“Margeaux! Margeaux! Margeaux!”
Now they’re screamingmyname.
2
MARGEAUX
Soakingin the ice bath is the first part of my post-match routine. Today, it’s extra necessary because I’m so fucking heated. I understand the match directors didn’t want me to win this match; my loss tonight tees Below Zero up for seeking vengeance and looking to even the score against the Glam Squad.
Eva cheated me out of showing off my new move, of winning the crowd over, and standing out amongst my peers. I don’t want my wrestling career to be a couple of half-decent years with PEW and never even make it to the main event. I want to have action figures of myself, and see fans dressed up as me. I want to be remembered as more than just the really tall girl with tattoos. I want to be a role model for young girls and women.
I sink lower into the icy water, feeling it against the bottoms of my ears, releasing my anger in billows of steam.
“Listen the fuck up!” Dahlia comes storming into our shared changing area. I sit up in the tub, and the other girls in the locker room, including Eva, straighten their backs. “That was some petty bullshit. You’re lucky neither of you got hurt,” Dahlia berates us, keeping her stormy glare focused on me.
I keep my eyes locked on hers, sending my message loud and clear.I’m not fucking sorry.
“The directors loved that ending. They think it’s adding even more tension and hatred between your two groups. And the crowd obviously loved it,” Dahlia adds. Eva and her partner, Sasha, snicker and high-five each other. “I’m not fucking finished,” Dahlia cuts off their celebration, and they shut up and listen. “If any of you goes off-script like that again,” she pauses, pointing her finger at each of us. “I will cut you from this program so fast.” She snaps her fingers emphasizing her point. “You’re still learning this biz. Earn your rights to pull shit like that.” She stomps towards the door, slamming it shut behind her.
“Really fucked up, Eva!” Jazz, my partner on Below Zero, says as she comes storming into the recovery area. She has her fight with Ally Warden next week. Jazz always has my back.
“I got caught up in the crowd! Plus, the directors called for me to win! How many times do I have to say it? You’ve all been there before. Don’t make me out to be the bitch in this situation!” Eva flips her head around, her springy curls bouncing all over as she tightens her towel around her toned and tanned body. “She nailed me with a fucking chair!” she shouts as I do my best to check my frustration and let it fizzle out in this ice bucket.
“Like you didn’t deserve that shit,” I mutter loud enough for her and the rest of the girls to hear me.
“What?!” Eva shrieks, her face twisted in confusion.
I push myself up, standing in just a black sports bra and tight shorts. I’ve never been one to beat around the bush. I’ve learned it’s better to just say what’s on my mind and endure a brief period of awkward honesty, rather than long, drawn out resentment. “It was fucked up, Eva. You took over the match, and made me look like a fucking idiot. I’m pissed! You had the crowd in your pocket since you walked out. My new move could have given me a chance to earn some new love from the crowd tonight,andbe noticed by the directors, too. Just follow the program next time. This is why we fucking practice.”
“Whatever, bruja. Don’t act like you didn’t hear them screaming for you after you whacked me with that chair. I’m gonna be bruised forweeks,” she scoffs. “Be mad at me all you want, but you know it’s the directors who made the final call.”
I grab my towel and march over to take a warm shower. I hear the girls whispering as I walk away. I’ve played team sports my entire life and it’s normal to butt heads with each other. Leaving shit unsaid is what can tear a team apart and turn a friendly rivalry into social Darwinism. I don’t hate Eva. I hate what she did. Even if we aren’t truly rivals in real life, our sport is competitive. Not everyone will get a chance on the big stage. Some of us may not make it after this season. New talent is coming in each year. If you can’t stay relevant, you’re out.
I’m allowed to be sour about it, but there’s no point in letting it ruin my working relationship with Eva, or any of the other girls. If you’re on bad terms with someone, they can continue to make you look bad in the ring. If the coaches and directors get word that I’m difficult to work with, I’m out. And then what do I do? I finished college, but I don’t have any marketable skills. This is it for me. I need to do better about keeping my anger and reactions in check.Easier said than done.
I’m sure my mom would love it if I left this sport, came back home, met a guy, and started a family.Ugh. Shoot me. How fucking boring and predictable is that kind of life? My brother is heading straight for that classic suburban domesticated chokehold. I love the rush of being in the ring, the roar of the crowd. Even though the matches and outcomes are planned, there’s still the thrill of unpredictability– like tonight.Anything can happen.I get a buzz of excitement just thinking about being in the ring again.
After a hot shower all I want is to be in comfy clothes and eat a burger with fries. I can already smell the greasy, salty steak-cut fries from Jerry’s Diner. Me and Jazz like to grab a post- match meal. It’s a small place on a side street that doesn’t get a lot of foot traffic. I’m not an A-list celebrity, but I am recognizable. After a loss like tonight, I don’t have the mental, or emotional bandwidth to be bombarded by fans—or worse, the hecklers and nay-sayers.
Unfortunately, that’s unavoidable.
“Finally! Just a few quick meet and greets. Come on,” Ashleigh, myassistant and PR guru, directs me towards a small crowd of fans waiting for me.
As tired as I am, I get recharged when I meet my fans.
“Margeaux Wild! Mom, look! It’s Margeaux Wild!” a small girl shrieks. She’s got her light brown hair pulled into a ponytail, and she’s wearing black leggings and a black t-shirt. What gets me smiling even wider is seeing all of the temporary tattoos littering her arms, and even one on her neck.
“Hey! How are you, little rebel?” I crouch down to her eye-level. She can’t be more than nine or ten.
“Oh wow! I can’t believe I’m meeting you! Can I have your autograph!” She speaks so fast, holding out a picture of me and a permanent marker.
“Of course. What’s your name?” I ask, pulling the cap off the marker with my teeth.
“Sadie The Destroyer!” she growls. “I’m going to be a wrestler just like you! Right, Mom?” She twists her head to check in with her mother.
“That’s right. She absolutely loves you.” Her mother leans in closer to me. “She used to be so shy, and was really struggling with bullies at school. We had to have her switch schools. Then, one day, she found some of your videos online and she’s been hooked,” her mom says with unshed tears in her eyes.
“You’re the coolest person ever!” Sadie adds in, which makes my calloused heart melt a little bit. I’ve always had a soft spot for kids. The idea of having my own tall children one day doesn’t sound awful. Still, I’m in no rush to make that a reality.
