Not the Usual Season

By Nancy May

Senior high school wrestler Ben must prepare for his last season on the mat, where he has to prove once and for all he is a champion wrestler. As he prepares for this challenge, J.T., his best friend, Talia, his new love interest, and Jordan, the newest wrestler on the team (and first female), all have insecurities and wants that distract him from his ambition. Their struggles show Ben that life’s purpose is not always about winning but ultimately about relationships.

In Dogs Don’t Wrestle, the theme of meaning is explored by comparing the dogs’ lives to human lives in a humorous and poignant way. Although the book is targeted for young adults, older adults can appreciate the many references to music, poetry and movies of the past as well as the present. Through them, we see the continuous human longing for love, acceptance and meaning.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Aug 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9781663202352

Nancy May

Nancy May grew up in Columbia, South Carolina. After graduating from the University of South Carolina with a journalism degree, she moved to New York City and worked in publishing. Her previous book, Dogs Don’t Talk, earned rave reviews from Blue Ink and Kirkus Reviews and five stars from Readers’ Favorites. She currently lives in Virginia with her family.

Book preview

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ONE

F ORGET FOR A moment that you are in a high school cafeteria with its cacophony of voices and hip-hop on loud speakers. Pretend the tables are heavy and wooden instead of ones with laminated tops and round, plastic, built-in seats. Take in the vibe of our wrestling team’s year-end banquet: a medieval castle hall filled with characters right out of King Arthur’s court.

Coach G—full name Garland—is the king seated at the center of the table of honor. He is a big man with a reddish beard and a loud voice more used to bellowing commands than making small talk. This is his kingdom hall, filled with his subjects, seated in order of importance. The two wrestlers who won first place at States this year are seated next to Coach on one side, like knights, while the assistant coaches, his courtiers, are on his other side. This lineup of tables faces the tables that are set perpendicular, where the lesser humans—that is, the parents, the incoming freshmen, and upcoming sophomore wrestlers—are seated.

I’m Ben. I’m seated near the end of the honored lineup but not on the very end. That seat belongs to Henry. He’s an upcoming junior who is only five foot four but all muscle and full of talent. I’m next to him, and J.T. is seated on my right, closer to the crème de la crème of the Wildcat wrestling team. He’s tall, good-looking, and sandy-blond with a knowing grin that makes the girls fall for him. He fools around on the guitar and sings, fancying himself a singer/songwriter, which makes him added chick bait. He’s also our sure thing next year, one of the emerging stars.

Good thing we’re friends because otherwise I’d hate him. But I’ve grown more comfortable in my own skin. I’m average height, five foot ten, with dirty blond hair. I have a round head that I used to have a complex about when I was a kid because people called me Charlie Brown, but I own it now. Wrestling doesn’t depend on good looks anyway. As far as wrestling chops, I’m no slouch myself. After all, I am seated at the table of honor. This past season, I was cheated out of the 153 slot to wrestle at the state championship by Blake Barker, who beat me at the wrestle-off because he wrestled dirty, giving me a few punches to the head that went unnoticed by the coaches. The coaches found out later what really happened (but not by me—I was too much of an idiot to speak up for myself at the time). Blake made a fool of himself at States and got disqualified for trying to pull the same stuff there. Anyway, now I’m on Coach G’s good side, and he’s taken an interest in prepping me.

Blake’s absence speaks volumes, as this is supposed to be the grand send-off for the seniors as much as for the benefit of incoming wrestlers. I haven’t had anything to do with him since our fight in March after practice. We were waiting for our rides, and he started imitating my autistic brother, Johnny, who has a penchant for singing Beatles’ songs. Blake mimicked my brother singing I get by with a little help from my friends one time too many, and I just lost it. I let chips fall where they may and just started going after him, punching him the way he had punched me at the wrestle-off. The capper was when Mom drove up with my two dogs, Rosie and Marty, and they bounded out of her car to play a tag team with me. Rosie, a happy brown shepherd mix, and Marty, a goofy, black-and-white pit bull mix, are not ferocious dogs, just energetic ones who can’t resist a chance to wrestle.

What are you grinning so big about? Henry says, looking at me as I relish the scene in my head.

Oh, I’m just replaying the infamous dog-mounting-Blake scene in my head.

Henry breaks out laughing too. I have that video saved on my Instagram. It’s an instant classic. Bully gets a taste of his own medicine. That picture of your dog Marty on top of Blake with a goofy grin on his face? Unforgettable.

My smile gets wider. My favorite picture is of me with my arm around Rosie, partly hugging her and partly trying to keep her from getting to Blake, I continue. Marty was doing a good job of wrestling him. But Rosie was my protector. She was the one who first jumped on him. She didn’t attack, like bite him or anything. But she threw him off balance, and he fell to the ground. It was her last big hurrah, her one last act of being superdog before— I stop talking as my eyes water despite my best effort to quash it. Before we found out she has a cancerous tumor in her lungs, I finish quickly, trying not to sound overdramatic.

