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  He drew a sketch of himself, but beefed up to look the part of a huge wrestler, landing an epic takedown on Werewrestler, the reigning champion.

  Tiny stars circled Werewrestler’s head.

  “No way,” Tamiko said with her mouth full of cheese. “The Bolt would totally shock you at least, like, five times before you even had a chance for opening smack talk.”

  “What? You’re joking. I’d have her pinned before she even entered the ring.”

  “Mm-hmm,” said Tamiko. “And I’m gonna grow up to be as big and smelly as Big Tuna and win the championship belt with one hand tied behind my back.”

  They laughed. But Ollie knew something Tamiko didn’t.

  What she didn’t know was that Ollie believed, deep down, that one day he’d be a wrestler. Then he’d show Hollis. And the competition. And anyone else who doubted that he didn’t have what it takes. Because he totally did have it—what it took to be a wrestler. Just no one knew it yet.

  The lights dimmed and the excited buzz gave way to hushed silence. A spotlight shone on the ring, highlighting a diminutive man in an outrageous, bright orange suit. His greased-back, electric-blue hair framed a large pair of neon green glasses.

  Everything about the man was loud. But that was exactly why Screech Holler had been hired to be Slamdown Town’s resident announcer.

  Screech tapped his throat. Then slowly—very slowly—he raised his microphone to his lips. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls.” His high-pitched voice bounced off every surface in the arena and sent chills down Ollie’s spine. “Welcome to Slamdown Town!”

  CHAPTER 3

  Ollie watched the referee leap over the ropes and sail into the ring. She was big. No, huge. She never missed a date with the gym or a single one of her morning, afternoon, and evening protein shakes.

  She intimidated everyone, in and out of the ring. Except Ollie.

  She was his mom, after all.

  His mom had the second-coolest job in the whole world. Because the actual coolest job in the world was—obviously—being a wrestler.

  But his mom had been one once. This was in the pinnacle of her youth, before she sustained a career-ending injury to her funny bone, which, despite its name, was no laughing matter. Her wrestler name had been the Brash Banshee, and in her glory days, she was considered by all to be the fiercest, meanest, and toughest wrestler at Slamdown Town. She felled every opponent who faced her in the ring, and for two whole years was the undisputed champion of Slamdown Town.

  Ollie had never known his mom as a wrestler, but he’d admired her old photos, videos, and posters from her time as the Banshee. The Brash Banshee was not only a terror in the ring but also a terror to behold. Her striking white eyes pierced through the long strands of hair that covered her face and through her opponent’s heart. Pale, ghostlike strips of cloth wrapped up her torso and dangled lazily off her arms.

  Scary wasn’t a scary-enough word to describe the Brash Banshee.

  She even had her own action figure, which he and Hollis used to play with, making their mom topple block towers with her bulging plastic biceps, or stomp on little green army men with her knee-high boots.

  Ollie would stare longingly at the championship belt around her waist, both proud of his mom and sad that he never got to see her actually wearing it.

  Her career had been cut short when she was challenged by an upstart new wrestler named Werewrestler. He was quickly making a strong reputation for himself, and he had his sights set on the championship belt. The Brash Banshee accepted—she never turned down a challenger—and many thought her victory a foregone conclusion.

  After all, she’d defeated every other challenger.

  But all good things must end, and her reign as champion, and as a professional wrestler, did exactly that when she stepped into the ring with Werewrestler.

  Ollie had seen old, grainy footage of the match online and was always struck by two things: one, how awesome and fierce his mom was, and two, how many people had been in attendance at Slamdown Town Arena that night. Each time he pressed Play on the video, he felt his heart race, as if he were watching it live for the first time. He’d gasp as his mom put Werewrestler into a choke hold, cheer when she pulled off a devastating backbreaker on him, and leap from his seat when she dove off the top rope and delivered her infamous Brash Bodyslam.

  Victory was near. Instead of finishing the match, the Brash Banshee soaked up the crowd’s admiration. Which explained why she didn’t see that Werewrestler, having knocked out the referee, had grabbed an illegal chair. A well-aimed dirty strike sent the chair smack into her funny bone.

