wrestle five more matches and still have energy to burn.
Kendrick and Mario also won their prelims, and Hudson City dominated the varsity match. So there were a lot of happy, rowdy wrestlers in the locker room afterward.
“Pizza,” Kendrick said with a big smile. “We earned it.”
“Villa Roma,” Donald replied. “I told Manny we’d meet him at seven.”
“Good deal. I gotta run home and get some money.”
Donald looked around at the other wrestlers. This felt more like a team now, more than just eighth-graders ruling over seventh-graders. They’d come a long way in less than a month. He was glad to be a part of it.
Wrestling was hard, but it was worth it. He had no doubts about that now.
Donald stepped out of the gym with his head held high, walking across the dark pavement. Since he’d started wrestling he hadn’t seen much daylight except on the weekends. School until three, then practice or matches until well after dark. It was six o’clock already.
He was hungry, but he had at least an hour to kill before Manny or Kendrick or anyone else would show up at Villa Roma. So he headed toward the Boulevard and turned right. There was a store down there that he wanted to check out: Lindo Música Internacional.
He’d been in here a few times, so he knew they had what he wanted. He nodded to the man behind the counter and walked past racks of CDs toward the back, where a few guitars hung from the wall.
“Help you?” asked the salesman, who had followed him down the aisle. The man was thin with a neatly trimmed dark mustache.
“Maybe.” Donald pointed toward the ceiling, though he wasn’t sure where the music was coming from. “What’s this playing?” The song was fast and guitar heavy, and the singing was in Spanish.
“El Torito. They’re Dominican.”
“Cool. I wanted to look at the guitars.”
“Do you play?”
“Not yet.”
The man took an acoustic guitar from the wall and handed it to Donald, who plucked one of the strings and listened to it resonate. “Could a person teach himself how to play?” he asked.
The man smiled. “You could. But you’d save a lot of time by taking lessons. There are several people around the neighborhood who give them.”
He pointed to a bulletin board on the wall that had small posters announcing where local bands would be performing, a few business cards for DJ services for weddings and parties, and announcements of bands looking for musicians or singers. The word LESSONS caught Donald’s eye. He counted four cards with phone numbers of guitar teachers.
Donald carefully handed the guitar back to the salesman, admiring the smooth grain of the wood and the tautness of the strings. “Christmas is a couple of weeks away. I’ll send my dad in.”
He’d noticed the price tag on the guitar, though. It was steep. “Do you ever sell used guitars?” he asked.
“Sure. Sometimes.” The man put the instrument back in its place. “We have songbooks and picks and anything else you’d need, too.”
Donald guessed that even a used guitar of that quality would be expensive. Maybe he could go with a lesser model for now. They probably had some at Kmart. His mother got an employee discount.
“Thanks,” Donald said. “I’ll definitely be back.”
“Anytime,” said the man. “We’re open late.”
The Boulevard was all lit up—Christmas lights overhead and trees and decorations in most of the store windows. People were walking quickly, carrying packages and shopping bags and take-out food from the Mexican and Asian restaurants.
He still had a lot of time. His mouth watered when he walked past La Isla Café and smelled the food. Villa Roma’s pizza would be a very welcome gift to his stomach.
Donald felt warm in his hooded sweatshirt and windbreaker, relaxed and happy from the visit to the music store, and confident and excited about his success on the wrestling mat. Things were looking good. And he knew they’d continue to get
Kendrick and Mario also won their prelims, and Hudson City dominated the varsity match. So there were a lot of happy, rowdy wrestlers in the locker room afterward.
“Pizza,” Kendrick said with a big smile. “We earned it.”
“Villa Roma,” Donald replied. “I told Manny we’d meet him at seven.”
“Good deal. I gotta run home and get some money.”
Donald looked around at the other wrestlers. This felt more like a team now, more than just eighth-graders ruling over seventh-graders. They’d come a long way in less than a month. He was glad to be a part of it.
Wrestling was hard, but it was worth it. He had no doubts about that now.
Donald stepped out of the gym with his head held high, walking across the dark pavement. Since he’d started wrestling he hadn’t seen much daylight except on the weekends. School until three, then practice or matches until well after dark. It was six o’clock already.
He was hungry, but he had at least an hour to kill before Manny or Kendrick or anyone else would show up at Villa Roma. So he headed toward the Boulevard and turned right. There was a store down there that he wanted to check out: Lindo Música Internacional.
He’d been in here a few times, so he knew they had what he wanted. He nodded to the man behind the counter and walked past racks of CDs toward the back, where a few guitars hung from the wall.
“Help you?” asked the salesman, who had followed him down the aisle. The man was thin with a neatly trimmed dark mustache.
“Maybe.” Donald pointed toward the ceiling, though he wasn’t sure where the music was coming from. “What’s this playing?” The song was fast and guitar heavy, and the singing was in Spanish.
“El Torito. They’re Dominican.”
“Cool. I wanted to look at the guitars.”
“Do you play?”
“Not yet.”
The man took an acoustic guitar from the wall and handed it to Donald, who plucked one of the strings and listened to it resonate. “Could a person teach himself how to play?” he asked.
The man smiled. “You could. But you’d save a lot of time by taking lessons. There are several people around the neighborhood who give them.”
He pointed to a bulletin board on the wall that had small posters announcing where local bands would be performing, a few business cards for DJ services for weddings and parties, and announcements of bands looking for musicians or singers. The word LESSONS caught Donald’s eye. He counted four cards with phone numbers of guitar teachers.
Donald carefully handed the guitar back to the salesman, admiring the smooth grain of the wood and the tautness of the strings. “Christmas is a couple of weeks away. I’ll send my dad in.”
He’d noticed the price tag on the guitar, though. It was steep. “Do you ever sell used guitars?” he asked.
“Sure. Sometimes.” The man put the instrument back in its place. “We have songbooks and picks and anything else you’d need, too.”
Donald guessed that even a used guitar of that quality would be expensive. Maybe he could go with a lesser model for now. They probably had some at Kmart. His mother got an employee discount.
“Thanks,” Donald said. “I’ll definitely be back.”
“Anytime,” said the man. “We’re open late.”
The Boulevard was all lit up—Christmas lights overhead and trees and decorations in most of the store windows. People were walking quickly, carrying packages and shopping bags and take-out food from the Mexican and Asian restaurants.
He still had a lot of time. His mouth watered when he walked past La Isla Café and smelled the food. Villa Roma’s pizza would be a very welcome gift to his stomach.
Donald felt warm in his hooded sweatshirt and windbreaker, relaxed and happy from the visit to the music store, and confident and excited about his success on the wrestling mat. Things were looking good. And he knew they’d continue to get
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