Page 8 of Heartbreaker
Exactly one week after tryouts, I got a call from Xander Collins, head of Talent Relations at Elite Wrestling Entertainment. While I thought the tryout went okay, I decided to be realistic about my chances of getting a callback. I wasn’t as qualified as some of the others who were there, but I wasn’t the worst by any means. From the second I stepped into the ring, I was surprised by how much I enjoyed it. Standing in the squared circle—a term I learned through my quick internet search of basic wrestling moves—was like a shot of pure adrenaline to my nervous system. A rush like I’d never experienced, and the longer I was there, the more I wanted to stay. Getting the phone call from Xander made missing practice—and the scolding from Coach the next day—worth it. One practice in three years wasn’t the end of the world, but you’d think I’d committed a felony. Their response was the final nail in the coffin for the relationship between me and the Wildcats. No matter the outcome with EWE, I wasn’t returning to the team after this season.
“You’re going to do it, right?”
“I was thinking about it,” I say with a shrug.
“You have to!”
I laugh. “I said, I’m thinking about it.”
“Nash,” Mamá cuts him off before he can pester me further. “Leave your sister alone. Go outside and see if your father is almost done with theasado. The three of you need to wash up before dinner.”
“But, Mamá—”
“Now,” she says. “Go.” Mamá shoos him outside despite his pleas to stay. I’m sure he has a million questions. Like, did I meet any famous wrestlers? Was it hard? Was it fake, or did the punches hurt?
“You still owe me $100,” I yell before the door closes on his backside.
Mamá mutters to herself, wiping her hands on her apron, and when she looks at me, her shoulders rise and fall with a heavy sigh. This is how it always is around here. The boys give my parents a run for their money, not to say I haven’t a time or two, but they wouldn’t have it any other way. She motions to the dishes covered in foil that sit on the counter. “Help me move this food over to the table. Not long before the rest will be done.”
We move them over in silence, but I know her own questions are bubbling beneath the surface. Questions I know she has wanted to ask since I told her about the call two days ago, but she waited until we could be face-to-face. Truthfully, I’m surprised she lasted this long. My mother is nothing if not persistent, and when she wants something, she has no issue making that fact well known.
“Do you want this, Sav?” she asks, dropping the final baking dish on the table. “You know that your father and I support you in whatever you decide to do, but…I just—We want to make sure this is whatyouwant. Just because you made it doesn’t mean you have to go. You still have the Wildcats and your degree and—”
“I know, Mamá.” I toy with the fabric of the red tablecloth draped over the long table my father built years ago. He built most of the furniture that fills these rooms, some with our help, and others as experiments.
“When do you have to make a decision?”
“Monday.” I wrap my arms around my torso. “I’d start in their developmental program at the end of February…It’s in Florida.”
“Florida?” My mother’s outburst makes me flinch. She flies into a rage of Spanglish as she paces between the dining room and the kitchen. I knew this was coming the moment Xander told me I’d have to move to Tampa, where their training facility is located. She finally pauses at the island, her hands wringing the fabric of her apron. “There is no way, Savannah! You won’t graduate. You can’t just—You can’t move across the country! All of…All of your hard work gone to waste. You won’t—”
“I know, Mamá. I know!” Taking a deep breath, I rub my eyes and meet her intense stare from across the kitchen. “I know, okay? But this is…I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. When I was in that ring, it felt…good. Right. Like I’m supposed to be there.”
“Ay, Savannah.” She shakes her head, eyes drawn to the ceiling.
“I see you broke the news to your brother,” Papá’s voice booms when he walks inside not two seconds later. He’s a bigger man, the kind of man you’d expect to see on a ranch, with a rugged face and graying beard. His skin is permanently tanned from years of work in the sun. He towers over my mother by at least six inches, and he passed that gene onto my brothers, while I land somewhere in the middle.
Mamá points at me. “Wesley, please talk some sense into your daughter. She’s talking about leaving school to go do this silly wrestling thing.”
“I can always transfer. I don’t have to drop out,” I say.
“Now hold on a second, let’s back up,” Papá says, stepping between us. “What’s all this about?”
I look over my shoulder, but my mother only glares at me. Her arms cross over her chest with a raised brow, waiting to hear not only my explanation, but my father’s response. It takes everything in me not to roll my eyes. “Mamá is upset becauseifI decide to join EWE, I have to move…to Florida…in February.”
“February?” His dark brows arch toward his graying hairline. “That means you’d have to leave Thornebrooke.”
“Or transfer,” I say, quickly. “I can finish my last semester in Tampa after I get settled. I’ll have to take the next semester off, but I can apply to some schools there…I can still graduate. It’s no different from what I’m doing now!”
Papá’s features soften. He places a hand on my mother’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, and she covers it with her own. The look on her face tells me that Mamá thinks she has won this argument, but his eyes tell a different story. “Will you get paid while you’re training with EWE?”
“More than I make with the Wildcats.”
“Well, it would seem you’ve already thought it all through.”
“Wesley!” Mamá shouts. There’s a fire in her eyes that tells me she is ready to stand her ground on this, but my father lifts his hands, quieting whatever protests she had in mind.
“So, what’s the problem, Savannah?”