  Ollie had whacked his funny bone before and knew how painful it could be, but his mom’s injury looked ten times worse. After all, he had just hit his arm on his doorframe when he wasn’t paying attention. Compared to a chair assault, that was nothing. Werewrestler had the momentum behind him and used that momentum to pin Ollie’s mom. He had won by cheating, but in wrestling the rules were meant to be broken.

  Or, if not broken, followed loosely.

  Well, Brash Banshee wanted to put a stop to that. So she hung up her wrestling outfit and traded it for referee stripes. Her mission? To ensure that everyone involved in the matches would play by the rules. And not just the wrestlers.

  “Our most esteemed referee,” started Screech, “would like me to remind you that running in the arena is strictly forbidden. And also to stop wrestling your brother in the lobby, or you’ll both lose video game privileges. That one seems oddly specific . . . !”

  Ollie groaned.

  “Called out by your mom in front of everyone! I love it!” said Tamiko, slapping her knee.

  Ollie sank farther into his seat. A few rows down, he saw Hollis do the same.

  “Bolt is going to take it,” Tamiko reminded him, bringing the conversation—blessedly—back to wrestling.

  “Please, please, please!” Ollie shook his clasped hands skyward, in the general direction of the wrestling gods. “If I have to see Werewrestler win again, I’m gonna barf.”

  “Me, too. It’s like, give it up already, dude! But if we do barf, let’s both aim at Hollis.”

  Werewrestler had been undefeated ever since that fateful day he claimed the championship belt from Brash Banshee. Since then, he’d toppled wrestler after wrestler. And after each victory, he’d raise the shimmering, diamond-encrusted belt above his head to remind everyone that he was the champion. Ollie hoped today would be different.

  “Just wait,” said Ollie. “Eventually somebody’s gonna come along that can beat him.”

  “Whoever someone is, they better get here soon,” moaned Tamiko. “Having the same champ was boring the first five hundred times it happened.”

  The lights went down. A chill ran through the arena. As if the stadium were a giant beast waking up from a deep slumber, blood-pumping music blared from the speakers lining the walls. The entire floor shook, sending reverberations rumbling through Ollie’s chest. He got goose bumps.

  It was time.

  Screech Holler’s voice cut through the air. “Folks, prepare for storm clouds, because the forecast calls for a shocking amount of lightning. Give it up for The Bolt!”

  Ollie felt his eyes widen as The Bolt appeared at the top of the entrance ramp in a blinding surge of light. She held her hands high and soaked in the applause from the ten people sitting in the arena. Then she zipped headlong toward the ring, vaulted over the ropes, and landed smack in the center of the mat.

  “Zap, zap! Zap attack!” Ollie yelled.

  “We love you, Bolt!” shrieked Tamiko, her hands cupped around her mouth.

  Just like always, Ollie and Tamiko screamed until their throats were sore.

  The Bolt’s character bio was one of Ollie’s favorites. He knew it by heart. She’d been born during a freak thunderstorm and had grown up chasing storm clouds—that is, until the tragic day a million volts of electricity connected with the metal tip of her umbrella, sending her crashing into
a wrestling arena. Her shoes sparked, her hair stood on end, and her leather jacket flashed lightning yellow every time she charged up an attack.

  She was, in a word, electric.

  Just then, a sudden, deafening roar echoed throughout the crowd.

  “It must be a full moon,” said Screech Holler as he struggled to hold the mic still. “Someone better call animal control, because there’s a rabid dog on the loose. Your champion, the mighty Werewrestler, has entered the building!”

  Smoke poured out of the entrance ramp. And out of the smoke walked the largest man legally allowed in the tristate area. He was half man, half wolf, and all wrestler.

  He had blood-red eyes framed with dripping black face paint. His ripped shirt swayed eerily in the smoke. To cap it off, a silver chain with a large pendant that resembled a howling wolf dangled around his neck.

  “Boo!” yelled Ollie at the top of his lungs. The rest of the crowd booed along with him. Many loved to hate Werewrestler, but Ollie and Tamiko just plain hated him.

  “Get that cheating, walking muttonchop outta here,” demanded Tamiko.

  Both wrestlers stood in the ring. Ollie’s mom checked The Bolt and Werewrestler for illegal items. She removed a hammer, a spiked glove, and a long-overdue library book. All from Werewrestler. Then she checked Werewrestler again. After removing a hidden container of thumbtacks, she cleared both wrestlers to start.

