Finalmente. All the Fresh’s are gone. I can have the room to myself.

A lucha champion hardly has any time to himself. What little time you have is spent either praying or scratching that one spot under your mask that you literally cannot get to when people are watching.

Especially not in front of wide-eyed Fresh’s who just got told ‘at school and school functions, your mask stays on all the time, no exceptions.’

There is nothing more holy, presents more sanctity to me than an empty classroom. I truly believe knowledge is power and there is nothing but power here. I channel that into my pencil and let it produce an entire other world on my sketch paper.

Feeling power and creating perfect people and perfect worlds. Maybe it’s more blasphemous than saintly, but this is the closest I ever feel to God.

But of course, the Devil is an interrupter who peers over your shoulder when you draw while wearing a Union Jack beanie and yoga pants, carrying a duffle bag.

“That’s an incredible design, mate.” She also has quite the happy voice.

“Of course it is. I know who drew it.”

“That sword here. How does it fit into…?”

“It’s actually a part of his leg. Mira. He pulls it out from right here.”

“That’s a bit daft. Wouldn’t it be much cooler if it came out from here?”

“…his neck??”

“Yeah. Would you expect some chap to pull a buster sword out of his jugular?”

I look to this cheery chick with has eyes that always smile. I grew up with church all around me and I’ve never seen anyone look as happy as she does right now. And she’s looking at my perfect people. And she’s got awesome ideas.

“Bet. That’s dope.”

She flips through the rest of my pad, smiling at all my characters. Just her smile could give them life.

“You’ve got a whole army of these guys, don’t you?”

“Class is too easy. Tutoring gets boring.”

“That’s bonkers, lad. What do you want to do with them?”

“They live on their pages for now, I guess. Maybe that’s where they stay.”

“No. No maybes. These are cool and I want to put them in motion.”

Then she flashes me a cheesy grin and a thumbs-up like she’s in a cartoon.

“’Believe it!’”

She didn’t. Did she really just…?

“Who are you and why are you quoting Naruto at me?”

She perks up even more. “You know anime?”

“It’s good meme material.”

“Right.” Don’t think she bought it.

“You see me sitting here drawing. Of course I know what anime is.”

“I just don’t picture the luchador champion stooping to my level like that.”

“What is your level? What would like to see my drawings do?”

“Level? Perhaps a level-up? They’d be perfect for a video game I’ve been working on.”

Crap, I’m torn. These are my guys; no one takes them but me. Plus, clique jumping like this isn’t exactly looked fondly upon, especially as champ.

But she’s beautiful. And brilliant.

Play it off? I wouldn’t even know where to start. Good Lord, give me strength.

“Cool. But, uh, the Number Three fighter in these halls has much better things to do than hang out with some techno weeb.”

I have never insulted a woman in my life, but it’s for her own good, right? Best she get away.

Her smile finally disappears. My heart drops. I wanted her to grab her bag and leave and now it’s the last thing I want.

But at least she says something.

“That’s too bad. I think we could be good together.”

Hope?

“What’s that?”

“Working together.”

Was she…?

Ignore it. Be a good Catholic boy.

“For now, that’s something that is neither allowed nor wanted.”

She sucks her teeth. “That’s really too bad. But if you ever change your mind – “

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a beautiful gold belt with silver etchings.

“ – just know that at some point, Number Two wants to work with you. I’m Thessaly Crasher, baby.”

She forms a handgun with her free hand and winks at me.

“Bang.”

The Good Book nor suplex class tells you how to deal with what I’m feeling right now. I watch her walk away and bite my fist, knowing exactly what I’m saying at Confessional this week.