Here I am in the undisputed most vile, sticky, and discomforting room in the entire building. A place one goes to seek help, but only walks away disappointed and disgusted how the hell people like this could have it be their livelihood to care about budding nobodies like me.

I’m referring to, of course, the guidance counselor’s office.

I sit across from this frumpy man in a cheap suit, unsure which part of his very being is shiner and grosser: what little hair he has slicked back or the blazing bald spot in the middle of it. Just when you think he couldn’t get any more ‘looking at you makes me want to take a shower,’ he also has a small rattail which is maybe one of the only things in existence I can say disturbs me more the less there is.

Fitting, though. Glemmy Watts is a rat personified and is even sketchier than he looks. Peter Pettigrew would be jealous.

“Miss Grimes! What a pleasure! Please have a seat. Always nice to see that beautiful Tacticians title.”

Helping his case as the most disgusting man alive is the fact that his voice sounds like a squeaky dude from the city who is perpetually in hype-man mode while using lawyer language.

“Thanks, Mr. Watts. Always good to come into the year as champion. Again.”

“So tell me, our reigning, defending, undisputed Technical Spectacles Champion, what are your plans for this yea? Gonna keep makin’ everyone and their mother tap out?”

“I have bigger goals, I think.”

The human Pizza Rat meme leans forward. “Oh? What could be bigger than championship gold?”

“My thoughts exactly. I’ve been on the Power 25 ranking since my first year. I’ve been number five on that list for two whole years. What gives?”

"Champions always get top five ranking. You know that.”

“Yeah. But I’m the only one who has been undefeated since enrollment.” I make sure he gets the real point here. “I’m only five?”

Then he makes sure I get the real point.

“Well, you see, there are…understandings.”

I hate this man.

“Like…?”

“The thing is, my dominating diva, is that the rankings don’t just reflect wins and GPA. They reflect…interest.”

I want to fill all the pauses he’s taking by smashing his head against his desk. Repeatedly.

“Whose interest?”

“Just…interest. The thing is, my dear, for all of your blood, sweat, tears, and take-downs – which have all been quite impressive – the level of public regard for your title is virtually non-existent.”

Gwen once told me about ‘codeswitching,’ which is this instinctual ability humans have to change the way we communicate based on who it is we’re talking to. There are times when you act a bit proper in front of adults because you 1) respect them 2) fear them 3) it’s what you’re ‘supposed’ to do to be polite or all that nonsense. 

 Switching that code right now.

“Stop talking like a skeezy lawyer and tell me what that means.”

Adults also codeswitch talking to young’uns. He switches his off as well.

“To put it roundly, Miss Grimes, no one gives a crap about you, your title, or the dorks who challenge you for it.”

This statement is vicious and has barbs attached to it, with a certain direction.

“You say that like it’s my fault.”

He smiles the slimiest smile in the cosmos.

“Because, observant one, it is. Your clique is built on skill and technique. I know and understand that and I think it’s adorable, but get real. It doesn’t matter how many backflips your do or how many grapples you can lock. You dweebs got no personality. You’re just vanilla midgets.”

Perhaps some of you are taken aback by this being said so bluntly in a scholastic environment, but again, you ain’t never been to my school. This is par the course for wrestling programing.

That didn’t make what he said sting any less.

“I’m so glad you instill such faith in your students.”

“I do. We have a way things go around here, Miss Grimes. You’d be best to know your place and adhere to it.”

He notices the fire in my eyes and the clenching in my jaw. Either that or he gets a conscious for, like, a few seconds.

“Look, I’m saying you’re not talented, just – “

“Just that my talent doesn’t matter. Thanks.”

I get up to leave, but something keeps me. Whether it’s the odor I just noticed in this room, the sheer anger preventing my body from continuing, or the giant framed picture of Dante Blair shaking hands with Counselor Watts and being presented the Kings of the Ring Heavyweight Championship. It could have been any one of those, really.

Regardless, I turn back around towards the dream-stomping rodent.

“What would I have to do to climb up a couple slots?”

Watts is confused, but smirks.

“You’d have to get the approval of each champion.”

Or beat them.

I thought I only said that in my head, but oops.

“What was that?”

“Oh nothing. Just gonna go kick some tail that doesn’t even matter.”

I finally turn and leave, inhaling the fresh air in my lungs and my life.

But I have never breathed angrier breaths in my entire life.