  But of course, before any actual wrestling came the smack talk.

  “Do you smell that?” asked Werewrestler. He sniffed the air. “That, loser, is the sweet smell of pain.” He sniffed again. “And maybe burnt nacho cheese. But mostly pain!”

  “I smell it! It’s gonna hurt so bad!” squealed Tamiko. “For Werewrestler, I hope!”

  “The only thing I smell is your foul chance of winning this match,” countered The Bolt. “Just like your smack-talk game, you’re lacking the energy-efficient, long-lasting voltage necessary for victory!”

  Werewrestler snarled.

  “Prepare to be chomped, stomped, and whomped.”

  “Dream on. Nobody steals The Bolt’s thunder!”

  “She said it!” shrieked Ollie with glee. “She said the catchphrase!”

  Ding, ding, ding!

  The Bolt sprinted toward Werewrestler. Now it was time to let her fists do the talking. More specifically, her stunning(ly electric) hammer fists of fury. They rained down from above in a blistering, unrelenting combo that rocked Werewrestler. The Bolt landed a flying leg kick. A surprised Werewrestler reeled against the ropes.

  “The Bolt is wasting no time,” said Screech Holler.

  Werewrestler retreated into the corner. It was a bad move—Ollie knew wrestling strategy by now and he knew each wrestler’s weak spot. Sure enough, The Bolt charged shoulder-down into Werewrestler, slamming him into the corner of the ring. The Bolt grabbed Werewrestler by the scruff and went for an anaconda vise hold.

  Ollie glanced at Tamiko—she was watching, rapt. Hopeful even.

  But this time, Werewrestler was ready.

  “He countered the grapple. Werewrestler’s got her now,” predicted Screech.

  “No!” screamed Ollie. Tamiko clasped his arm with one sweaty palm.

  Werewrestler yanked The Bolt straight into a headbutt. Stunned, The Bolt lurched backward. Werewrestler was on her in a flash. A knee to the gut doubled The Bolt over. A chop to the larynx threatened to end the match right there. But The Bolt saw it coming. She dodged and pivoted, spinning back around to face Werewrestler.

  “These two are giving it all they got, folks!” yelled Screech. Ollie couldn’t say for sure from that distance, but Screech looked like he might be foaming at the mouth.

  The Bolt caught Werewrestler with her shoe, setting off a flurry of sparks. One stray spark landed directly in Werewrestler’s left eye, sending him to the mat.

  “That’s gotta be an illegal move there,” said Screech. Ollie watched as his mom approached The Bolt with a stern look and a wag of her finger. Ollie had seen that look and finger wag before, usually when he and Hollis stayed up too late on a school night.

  “Yep, there’s the ref giving her a talking-to,” said Screech.

  “Ah, come on, Mom. He barely got burned!” Ollie shouted down to the ring.

  Ollie’s mom pointed her formerly wagging finger straight at The Bolt’s shoe.

  “Improper use of foot apparel,” warned Ollie’s mom into her mic.

  “What?!” shouted The Bolt, outraged. “Come on, ref. I barely touched him.”

  “I’m giving you a warning. One more and—”

  “Look out!” yelled Tamiko.

  The Bolt realized too late that she had made a mistake. She left herself exposed as she argued with Ollie’s mom. Werewrestler had always been one to flout authority, and now was no exception. He positioned himself directly behind The Bolt. Before Ollie’s mom could say or do anything at all, Werewrestler grabbed The Bolt, raised her into the air, and used all his body weight to slam her onto the mat.

  “Hot dog, that woman has a family!” screeched Screech Holler.

  The Bolt lay on the mat wriggling like a worm, unable to stand.

  Ollie watched as his mom gave Werewrestler a fierce reprimand. Werewrestler clearly paid her no mind. The blow, while dirty, wasn’t technically illegal, but it was close.

  Werewrestler turned away from Ollie’s mom and waved his arms for the crowd.

  “Boo!” roared the crowd.

  “Aroooo!” he roared in response.

