It's a quarter 'til noon and I'm seated in a corner booth of a Mount Prospect sports bar, sucking down my second Modelo of the morning. Typically, I'm a Lagunitas kinda gal, but fuck it, I'm feeling adventurous. It's a cool 22 degrees outside. Any other day, it'd be prime 'bitch about the cold' weather, but in the wake of the polar vortex — where news stations couldn't go fifteen minutes without warning of the dangers of spending more than a few minutes outside and classes were cancelled for most of the week — 22 was damn-near a blessing. I didn't even wear a jacket on the way over.

I hum along to the chorus of "Take Me Home, Country Roads," slinking down in my seat while my roommate and not-quite-legal guardian Alison-Marie plays with her hair and whispers to me about the rising tides.

"For the life of me, I can't understand why anyone'd want to live on the coast," she says, taking a sip of her Blue Moon. "It's all gonna be underwater sooner rather than later."

"You do know I'm from Providence, right?"

"And you know there is no way you'll ever convince me that Rhode Island is a real place," she says, chuckling with her mouth but not her eyes.

Usually, she wouldn't be caught dead drinking this early. She's such a Type A personality, a neurotic people-pleaser who I fear will OD on the sleeping pills she's hooked on by the time she's 30. In other words, she's a textbook New York Jew who just so happened to grow up in Kentucky. She hasn't been herself the last couple days, though. Not since the Mars rover died.

"So, you're really sure about doing this, huh?

There it is. The question I've been dreading since we sat down. She brushes hair out of her face and shakes her head. I roll my eyes.

"I'm not judging or anything, I'm just-"

"Curious, yeah, I know."

This is her way of showing concern. She's never been 100% on board with me dropping out of school to become a professional wrestler, even if she still dragged herself to every show I've worked, out of some sense of loyalty I guess. Still, she'd bitch about it in her trademark passive-aggressive tone every step of the goddamn way.

"I'll be fine," I finally offer in response to her initial question. "This is going to be my big break, I ain't gonna back out now. I'm on the precipice of something, I can feel it."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But look where you're landing, Nat. I don't think anyone would blame you for having second thoughts."

"So the XWF's a bit rough-around-the-edges, this sport isn't ballet, Ally."

"I think some of the shit that reaches the airwaves is a bit more than just rough-around-the-edges."

"So they push the boundaries a little."

Ally — who was taking another drink — damn near does a spit take.

"Are there any more cliches you wanna spout downplaying just how fucked the promotion you signed with is, or are you finally going to be straight with it?"

"Well maybe," I say, poking Ally on her bicep. "If someone decided to train with me when I asked them, they could be there to look out for me."

She averts her eyes toward the table, looking down to stifle an honest to G-d, genuine grin. The first one I've seen from her in the last week.

"Well maybe some of us don't want to beat people up for a living."

"It's a damn shame you're throwing away your natural gifts like that."

She scoffs, but I suspect on some level she knows it's true. If either of us were more naturally cut out for a career in pro-wrestling, it'd be her by a mile. She's a couple inches taller than me — just a hair short of 6' — and though she tried her best to hide it with long-sleeve shirts and loose-fitting pants, she's fucking ripped. She told me once while she was off her fucking gourd on Adderall that she played cornerback on her high-school's football team. Said she was good but it didn't last long, in her words, as much as she liked it, 'it wasn't worth dealing with the shitheels' who took umbrage with a girl 'stealing' their spot. Dipshits.

"Don't wanna upstage you at your own passion," she says, snickering.

"True, true. You right. That'd be pretty fuckin' embarrassing not gonna lie."

She reaches across the table and playfully smacks me on the shoulder.

"Asshole."

"Hey now, you're the one who started it."

She downs the rest of her drink with a gulp and pushes the glass towards the center of the table.

"Guess that's true."

As if on cue, her smile fades and her stone-faced look of concern washes back over her. "You can't tell me you aren't a little nervous about this though, Nat."

"Of course I'm nervous, fam. Why wouldn't I be? It's not like this is another show in some high-school gym in Des Plaines or Schaumberg. This is the fucking big time and it isn't like I was thrown a softball or anything neither."

That damn smile creeps back onto Ally's face as I speak, her fears seemingly assuaged by my response. Or maybe she just thinks she's right.

"You don't sound too concerned about that second part."

"Of course I'm not. Only cowards want it easy. I appreciate the challenge, tells me the brass thinks pretty highly of what they've seen in the past. I doubt they'd let just anyone get a shot at Cadryn Tiberius of all people in their debut. And I really don't plan on making that confidence look like a mistake."

"You're fond of Cadryn, aren't you?"

"You're real intuitive. When'd you become an interviewer?"

Ally shrugs. "Just figured you should get some practice before some geek shoves a mic into your face."

"That's a good point. Alright, screw it, I'll bite. Yeah, I am fond of Cadryn Tiberius. I think it's remarkable that he's pretty much made a career out of straight up clowning people the way he has. And that isn't me trying to discredit his accomplishments: he's got a list of accolades that'd humble a lot more people than some might expect but I mean, fuck. I've been watching people try to talk shit about Cadryn for years now. I've seen people try so hard to go in raw and uncensored, to bend him over and have their way with him and every single time those same people come out of the experience looking like idiots.

