Page 5 of His Heart

Reversal, black.

Long arms, all muscle, strove to control me. Move me. Turn me over. I fought back with everything I had. He tried for a half-nelson, but I got free. Twisted, spun.

The whistle blew, ending the first round.

We stopped and got up, and I walked a few steps, shaking out my arms. Ground my teeth into my mouth guard. The crowd cheered again, but I kept my mind focused on the battle. On Charlie. On winning.

Round two had me in bottom position—on my hands and knees. Charlie’s ear to my back, hand on my wrist, his other arm around my torso. The whistle blew and I exploded to my feet. Charlie got his arms around my waist. He was strong enough to pull me to the side, making it hard to keep my balance. I pushed against his hands to break his grip, keeping my center of gravity low. My height made me look scary, but it could be a disadvantage if I didn’t shift my weight in time.

I broke his grip and spun, then took him to the mat. Take down, green. He answered with a reversal, getting behind me and taking control.

This was going to be too close on points. I needed to pin him to win.

We struggled against each other, sweat dripping, making our limbs slick. My chest burned with effort. I could hear Coach’s voice yelling instructions—sprawl, spin, turn, drive, drive, drive.

Neither of us could maintain a pinning move for more than a second. He tried for a cradle, but I overpowered him before his grip locked. I almost had him in a half-nelson, but he countered and broke free. We were both the best, at the top of our game. So evenly matched no one watching us could predict who would win.

I knew. It was going to be me.

The whistle blew and we shook out our limbs before the third round. This would be where mental toughness came into play. We were both getting tired. Three minutes doesn’t sound like a long time, until you spend every second of it fighting against someone hell-bent on making you submit.

My turn for top position. I knelt behind Charlie, putting my ear to his back. Hand on his wrist. Other arm around his torso. I could see the sequence of moves in my mind. Feel the power in my body.

The whistle blew again. Charlie wasn’t going down without a fight. He tried to stand, but I got hold of his ankle and hauled his leg back while driving my body forward. For a second, I had him where I wanted him, but he twisted, his strength matching mine.

The blood rushing in my ears drowned out the noise of the crowd. My body strained, my lungs burning for more air. The two of us fought like gladiators, as if our lives were on the line, not just a title.

He was strong, but I knew his tactics, remembered how he’d beaten me last year. He always went for a cradle. I kept him from getting a grip on me, always countering. I lost track of the points we scored on each other, but I knew it was still too close. I needed to pin him.

I broke his grip yet again and got to my feet. I was getting to him, getting in his head. Frustration showed plain on his face. The round was halfway over, and he was slowing. Fatigue setting in.

I could have wrestled ten more rounds. Energy poured through me, despite my fast breathing and pounding heart. A sense of elation filled me. Almost euphoria. I had this. I could do it.

He went for the takedown and I let him have it. Spun around and got behind him for a reversal. I wasn’t just going to pin him. I was going to ownhim.

Before he could counter, I got control of his arms. Flipped him over into a double arm bar. Few moves are as painful and demoralizing. I kept the pressure on his shoulders, pressing his back into the mat, his arms stretched out. He grunted, trying to break free. But there was no way—not without dislocating both arms.

The ref dropped to the mat, lying on his stomach, swishing his hand back and forth, palm down. Not quite a pin. I pushed harder, drawing on every last bit of strength I had left. Sweat rolled down my face; my muscles burned. My chest was on fire, my heart crashing against my ribs.

Smack. The ref’s hand hit the mat. Pin.

I let go and moved so Charlie could get up. He unwound himself and shook out his arms. Blood pounded in my ears, throbbing in my temples. I sat on the mat for a few seconds, catching my breath, letting it sink in.

I’d won.

Charlie reached out a hand to help me up. I took it, meeting his eyes in thanks. Respect. We shook hands and the ref came to take my wrist. Raised my arm above my head.

My heart wasn’t slowing, my breath coming faster. Why did my chest hurt so much? Spots of black floated across my vision, followed by sparks of light. I blinked hard, only half hearing the announcer say my name. I tried to find my parents in the crowd, but everything was blurry.

Sudden agony hit me, like I’d just been stabbed. Sharp pains radiated across my chest, down my arm. I cried out, cradling my arm to my body. The ref stepped in. A hand touched my back. Voices, asking me if I was okay.

The pain was unbearable. My legs gave out and I crumpled to the ground. I couldn’t think. It was like my entire chest was caving in, my heart bursting apart.

Darkness came for me and I rushed to meet it. Anything to stop the unrelenting pain.

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