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those covers but still feel a breath of cold air on top of his head.
    His radio was on softly, tuned to his favorite station, the eccentric one out of New York City. The whole house was dark. Donald heard his door being pushed open, then a soft thud as the cat landed at his feet on the bed. She settled down within seconds and went to sleep.
    Some woman named Etta James was singing a jazzy, kick-butt song called “Tell Mama.” That was followed by Bob Dylan doing “When the Ship Comes In.” Donald had heard that one before; it was already on the list of songs he wanted to remember. Next came something slow and twangy called “Tecumseh Valley.”
    Donald turned on his light and took a small notebook out of the drawer of his bedside table. He added the names of those songs and the people who sang them to his list, waiting for the last one to finish and the announcer to name the artist: Townes Van Zandt. Donald put an asterisk next to that one. The list was growing pretty long and included all kinds of music—rock, folk, jazz, old-time country.
    It was more than the music that excited Donald, though. The words of those songs were powerful.
    It was late and he was tired, and he had school and practice again tomorrow. But he had begun to really savor this time each evening, just relaxing beneath his warm covers with the breeze coming in and the radio on. This felt like a reward after all that hard work he’d been doing. It was his time to think, or just to listen. It amazed him how writers could capture so much emotion and insight in just a few lines of a song.
    Suddenly he knew what he wanted for Christmas. A guitar.
    He shut off the light and turned to his side, giving the cat a gentle shove. He gripped his forearm. The muscle there was harder than it used to be and maybe a bit bigger. His shoulders were a little tight, the result of fighting a losing battle to keep from getting pinned that afternoon. But they’d be okay. He could take it. That loss still stung, but he knew he’d get better.
    He soon drifted off to sleep with the radio on.

8
    Half Nelsons
    “W ork your way out of it!” Coach shouted. “Think about what he’s doing to you.”
    Donald squirmed and strained, but Tavo easily forced his shoulders to the mat for a pin. It was the same move the Jersey City wrestler had used to pin him the day before.
    A few feet away, Mario was being pinned via that same half-nelson move by Jesse Nadel.
    “The half nelson is the most likely pinning move you’re going to be up against,” Coach said. “Both of you guys”—he pointed to Mario, then Donald—“lost that way yesterday. So let’s work on some counter moves. Learn how to get out of it.”
    Coach had Jesse get Tavo in the half nelson. “Like this,” he said. “Let’s say Jesse has just taken Tavo down. So Tavo’s on his side, with his arms out.”
    Jesse hooked his left arm under Tavo’s left, then gripped the back of Tavo’s head with it. From there he had plenty of leverage to force Tavo over and toward the mat.
    “Now, what should Tavo do to counter that?” Coach asked Donald.
    Donald shrugged. “Push back as hard as he can?”
    “Yeah, but how? Go ahead, Tavo.”
    Tavo dug his left elbow into the mat to stop Jesse’s thrust, then turned his head away, reducing Jesse’s leverage. With his left hand, Tavo reached up and forced Jesse’s hand off the back of his neck. Now that Jesse had lost the advantage, Tavo was able to spin free and quickly get to his feet.
    “Perfect,” Coach said. “There are other ways out, but let’s work on this one. Pair up again and let’s go.”
    So Donald went to the mat and let Tavo apply the hold.
    “Like Tavo needs for me to let him put a half nelson on me?” Donald remarked. “He does it in about two seconds even when I start out on my feet.”
    Coach laughed. “So let’s not waste the two seconds. Let’s go.”
    Tavo applied the grip, and Donald got his elbow down. Tavo’s hand began to slip from