"See, Cadryn has this innate ability to just fuck with people. It seems like everyone tries so hard to find the right angle to attack the guy from, but one's been able to really do it. Some, particularly uninspired people might point how his .500 record. But, hell, you show me a guy with a .500 record and I'll point you towards the handful of titles in his collection as well as the finals appearance in the most grueling tournament in pro-wrestling to say that he's a guy who can get it done in the clutch.

"Plenty of people have called him a . Turns out, he actually is into men. Now all the fauxmophobic cowards are in a pickle because their go-to defense against being called homophobic — namely that they wouldn't call an actual queer person a slur such as — doesn't work anymore. So they either have to drop a good bit of their utterly juvenile sense of humor or double down and flat out admit they hate queer people.

"You could mock him for being a lackey to The Kings a while back or some other trite and most people will just roll their eyes because they've seen this movie before. Last time it was called Luca Arzegotti and, y'know, a comparison to him isn't exactly the most damning insult one can utter. Speaking of, he even has the man himself basically acting like a stan account.

"That's the rub. You can call Cadryn Tiberius anything you want and he'll find some way to make it bounce back and backfire right on you. So, that said, how does one go about going at Cadryn verbally then.

"You don't. I'm not going to insult Cadryn. I'm not going to belittle his accomplishments, mock his record, make garbage comments about his sexuality or dredge up ancient history. I'm just going to tell Cadryn that I have a bunch of respect for him. But he isn't going to beat me."

Ally can barely contain her excitement, beaming like an idiot. She licks her teeth and shakes her head, trying to appear something resembling professional.

"And why is he not going to beat you?"

"Because if I thought for one second I wasn't going to win, I shouldn't fucking be in that position. But no, I get what you mean. I'm hungrier than him. Sure, he's the veteran. He's the champion. Even when he's dragging himself back in, directionless, treading water, he's a top dog and anyone who thinks otherwise is an idiot or a coward. But he doesn't have the drive that I do. Not right now. Losing this match won't hurt him, I know that. Just like I know that losing against him won't hurt me. But here's the catch: me winning this will do a whole lot more for me than it will for him.

He wins, everyone cocks their head and quietly agrees that he still has it. I win this? People take notice. I walk into Minneapolis a nobody, no fanfare, no one in my corner except you. I drop Cadryn? There won't be a single person in the arena who'll leave without knowing my name. This is my big break, my opportunity to show the world just who Natia Ngata is and what she's all about. I'm not going to let anyone take that from me. Not a veritable legend — yes, I said it — like Cadryn Tiberius. And not a an absolute wild card like Lux."

"I was beginning to think you forgot about Lux."

I clear my throat and swallow a mouthful of spit. "Never. While I may have some more reverence and respect for Cadryn, I'd never look through someone as fascinating and potentially dangerous as Lux."

Ally raises an eyebrow. "Potentially?"

"I said what I meant. See, I'll admit, I don't have a grasp on who or what Lux is. I'm not going to call him crazy, nor am I going to harp on issue X, Y, or Z about him. I dunno, that ain't my style. It seems so many people are willing to just spit all over the people they're facing and then wonder why they get no respect when they win. Or worse, they get smacked in the fucking mouth when the time for words ends.

Lux would know a lot about that part. The bastard can fuckin' swing 'em. Most wouldn't expect it out of him, considering how small he is. It's relatable, to be honest. Most people just aren't ready for #SmallStyle. To be completely candid, that might be the part of this match I'm most looking forward to. More than being in the ring with Cadryn. More than the idea of winning against these two. Just standing there, exchanging blows with someone like Lux. Have you ever had the wind knock out of you, Ally?"

"Yeah?"

"It's exhilarating, ain't it?"

"No, it sucks dude."

"Don't be such a baby. There's no other feeling like it. Hell, it lets you know that you're alive. I'll be completely honest, win or lose, if I don't limp out of the arena Saturday night covered in bruises, with a busted lip or a bloody nose, I'm gonna be more than a little disappointed. It's not every day you get to square off with someone so brutally efficient at doling out punishment as Lux, and I want to get my money's worth. And return the favor in kind, of course.

Is it weird that I'm kinda getting off thinking about it?"

Ally recoils and hits me with that whiteboyblink.gif.

"I uh, think that'd be looked down on in polite society."

"Fuck polite society, this is pro-wrestling."

"Why are you asking my take then?"

"Fair. It's just, this matchup is so fucking juicy. When I signed with the XWF, I was curious what my debut match was going to be and here it is. Not only am I squaring off against someone like Cadryn Tiberius, but I also get to slug it out with Lux. The tale of the tape on the latter is pretty even, too. Same height, he's not even 20 pounds heavier. It's going to be chaos. Poetry in motion. I'm going to feel it in the morning, hell, I'll be feeling it all week. And when I drop Lux and stun Cadryn, that pain, that physical exhaustion I'll be feeling for the next few days will only be sweeter.

I don't think either of them want this, all of this, more than I do. Not just the rush of winning, the validation of being seen, but to feel the sharp, acute punishment that will assuredly be dealt out. I'm starving. Ravenous. I want it all. And I'm not just going to wait for someone to hand it to me. I'm taking it. Snatching it from their cold, dead hands if I have to.

If I recognize myself in the mirror tomorrow morning, I ought to be whipped and sent home."

Ally slinks down in her seat, looking away from me. I lick my lips and take a sip of my by-now-lukewarm beer.

"So, uh, how's your mom doing?"