Oh man. That’s too bad, Henry says. Losing a dog is like losing a member of your family, they say.

Yeah, I guess everyone has to go sometime, I say, putting on a brave face. You know what was really cool about that picture? This girl in one of my classes who I had a crush on told me I looked good in that picture.

Henry laughs, then says, Whoa, man, that’s awesome!

I smile, trying not to look too smug.

To be honest, Talia prefaced that remark by saying my dog looked cute before adding, And so do you! Talia Butler sat in front of me the whole year in precalculus class, her long, silky, light brown hair cascading over the top of my desk. We never said much to each other, but the smell of her hair made me think of being on the beach. I admired the profile of her long but not too long, nose, and almond-shaped eye when she turned around to reach for something in her purse. Every once in a while, she’d shoot me a shy smile, but she never said anything more than hello. And then she told me she thought I looked cute! Even mentioned my dimples. We started to make more small talk, but either I was too shy or she was too shy, or maybe I was making more of this than I really should. But how do you go from, Wow, that was a hard quiz, wasn’t it? to Would you like to go out Saturday? Unlike J.T., girls are not my strong suit.

Hey, dude, J.T. says with his usual enthusiasm as he comes back from the food table with another sub sandwich on his plate. Isn’t this spread awesome? I knew if we just ordered Firehouse subs, dumped a few chips and cookies in bowls, and threw in a few cold drinks, everyone would love it! Wasn’t I right? Look at Coach. He’s chomping away.

Good thing we have our employee discount, I say. We saved the team some serious money. J.T. and I started working there after the wrestling season ended. Now that summer is almost here, hopefully I’ll get in more hours and rake in the bucks. I look at the table directly in front of me, which is perpendicular to ours, and spot J.T.’s newest girl. She’s looking down at her half club sandwich like she wants to kill it.

Hey, J.T., isn’t that—what’s her name again? Your girlfriend?

Dude, we’re just talking. We’re not in a relationship, J.T. tells me with a withered expression. Okay, maybe the relationship has gone beyond talking. I’ll give you that. I mean, she talked me into inviting her to the banquet, and I did. She should feel honored. This is a big deal, after all.

Well, she doesn’t look happy to be sitting over there and not next to you. I bat my eyes mockingly. Maybe it is I who should be honored to be sitting next to you!

Hey, bro. J.T. starts laughing. Too bad there’s a rule against wrestlers dating other wrestlers.

There is? I look at him oddly. I didn’t think there had to be such a rule.

Hey, I’m just playing with you, J.T. says, poking me slightly with his elbow. Anyway, I invited her to come, but how was I to know we weren’t going to sit together? But no big deal. She got a free dinner out of it.

Sometimes, J.T., you are so insensitive.

Bro, you hurt me! He contracts his stomach as if I just punched him. I’m a very sensitive guy. How do you think I could write songs if I didn’t have sensitivity? He looks at me with a sly grin.

She just has to get to know the real you, I say. "Maybe after the banquet y’all can do more talking."

Coach G pushes himself out of the round, plastic seat, surveys the place with a commanding presence, and lifts his cup. Ladies and gentlemen, it is good to be a Wildcat!

The plebes and their parents cheer wildly, while we seasoned team members give a more measured response. It’s good to be a Wildcat when we’re winning. When the team isn’t winning, he is not happy—to say the least. Let’s just say we had to talk him off the ledge this year for coming in second.

Coach nods and takes in the applause. We are going to have a great year next year, aren’t we? And I for one am looking forward to having some wrestlers who are ready and eager to win! And I want to introduce one of them to you now. She’s a beauty. Can I say that? Am I allowed to say the obvious? He looks around, sporting a huge grin.

Scattered laughter is mixed with curiosity. Then he goes on. When I describe Jordan Mueller as a beauty, I’m not talking about her as if she’s a young woman, which she is. But she’s a prized fighter. A racehorse. A competitor. And I’m proud to have her join us as the newest member of the Wildcat wrestling team! Jordan is new in town. She comes from a high school with an excellent team. You who were good enough to go to the Beast of the East tournament saw Oliver Teague High School from Maryland and how they dominated. And that’s where she’s from, guys. And since this past year wasn’t our best, I believe she will be a breath of fresh air. And, boy, do we need it! Would you all give her a hand? Jordan Mueller!

A girl seated at the center table directly in front of Coach springs up from her seat, smiles, and waves as we—me, Henry, and J.T.—give her a hand. Literally, three hands slowly wave back at her as we stare with confused looks, not sure what to make of this big fanfare.

