She’s beautiful.

She’s perfect.

She’s mine.

Or so I thought.

She’s the Prez.

She’s Gwen Goro.

She knows what she wants.

Or so I thought.

I’m Dante Blair.

I’m the Heavyweight Champ.

I’m good enough for her.

Or so I thought.

Lies. I’ve never been good enough for her. Doesn’t make this whole thing hurt any less.

“Dante, please, just listen.”

“Listen to what? That you're leaving me for her?”

“It's not - no, I promise - it's not that.”

“Then what, Gwen? What the hell was that?”

“…I can't really explain.”

“We're supposed to be going to pre-law together. We're going to school for explaining!”

I guess I should explain something about me. Even though I’m top dog at Squared Circle High, wrestling ain’t my #1. Never has been. It’s more of a steppin’ stone, y’know? A hard steppin’ stone. I wanna be a lawyer, like my Ma and her pop. Wrestlers gotta think on their feet, feel the room, know how and when to strike with their words before they even do anything physical. Not a bad warm-up for law school, right?

Just didn’t expect to be the prosecutor to my own girl. Naw, not just my girl. Our freakin’ President. Politicians play dirty. I know that. So I guess I gotta do it back.

I still have her phone. I whip it out.

“…What are you doing?”

“If you can't explain it to me, I can make you explain it to everyone else. Facebook. Twitter. Insta. Everywhere. I'll post it from your phone, under your accounts.”

Then I see something I’ve never seen – a woman in my life look desperate. She’s almost…she’s almost on the brink of tears.

“No, babe, please! I know it's real crappy that I kissed a girl, but –“

“That ain't got nothing to do with it.”

“Wait, what?”

“You coulda kissed anything else in the world and I'd be just as pissed. I don't care that it was a chick. We just, y'know, we've made plans. I thought we had each other. That hurts, Gwen.”

“I'm sorry, truly, I am, I just...”

So now I gotta explain somethin’ else.

Wrestling is a hard steppin’ stone. Probably because everyone looks so good. I mean, you’ve seen wrestlers, right? They’re huge, muscular guys with this whole larger-than-life vibe. If you don’t look like them, you just ain’t good enough.

I just ain’t good enough.

But that’s what people want.

I mean, I got lots of muscle. I work out a ton.

But I’m still not them.

And if I’m not them, I can’t make people happy.

I can’t make her happy.

…can I?

I hold her hands. Maybe it’s the last time we touch at all.

“Gwen. Babe. Do I make you happy?”

“...what? Of course.”

“Because if I don't, we don't have to be together. It would suck donkey balls if we did, and you coulda told me hella better than this way. But you could at least break up with me before kissing someone else.”

“Dante, you're perfect. You're driven, you're hot as hell, and we don't have to hide our utter genius around each other just to fit in. You're the champ, I'm the Prez. We run this bitch.”

Damn, this girl gets me. But still…

“Then why?”

“...I don't know. But what I do know is I want my phone.”

She reaches for it, but I pull it back. The case ain’t closed yet.

“Only after you tell me what we're gonna do.”

“It was nothing, babe. I promise. I do want to be with you.”

“What if word of this gets out?”

“No one will know. You say nothing, I won't either. I know Faye and she would never say anything about it.”

I bring her phone down. She grabs it. I still don’t let go.

Something still itches.

“Would you still want to be with me if I wasn't champion?”

“Of course.”

“...really?”

“Yeah. It's a nice plus, not gonna lie, but it's absolutely not a dealbreaker.”

“Noted.”

I finally let go. We kiss in a typhoon of feelings, a pair of reserved emotional wrecks crashing into one another.

But that still doesn’t excuse Faye Grimes.

“But. She just lost my respect. She gets no title match from me.”

I see Gwen smile for the first time in what feels like an eternity.

“That's the best news of all.”