Now was time to really get down to business. First champion to face.

For all of Tibby’s ‘win without fighting’ nonsense, he sure did make it clear the first guy I had to fight didn’t care about that.

“Your first true test is Mad Marcus.”

“One of the garbage wrestlers? Really? They’re the opposite of almost everything I stand for!”

“That is why he can’t be reasoned with. A burnout doesn’t listen to logic. But he does listen to chair shots.”

“But I’m a face! I can’t – “

I get cut off the ring announcer doing their thing.

“Introducing the Chairshot Vandals Champion…MAAAAAAAAD MARCUUUUUUUS!!”

Coming through the curtain and down the aisle is one Tarzan lookin’ sumbitch. He’s not even saying anything or taunting or doing anything ‘showman-y’. He’s just snarling and foaming at the mouth like the Tazmanian Devil or that fuzzy ball from the old Honeycomb commercials. His championship belt even looks like it was pulled out of the garbage bin, lookin’ all dusty and shattered and stapled together. But that isn’t the only hardware he’s packin’. Oh no. He wouldn’t be the king of his people if he wasn’t swinging around a steel chair as a scepter.

The bell rings. For the first time in my entire scholastic career, I am not ready.

So not ready, that Mad Marcus tries to clean my clock by swatting at me with that steel chair, but I dodge the hits like I’m straight out of a Hanna-Barbara cartoon. The hell did I get myself into this?

“Hey! Where’s that fire, chica?”

“I’m a face, Picasso! I can’t use weapons! It’d affect my grade.”

“Not if using weapons is legal! This is a No Disqualifications match, homegirl.”

“But that’s not…that’s not right. This isn’t wrestling.”

“That’s not your call. If a bell is rung, the ref is there, and the crowd is feeling it, it’s wrestling. Besides, you can’t dodge this sucker forever. You wanna make it to the top, you’ve gotta show a little edge. Don’t make me regret wanting to help you already.”

I can hear the utter disappointment in his voice. The pride that was there almost seems a distant memory. But then he tries to rally me, his voice a whole new sense of purpose that hits me to my core.

“Remember what you wanted this for, chica. Remember everything you say you fight for.”

I do. I remember. Is my mission selfish? Of course. But this isn’t just for me. Not at all.

I think of everyone just like me stuck in this high school caste system. I think of kids in other schools who don’t have the ability to see their tormentors get the snot beat out of them at least once a month.

I pick myself off the ground and look the garbage wrestler in his mad eyes. He charges once more with his steel chair.

I superkick it right back in his face. Sweet Chin Musical Chairs. He drops like a bowling ball on a pond.

“That’s it! Now cover him! Cover him, Faye!”

But I don’t. I look at the carcass of Marcus. I pick up the steel chair.

“The geeks. The freaks. The weirdos. We matter.”

I drill the chair into his ribs.

“My championship. It matters.”

Another shot to the ribs. He writhes and rolls to his stomach in pain.

“And I. I matter most of all.”

I blast one last chair shot off his spine. For the first time ever, I’m undisturbed by steel hitting flesh.

I finally cover him. The ref counts to three. Through the whole count, I look out to see an absolutely stunned Tiburon.

“Here is your winner…FAAAAAAYE GRIIIIMES!”

The ref grabs my wrist and raises my hand in the air. I can’t tell if there’s even any cheering because I’m in a different zone. I motion for a microphone, which the announcer hands me.

“Listen up. I’m not one to talk. I let my actions do all the talking. But know this, champions of SCHS – I’m coming for you. All of you. I’m coming for that top spot. And there’s nothing any of you can do to stop me. I’m the ace of this school. There’s a fire inside me that burns and I’m gonna burn down everything that divides us.”

I throw down the mic. Hope no one was standing too close to me. That pipe bomb just went off.