Thanks, Coach! she says, bouncing with cheerleader enthusiasm and looking at the table of honor from her left to her right, ending with us. Hi, guys! she says, still with a klieg light smile on her face. It’ll be an honor to compete with you all!

There are a few unspoken rules about wrestlers. One, they don’t bounce, smile, and wave to everyone. Wrestlers tend to keep to themselves, getting psyched up for a match. It isn’t a team sport in the way football and basketball are. You go out there, and you win or lose on your own. You let your wrestling do your bragging.

Two, no wrestler has ever had an introduction like that. All we are told is to get out to the gym and practice. What’s that big grin the Coach has? Isn’t this the same coach who just this past year said he wouldn’t even know how to coach a girl if one were to join? Now she is his prized racehorse? What does this girl Jordan have that is so special? She looks somewhat tall, about five six, lean but muscular, blonde hair in a ponytail, with piercing blue eyes. They are piercing even from where I’m sitting, which is about twenty feet from her. From the looks of her, I’d say she weighs about the same as Henry.

And rule three. Well, this isn’t so much a rule, but to keep going with my King Arthur theme here, since when does Guinevere become the hero in the story? From the looks of Coach G, you’d think she’ll be the one to pull the proverbial sword out of the stone and win States for us next year. Really? True, she looks formidable for a girl. For a girl. A girl with defined muscles and a walk like she knows how to intimidate. Or perhaps seduce is the word I’m looking for.

I’m not sure if she means to lock eyes with me, but she does. Her look says—I’m not sure what it says. Something like Watch out. She’s not like the other girl wrestlers I’ve seen come and go through the years who look unsure of themselves, like they shouldn’t be on the mat (because really they shouldn’t), and they’re just out there because their brother does it and it looks like fun, and Hey, I want to learn to get tough too. No, she’s confident, too confident if you ask me. But it’s something else too. She looks determined. Kudos for that. But the real test is, how is she on the mat?

J.T.! she calls out to him, cupping her hand to her mouth, and waves excitedly. J.T. waves back. She goes back to her seat as if she just returned from picking up her prize.

Is there any female in this school you don’t know? I ask him, letting my envy show just a tad.

I just know the good-looking ones, he says.

Hey, I just learned there’s a rule about wrestlers not getting romantically involved.

Not to worry, J.T. says, waving me off. Actually, I met her at church. She came to the youth meeting. We started talking, and I told her I wrestle. When she told me she wrestles too, it was kind of a turnoff to tell you the truth, even though she is pretty. Anyway, she told me she was impressed that I’m a wrestler and also play guitar in the praise band. Like the two talents would be mutually exclusive.

So she goes to church, eh? Interesting. I wonder if she takes it seriously. I’m not even sure J.T. does except as a way to play guitar and keep up with his music. Maybe she’s just trying to make friends, being new in town.

I wonder what weight she’ll compete in, I say as I turn to Henry. Maybe yours.

If she thinks she’s going to take my place in the prime spot, pretty woman has got another thing coming, Henry says without a hint of friendliness in his tone. I’ll tear that pretty little head off.

Ouch! I recoil at his hostility. A little rough there, don’t you think?

She wants to wrestle with us, one of the top teams in Virginia? So be it. But she better plan to get roughed up is all.

No dirty tricks, I tell him.

I wouldn’t have to! I’m not Blake Barker, Henry says, clearly annoyed with me at the insinuation.

I didn’t mean that, I backtrack somewhat. I mean, I get what you’re saying. You should look at her as if she were just a new guy who’s come to knock you out of your spot on the A team. I’m not sure this Jordan knows what she’s getting into, being from Oliver Teague or not. Then again, that look tells me she knows exactly what she’s getting into.

Coach G recognizes Kyle and Marcus, the winners from this year’s state championship seated next to him. We only had two wrestlers take top prize in their weight classes this year, Coach says with an edge to his voice. There was a glitch in that we didn’t take the prize for top team. It doesn’t feel good to come in second. He turns his head briefly to me, as though recognizing that my not being there was one of the glitches. I appreciate that, and I’m determined to take first place next year.

There are a few announcements and instructions for the summer practices, and then Coach officially ends the banquet. People mill around as the team members pitch in to clean up.

Need a ride home? I ask Henry.

Sure. I’ll text my mom and let her know I got a ride. Thanks.

No problem, I tell him. My parents aren’t here either, which I’m rather grateful for. After sophomore year, having parents around just gets in the way. I say hello to a few of the other wrestlers and then notice a swirl of activity near the newest wrestler. Oh my God, what is with these guys? She’s a girl. She’s a wrestler. You’ve seen them, guys. It’s no big deal.

What’s with her? Henry echoes what I’m thinking. It’s like she’s a celebrity or something. Come on. Let’s go. Clearly, Henry isn’t one of Jordan’s newest fans. For my part, I am slightly amused by all the fuss. I mean, it’s hard not to like her confidence, her air of friendliness. This year may actually be, dare I say it, fun.

