Ben suddenly got angry—why should he feel scared to attract the attention of someone like Simon even when he had done something well? He thought of the Companion. Why couldn’t this be known to all? One of the other wrestlers whose name Ben didn’t know strode up, took the pegs from Ben—his palms suddenly felt cold without them—and proceeded to hoist himself on two arms and then tried to use the same body whip to take both pegs out and move them to the higher row of holes. He missed and came back down, and in the process of crouching forward to take the impact of the fall, butted his head into the cinder block wall. He fell and then sprawled on his back with his hands over the right side of his forehead, but he was laughing.

“All right, squash,” said Markson. “Let’s finish one more station and then we’re through.”

Ben headed back to the military press stand that he and Rory had sort of been using, and Simon advanced and clapped him on the shoulder. He had Ennis’s same build and buzz cut, but his face was flatter and his hair reddish brown.

“You’re going to wrestle, Weeksy.”

“What?”

“You’re going to wrestle this winter.”

“I’m playing squash.”

“He’s playing squash,” said Rory, there at Ben’s shoulder.

“You’re going to wrestle,” said Simon, not looking at Rory. “For real, it’s happening. We need someone at one thirty-two.”

“I weigh a hundred and forty pounds.”

“You weigh a hundred and forty pounds now.”

“I don’t want to wrestle.”

“You don’t want to wrestle now.”

“All right, kiddos,” Markson said, standing in front of them, “one last effort and then you’re free.”

After the last circuit they pulled the weight plates off the barbells and leg press machine and haphazardly put them back on the A-frame racks. They filed out behind Markson.

When Markson was safely out of the room, one of the wrestlers yelled, “Fuckin lightweights!”

In the dry clear sun they walked back to do some drilling. The Dragon stood in front of the courts with stoic cheer.

Ben was overjoyed that he was in his rehab boot. There was no way that anyone could judge his performance seriously, but at the same time he could swat the ball and feel that same rightness coursing through him. He felt happy from the pegboard. He and Martin Bowles and Neil Gossamer were laughing as they came up to the courts again.