering. Bryan pulls at my sleeve and whispers, “The girl of my dreams is playing Pokémon. I am on a non-date with Marisa Zamora and we are going to play Pokémon.”
I give him the side-eye. “This must be what nerd heaven looks like. See you later. We’re going to the gym.”
Emma and I challenge a couple of her chorus friends to a game of badminton. We ask Mr. Wilebsky to be the referee. “It’s good to see a smile on your face, Sofer,” he says.
I try to ignore Spence playing half-court basketball on the other side of the gym. He’s staring at me, but since I quit wrestling, I don’t care what Spence does.
Marisa and Bryan rush into the gym, practically tackling me and Emma. “The karaoke contest is starting,” Marisa says.
I let Emma drag me to the door. “Marisa and I have been practicing our song for weeks,” she says. “Come cheer us on.”
I rub my arm. Emma’s got a strong grip, probably from running around with a lacrosse stick all the time. I should have asked her to join the Gladiators. Then Mickey would’ve had another girl on the team.
In the cafeteria, Mr. Van is in charge of karaoke. Bryan and I crack up when we see him. His badger face doesn’t go with his Hawaiian shirt and plastic lei.
While Emma and Marisa sign up for karaoke, Bryan gets us lemonade and cookies. I stand to the side of the cafeteria, away from the bright stage lights.
Nick Spence finds me. “I need to talk to you.” He pushes his floppy bangs out of his eyes.
“Fine. Talk.”
“I want to go to a Gladiators practice.”
I almost snort. “Why? You hate us.” Not us. Them, I tell myself. I’m not a Gladiator anymore.
Nick shoves his hands in his pockets. “My little sister wants to wrestle,” he says. “She wants to join a team and my dad won’t let her.” He looks right at me. “You know how he is.”
I nod. “You want to see how Coach and the guys treat Mickey.”
“Yeah.” He flops his hair.
“Won’t your dad find out?”
“I’ll tell my father I’m going to your house for a school project.”
There are a million things I want to say: Won’t your dad notice when you come home sweaty from practice? Doesn’t he know we hate each other?
“I saw how you stood up for your partner,” Nick says. “I can do that for my sister. I need to. She looks up to me.”
“I can’t invite you to practice, Spence. I quit the team.”
His eyes pop wide. “What’d you do that for?”
“When I back-talked my coach last weekend, he lost it. I just…I couldn’t take it.”
Nick kicks a loafer against the concrete wall. “I want to wrestle Delgado, you know. Anna, that’s my sister, I want her to see that it’s okay. But my dad’s old-school. My mom’s not around and he thinks being a single parent means he’s got to be a total control freak. He hates change.”
Archaic, Bryan would say.
“Sorry, man.” I put a hand on Nick’s shoulder. It’s the first time I’ve touched him without trying to knock him to the ground.
“Maybe I could talk to her,” Nick says.
“You mean my girlfriend?” I crack a smile. Nick smiles back.
“She’s a good wrestler.”
This was supposed to be my night off from thinking about Coach, and Mickey, and whether I made a mistake. I could call Mickey, tell her about Nick’s sister, but I can’t stop thinking about what she said to me.
You think you’re better than everyone, Lev Sofer.
I’m not better than Nick and he’s not better than me. We’re both trying to figure stuff out.
“I haven’t talked to Mickey much since I quit.”
“But you’ll help me?”
“I’ll think about it.”
I wish the social didn’t have to end. Everything I’ve missed out on since I joined the Gladiators is crammed into three hours. Friends grabbing my arm, dragging me over to play cards and badminton, asking me to listen to them sing. I’m outside, waiting for my parents to pick me up, when Mr. Van comes lumbering out of the building. “Nice shirt, Mr. Van!” I call.
“Mr. Sofer. Did my eyes deceive me or were you having a parley with Mr. Spence?”
“I don’t know what that is, but I talked to him, yeah.”
“Remember Joy Harjo’s words. ‘An enemy who gets in, risks the danger of becoming a friend.’ ”
“We’re not exactly enemies anymore.”
“You’ve let go of your black-and-white thinking. Smart.”
Mom’s car pulls up.
“Have a good night, Mr. Van. And thanks.”
Mr. Van is wrong. There is a lot of black-and-white thinking happening in my brain. It’s telling me that quitting wrestling means cutting off my Gladiators friends, including Mickey.
When I get home, I make myself text her. It’s been more than a week since we fought and I’m not sure she wants to hear from me. The only thing I can think of to say is sorry.