Page 1 of Fighting Spirit

Chapter One

Ruth

Over the years, people have told me to ‘speak into the universe the things I want to come to pass’. Now granted, they were probably talking about getting an A on my report card, or the year in ninth grade when all I wanted was for Jamie Brinkley to ask me to the dance.

But I guess the universe was most listening when I was five years old and looked up from the TV to tell my mom, in the earnest way that only a child can, that I was going to be a muppet when I grew up.

She laughed, giving me an indulgent pat on the head and adding it to the list of things she hoped I’d grow out of, but I guess something must have stuck. How else can I explain the fact that I’m a month into my sophomore year and all I have to show for it is the ability to do three cartwheels in a row, dressed as a cartoon toad?

Looking in the mirror of the studio space I booked for the night, I see Gunther, the Allbreck University Mascot, staring back at me. His too-wide smile is almost a taunt as I peer out from the mesh stitched between the green lips, trying to ignore the feeling of sweat stinging my eyes. I thought by now I’d at least have my shit together a little, found some classes I like,maybe made that group of ride-or-die college friends everyone always told me I’d make, but most days, it kind of feels like this is all I’ve got.

Sometimes I wonder if the only thing that’s special about me is the suit I pack away at the end of each game.

The music I’ve been practicing to drops out for a moment as my phone lights up with a text. I go to check it, fumbling to unlock the screen in my oversized costume hands, but flip the device face down when I see that it’s Marshall asking if I want him to look over the English assignment due tomorrow morning.

The one I haven’t done.

I get back into position at the center of the space, shoving aside the anxious little kick my heart gives against my sternum. Nothing else matters when I’m in the toad zone. Not the classes I’m failing, not my sort-of-ex who acts like we were never more than friends.

All I am is foam and fur and a can-do attitude.

I picture the crowd as I rehearse what’s basically muscle memory. The way they scream every time I take to the field, the feeling that I’ve finally found someplace where I’m doing things right, where I can let out all my big feelings and restless energy. One step leads into another, my mind finally clearing.

I don’t know if it’s the music, or my complete obliviousness to anything happening around me, but whatever it is, I don’t hear the door open at the back of the room.

Arms wrap around me from behind. I yell as I’m pulled backward, kicking out as well as I can in foam feet. Someone grunts as I make contact, their words muffled by the toad head. The mask takes a knock in the struggle and gets thrown off center, obscuring my vision as the mesh stops lining up with my eyes.

Holy shit. This is a dream, right? I must have slipped and knocked myself out because there’s no way this isn’t a nightmare.

My earlier anxiety feels like child’s play, adrenaline making me thrash around as something wraps around my legs and torso. Suddenly, I’m in the air, lifted off my feet.

“Put me down! What the fuck?” I scream as I try to shake myself loose, keeping up a steady stream of incoherent protests.

My head bumps into the door as I’m carried, the voices laughing and hissing to one another as we move. There’s a few of them, maybe four? Five?

A hinge squeaks next to my ear the same way the rear entrance always does. Oh god, we’re leaving the sports complex. I fight harder, trying to dislodge the arms around me, but it’s no use.

The words of the police officer who gave our fifth-grade Stranger Danger class echo through me.Never let them take you to a secondary location.I fight for all I’m worth, but the costume doesn’t make things easy, even on my best day. Restrained and disorientated, I don’t stand a chance.

I try to hold back tears as I hear the sliding door of a car, or maybe a van? Jesus Christ, am I being bundled into the back of a van? What the actual hell is happening right now? Okay, okay, I need to stay calm and think through this. I am not going to die today, not in this outfit.

“Dude, what the fuck?” I hear from somewhere in front of me.

There’s shushing and arguing that I can’t hear. Something is digging into my back, maybe a seatbelt clip? Am I lying across a backseat? I mean, it’s better than the trunk, I guess… Holy shit, what the fuck is going on? Am I about to get dumped in a ditch?

This is what I get for listening to all those true crime podcasts. This is fucking karma, and now they’re going to talk about my mutilated corpse in between BetterHelp ad reads.

‘Police found the victim swaddled in some kind of green fur. Maybe it was a cult thing?’

I manage to get myself together enough to squeak out a question. “What’s going on? Where are you taking me?” My voice is thick, each word catching in my throat.

The sound of the engine starting sends my panic into overdrive and several hot tears make their way down the sides of my face, pooling uncomfortably in my ears. I try reaching up and pulling the head off, but something keeps my hands at my sides.

“Would you chill out?” a low voice speaks from somewhere nearby. “We’re not dangerous or anything.”

“Yeah, because that’s so fucking reassuring!” I squawk, indignation momentarily cutting through my terror.

“I can’t really hear what you’re saying,” the voice comes again. “So, I’m just gonna assume you’re agreeing with me.”

---