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of promise still existed.
    Don't fool yourselves,
he thought.
Nothing's different from last year. Or the year before. Or the year before that.
    Ellison turned to his stomach and began doing push-ups. "How's your weight?"
    "A little under 143."
    "What weight ya going?"
    Ivan shrugged. "One-thirty-five for Hillsborough and the Hunterdon Central tournament. Maybe cut to twenty-nine after. I'll see." He offered a hand to Ellison and pulled him to his feet. "Takedowns."
    Ellison nodded, and the two wrestlers faced each other. Behind Ivan, the boiler chugged to life again. His legs sizzled along the mat and his arms knifed into position as he finished off a double-leg takedown, lifting Ellison high off his feet and down to the mat. Ellison did the same. Back and forth they continued.
    The practice room door shut.
    Ivan turned. The sight of Lewis McClellan knotted his stomach. Another season of him staring, watching every move he made. On and off the mats. In the locker room, in the hallways. It didn't matter, McClellan was always there. The intrusive eyes, the paunch of neglect, the undeserved authority of a mediocre wrestler fifteen years past his time.
    McClellan moved to the center of the room. "Okay, Lennings, let's start the season." The wrestlers spread out slowly. "I know those of you returning to the team are all too familiar with the lack of success we've had."
    As if on cue, the boiler kicked into high gear, sending a thumping through the room so strong Ivan could feel the vibrations through his Wrestling shoes. McClellan raised his voice.
    "But there's no reason why we shouldn't be able to change what's happened to this program over the past few years. This season, we're not going to fall into the trap of expecting to lose. We
are
going to be better." He pumped his fist. "Of course, I want each of you to understand there's more to being a Lennings wrestler than simply winning or losing."
    The incessant pounding grew even louder. McClellan's voice kept up, until he was shouting. "Each of you will learn teamwork, respect for your teammates, referees, opponents, and—"
    There was silence.
    McClellan's voice quieted. "And coach. I won't ask for everything, but I will ask for this."

4
    Outside the gymnasium, cars of waiting parents lined the school driveway. Bobby climbed into the back of a black Lexus, offering a tired hello to Kenny's mother. The smell of new leather and perfume filled his head as he set down his backpack and slumped against the seat. Kenny pulled the passenger door shut.
    "Your coach kept you boys late," Mrs. Jones said, her voice tinged with impatience.
    "It's like this every season, Ma," Kenny said.
    Mrs. Jones pulled the Lexus to the end of the school driveway, glanced one way, then the other. "Seems later this season." The Lexus darted into the traffic on Millburn Avenue. "Your coach needs to understand there's homework that needs to be done."
    "I think he understands," Kenny said.
    "No, I don't think so."
    "Yeah, yeah...," Kenny said.
    "College applications to fill out," Mrs. Jones said. In the rearview mirror, she caught Bobby's eye. "How'd you do on the SATs?"
    "Okay."
    "Where're you applying?"
    "Not sure," Bobby said. "Dad has that covered."
    He was much too tired to get into a conversation about his future when his future didn't seem any further away than tomorrow's practice. He figured Mrs. Jones knew he wasn't going to offer much more. The car was quiet, and as they passed under the stone trestle of the Short Hills train station, up Highland Avenue, then eventually onto Lake Road, Bobby stared out the side window, fighting off the typical early-season exhaustion that left him light-headed after each practice.
    Mrs. Jones turned to Kenny. "Are you hungry?"
    "I'm always hungry."
    "Are you going to eat?"
    Kenny shrugged.
    "All this starving can't be good," Mrs. Jones said. "I don't know how you boys can concentrate on..."
    Bobby stopped listening. Any other time, he would have hung onto every