Not that I can think too much about the fun. This year is going to be about two things for me. One, winning the state championship so I can, two, get a better chance into getting into the Naval Academy. Winning would be a big asset to my résumé. Getting into Annapolis has been my goal since about ninth grade when I met with a friend of my father’s who graduated from there. Captain Fuller is the kind of guy I want to be—self-assured, confident, and most of all, he seems happy. Not eaten up with things like my dad is about his company or Coach G with needing to win all the time. ‘The important thing is to focus,’ Captain Fuller said. ‘Don’t let the little things get to you.’

What did you say? Henry asks me as we gather our trash and throw it in the big trash cans.

Uh, did I say something? I say, tossing stray napkins and straw wrappers in the trash.

You said something about little things, Henry says, following behind me.

Uh. Oh, I said don’t let the little things get to you, I answer, a little embarrassed that I said my thoughts aloud. This Jordan girl is a little thing.

Yep, girls can be little things. Henry nods his head. I shouldn’t think about little things. Except Elizabeth.

Hey, lay off my little sister, I tease. She’s not you’re type.

Hey, how do you know what my type is? She’s athletic …

She’s a dancer turned cheerleader. Good thing she’s a loudmouth. I suppose it comes in handy when leading cheers.

Hey! Cheerleading takes a lot of athleticism. Plus, she’s a looker.

Don’t bother, Henry. You don’t need the drama. I give him a slightly older-brother patronizing look as I’m saying this to him. But seriously, for me, girls need to take a back seat to academics and wrestling, the two things that will determine the direction of my life. Girls can wait.

I start to head out toward the parking lot when I look out and, among a myriad of people, see Talia, my secret crush, walking along the hallway that opens to the cafeteria. She must have some after-school thing going on. I wonder what it could be. Most clubs have had their last meetings. Just a dedicated student? She sat in front of me all this time, and I know nothing about her. She looks up and sees me at the same time. Our eyes lock for a brief moment as people walk by. I smile a little, and she mirrors me. I give a shy wave to her, and she nods and waves back as her smile grows. Time seems suspended as I gaze over at her smiling invitingly at me.

Who is she? Henry asks, bringing me back to earth. I shake my head a bit and see her walking off toward the main hall.

Uh, she’s a girl in one of my classes this year, I tell him. I remain still for a moment as I watch her go down the hallway. So smart, so pretty with her light brown hair neatly gathered around her shoulders. She has a quiet, gentle confidence in her walk.

Don’t bother. Henry taps me on the shoulder as he watches me watching her, smiles, and returns my words to me. You don’t need the drama.

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TWO

I SHOULDN’T BE thinking about death. Not on a sunny, late-Saturday afternoon in June when there’s plenty of daylight left. Not when I’ve got one more year to prove I can win States.

Rosie’s impending demise has in some ways drawn my family closer. At the same time, it makes me realize how weird we are. Mom got Rosie when I was in first or second grade. I forget. She got her to help Johnny, thinking a dog could lick the autism out of him or something. Make him talk, make him laugh and act more human.

She certainly got Mom talking. Mom always had these running conversations with the dog that I found embarrassing. Would you like to go to the park, Rosie? Then she’d do her Texas drawl as she spoke for Rosie. Ah sure would, Mama! That’s not so bad, but when they got into politics, religion, and gossip, it just got ridiculous. But I love Rosie.

Maybe it’s my sore feet that have me thinking about dying. I’ve been standing all day at work. I got back an hour ago from Firehouse Subs. J.T. and I work there on days when we don’t have wrestling practice. It’s in the Adele Marketplace, where everything is in this boring town: burger and Mexican restaurants, Target, Kohl’s. We had an unusually busy day today, and I’m beat from standing for over four hours, making sandwiches, cleaning up in the kitchen, and stocking shelves. Not a hard job, but if it weren’t for J.T. working there, keeping me entertained with his latest songwriting sample, it would get boring real fast.

While I sack out on my bed, I want to play mindless games on my phone. After all, this is what summer should be about, turning off your mind and relaxing.

Benjamin? Mom says in a sweet voice as she knocks on my door.

Yeah? I yell from under my covers.

She opens the door slightly and pokes her head in. Would you like to come with us to take Rosie and Marty for a walk in the park?

I’d like to, but I was going to hang out with some of my friends, I tell her as I sit up on my bed with my phone in hand, pretending to check my messages.

Oh. She looks down at the floor briefly, just long enough to let me know she is hurt. She looks up and smiles with sad eyes. Well, have a good time.

Thanks, I say as she closes the door. To be honest, I don’t really have any plans. But I don’t want to go to the park with Johnny and put up with all the stares from strangers who don’t get him. Besides, I could have plans if I wanted to. I