  Werewrestler circled The Bolt like a ravenous shark as she slowly got to her feet. He snapped his yellow teeth, mimed taking a big bite of an imaginary turkey leg, and dramatically wiped his mouth clean.

  “Oh, no! He’s preparing the jaws!” said Ollie, turning to Tamiko. He felt his faith in The Bolt faltering, then crumbling into a million pieces. Werewrestler didn’t always pull out this maneuver, but when he did, it was all over.

  This signaled that Werewrestler’s finishing move, Full Moon, was impending.

  “Full Moon! Full Moon!” chanted Werewrestler, trying to get the crowd on his side. Ollie and Tamiko didn’t participate. Even Hollis refused to do the chant. At least their mutual dislike of Werewrestler still united the brothers. It wasn’t much. But it was something.

  Maybe the only thing these days?

  The Full Moon involved Werewrestler locking his opponent in a devastating sleeper hold, much like the jaws of a wolf trapping its prey and leaving them for dead.

  Or, in the case of wrestling, pinning them.

  Werewrestler wrapped his giant arms around The Bolt and squeezed. And squirm as she might, there was no breaking loose. The last thing poor Bolt saw was the sweat stains of Werewrestler’s torn shirt as she was squished deeper into his armpits.

  Caught between a muscly arm and a sweaty pit, The Bolt couldn’t break free. The noxious fumes must have gotten to her, because she slid down on the mat and remained passed out. The Bolt had officially suffered a power outage.

  Ollie and Tamiko groaned in unison.

  Werewrestler flopped down on top of The Bolt and pinned her. Ollie’s mom dove beside them. For one brief moment, her eyes locked with Werewrestler’s. Ollie held his breath. What he wouldn’t give to see his mom get her revenge and take down Werewrestler right there, right now. But she had a job to do, a job she took very seriously, and so she began the count. She slapped the mat with her palm as she shouted, “Eight! Nine! Ten!”

  Ding, ding, ding!

  The bell sliced through the roar of the arena, signaling the end of the match. Werewrestler climbed onto the top rope and soaked in the crowd’s disappointment.

  “Already?!” shouted Ollie. “But she didn’t even get to use any of her special moves!”

  “Man. I thought for sure The Bolt would take it,” said Tamiko, sounding distressed.

  “Boo!” yelled the crowd again.

  Ollie could feel the audience’s displeasure. Who wants to see the same wrestler win every week
end, especially one as unlikable as Werewrestler? Though he didn’t know this for certain, Ollie guessed that Slamdown Town’s steep decline in attendance had less to do with the run-down, broken arena and more to do with a champion that no one could root for.

  One day, Ollie hoped, Werewrestler would get what he deserved. Which was to get his butt kicked and have his belt taken away.

  And the sooner that happened, the better.

  CHAPTER 4

  The following evening, Ollie tiptoed into his brother’s room. Right past the sign on the door that read NO BABIES ALLOWED along with a crude drawing of Ollie in a diaper.

  The only reason he was even in Hollis’s lame room was because Hollis had refused to let him borrow their laptop to play his favorite computer game: Revenge of Kragthar.

  “Dream on. It’s my laptop. And you’re not using it,” Hollis had told him when he’d asked to borrow it. So Ollie was taking matters into his own hands.

  Hollis’s room was decorated with unwashed, dreary black clothes, bottles of acne cream, and unopened packs of deodorant. A minefield of squished hair-gel tubes and crushed soda cans littered the floor. Strange, unidentifiable smells oozed out of the drawers, closet, and trash bin. His room seemed to be in a perpetual state of messy. Even when their mom ordered him to clean it up, the room somehow, like magic, immediately reverted back to a teenage garbage dump.

  Man, eighth graders are the worst, thought Ollie.

  He finally located the laptop under Hollis’s pillow.

  The second Hollis knew the laptop was missing he’d come looking for it, because he spent most of his free time using it to “build” his website: the Officially Unofficial Slamdown Town Fan Club. The site itself was a jumbled mess, kinda like Hollis’s bedroom: littered with photos of wrestlers, banners, pop-ups, and—for some reason—a poorly photoshopped image of Hollis’s head on Big Tuna’s body. Each weekend he’d blog about the matches and, using the site’s built-in forum, chat with other members of the Slamdown Town wrestling community.