I began stepping back. “Don’t sit too close.”
She frowned. “Why?”
“Because you’ll yell and distract me.”
“I don’t yell.”
Dad smirked. “She yells.”
She smacked his arm. “I support.”
I laughed and headed off before she could ask me anything else.
Some guys were stretching, others were taping their fingers, and a few were just standing around pretending they weren’t checking the brackets every five seconds. Coach Pete stood in the middle with a clipboard in one hand and a coffee in the other, while Coach Darren helped one of the younger kids fix his belt, and Coach Mike crouched beside one of the teen girls from our gym, going over something with her.
I dropped my bag with the rest of the team’s stuff.
Coach Pete spotted me. “You weigh in yet?”
“Not yet.”
He jerked his chin toward check-in. “Then quit standing here and go.”
Check-in was quick. The volunteer searched for my name, verified my division, and signaled me to proceed to weigh-ins. Another volunteer reviewed my form, directed me onto the scale, and nodded as I finished.
“All good.”
That should’ve settled me because I’d made weight, and I knew my bracket. With only three guys in my division, if I handled business, then I’d fight twice and be done.
But I still felt nervous, and it wasn’t because of the tournament.
On the way back to the team area, I scanned the entrance.
Nothing.
Keaton hadn’t promised he’d show up. When I’d asked if he wanted to come, he paused for a second and said, “Yeah, maybe.”
I’d made it clear that nobody from school would be in Stockton. By then, I’d learned Westly had been the one who cornered him in the parking lot after that baseball game. I hadn’t known it that night, but I knew now, and that was enough to make asking Keaton to come to anything public feel loaded in a way I hated. This was different, though. Summer. Stockton. No school crowd. No baseball or football guys. No reason for him to think anybody would care about him being in the stands.
I still wasn’t sure if that would be enough to convince him to show.
I stretched along with the rest of the team and tried to settle into the routines that always helped.
Coach Darren passed behind me and pointed toward another mat where one of our guys got stuffed trying to force a bad takedown. “Don’t do that.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
“Good.”
Coach Pete stopped beside me as I tied my belt. “Don’t let anybody set the pace on you. You get on top, stay there.”
“Yes, Coach.” I peeked at the main doors again and saw Keaton had just come through them.
He stopped for a second and scanned the floor. When his gaze found mine, every part of me went still.
He smiled.
I smiled back, and the nerves intensified because this would be the first time he’d see me compete one on one.
