I wrestle like my life depends on it. The first opponent goes down fast and I shoot in low, drive him to the mat, and pin him clean in under a minute. The second one is tougher. He sprawls hard, trying to stall, but I reverse him twice, scramble to top position, and come out on top by four points.
The final match goes the full distance. We’re tied heading into the last thirty seconds. I can feel Sol and Roxie watching from the corner, their belief in me pulsing through the bond. I shoot low one last time, desperate to win, and manage to get behind him. I drive him down, my chest to his back, and hold the pin as the buzzer sounds.
One point.
The ref’s hand goes up, signifying my win as the crowd explodes a second time.
I’m still buzzing, adrenaline singing in my veins, when I climb off the mat shaking and sweaty. I look up just in time to see Roxie’s hand raised on the other mat at the same time, working through her second win. Camila is cheering louder than half the arena, Sol standing between both mats with the smallest, proudest smile I have ever seen on her face.
The rival fans in the section next to us are talking shit about the last call, obnoxiously loud. I lean over the railing, sweat dripping down my back, and start mouthing off right back.
“Yo, that was a clean pin, you blind bastards! Cry harder!”
One of the Westridge guys stands up. “Sit down, pretty boy!”
“Make me, asshole!” I yell, grinning like a maniac.
“That call was dogshit, and you know it!”
Sol sighs as she stalks over to me and drags me back to the bench. I catch the muttered words through the bond and the noise:“I give up. Thank fuck this is his last year.”
