They call her The Amazon, but that's no surprise. Five foot eleven, hair like a whip, and thighs like sledgehammers. Any girl like that gets called The Amazon. But it's not just a nickname. They don't call her anything else, and there's not another name that would possibly fit. Most people forget to call her Ashley Ricks. She's just The Amazon, and that name means something. Fierce loyalty to her friends, bloody vengeance upon her enemies, and a voice...
"He's doing WHAT?!?!"
...that can drown a river.
It's the big Spring Social - Westbrooke High's fundraiser for the straggling summer sports that often go unnoticed by a student body sweating in anticipation for summer break. The Amazon is there, never one to abandon a fellow athlete, and right now her friend Cassie is trying to figure out how to talk her down.
"It's not a big deal," Cassie says. "There's a ton of other guys who are lining up to ask you to the spring formal. You'll definitely get to go."
"Of course I'll go! I'd go by myself if I had to - and don't think I wouldn't, either."
Not for a minute does Cassie think that she wouldn't.
"I just... I just can't be-LIEVE it!"
"Careful, Ammy," Cassie says (she calls her "Ammy" for short). "You might want to keep your voice down. People are starting to stare."
"Like they've never seen a teen girl get hysterical at a school function before." Ammy raises the plastic cup of punch to her lips and swallows angrily.
"But they've never seen you get this hysterical," Cassie says. "What's going on?"
"We just..." The Amazon struggles for words. When she finds them, she can barely let them out, and that once tyrannical voice shifts suddenly to meekness. "I thought he liked me."
Cassie can barely close her mouth. "What? You and Trevor? You like him?"
"Of course I like him," Ammy says. "I told you I did."
"You said you went out. You didn't say that you loved him or anything."
"I said I had a great time. I thought he did, too."
"But it was one date," Cassie says, trying to voice reason while still making sense of things in her head. "For crying out loud, Ammy, he's the president of the Future Farmers of America. He's nowhere near in your league."
"And that's supposed to make me feel better about him taking Trish to the formal instead?"
Cassie studies her friend closely. For a teenager, Cassie has a remarkable sense of empathy. Sometimes she thinks that she alone understands that the world does not revolve solely around her, an understanding that makes her immensely proud. She sees the rigid anger in Ammy's eyes - but not so rigid after all. There's a fluttering around the eyelids, and a faint twitching of the nose.
"You really like him?" she asks.
The Amazon sighs. The twitching has stopped, as if it was never there. "I guess that was silly."
"Well, no," Cassie says. "Trevor's a cute guy. Pretty well-built from all that time he spends hauling hay."
"Dumb as a cow," The Amazon says.
"You're perfect for each other."
The Amazon laughs. It's a good sign - she's listening. Cassie presses on.
"Does he know you had a good time?"
"He should. I told him so."
"How did you tell him?" Goodnight hug? Kiss? Rub his leg under the table at dinner?"
"Stop it," Ammy says. "I just told him."
"But were you honest with him? You can't be subtle with guys like Trevor. You've got to come out and say what you feel, and that means you've got to let yourself be..." Cassie hesitates.
"Spit it out."
"...vulnerable."
That was it - spoken lightly, just a puff of air, the word hung daintily in the air like a down feather. The Amazon stopped moving, stopped nibbling nervously at the rim of her plastic cup, stopped picking at a nonexistent stain on the knee of her jeans. All time seemed to stop with her. Cassie waited.
Then, with a sigh, The Amazon speaks. "I'm not good at vulnerable."
Cassie hadn't realized she was chewing on her bottom lip. She released it gladly as time started to flow again. "No one is," Cassie says.
"Lots of people are," Ammy says. "Most people live in vulnerability, because they're too scared to try to cover it up. I'm not like that." She stares off into the distance and says nothing more for a while. Cassie ducks her head, almost reverentially, almost prayerfully.
The Amazon speaks again. "There he is."
She points, and Cassie follows the long finger. Trevor stands next to the punchbowl on the opposite end of the park, just outside the karaoke tent. Cassie touches her friend's arm. "You know, I don't think he's actually asked her yet. You can still tell him."
Ammy shakes her head. "I'm not good at vulnerable." Yet she takes a few steps towards the karaoke tent. Trevor is still there, talking to one of the Great Unrecognizable. His back is to the approaching girls. Music starts to play from inside the tent - Sonny and Cher. Ammy falters.
"I'm not doing this," she says. "Not like this." She quickens her stride and moves right past Trevor. He sees her go and waves, but she doesn't notice.
Cassie follows her friend into the karaoke tent. She finds the Amazon has pushed her way to the very front, where she flips through the plastic-sleeved pages of the track listing.
"What are you doing?" Cassie says.
"When you fight," Ammy says, "you don't attack from a place of weakness. Find your strength, lead with it. Rely on it."
Cassie clears her throat, not wanting to bring up the obvious. But compassion compels her to say, "You don't sing."
"Sometimes it's not about the voice as much as it's about the song that's sung." Ammy turns another page.
"What?"
"I can SO sing," Ammy says. She writes her name on the line. "Five minutes, and then I'm up. Wait here." She runs back out of the tent. Cassie follows.
She lifts the flap and sees The Amazon link arms with Trevor, lean in towards his ear, and whisper something. She pulls Trevor away from his friend. The Future Farmer of America manages some sort of excuse before he is yanked bodily into the tent, right past Cassie, and directly to the front row. The two stand together in awkward silence while one of the school's most insufferable couples squeaks out the last few notes to the love theme from Footloose. Some insincere applause, and then, without so much as a word to Trevor, The Amazon has taken to the stage, microphone in hand. Drums beat through the speakers, and The Amazon speaks:
"You listening?"
Dumbly, Trevor nods. From the back, cheers and catcalls. A few fists pump when the guitars come in, and then Ammy sings.
Midnight gettin' uptight Where are you
You said you'd meet me now it's quarter to two
I know I'm hangin' but I'm still wantin' you
Hey Jack It's a fact they're talkin' in town
I turn my back and you're messin' around
I'm not really jealous don't like lookin' like a clown
Cassie blushes. She's letting her empathy get the better of her, and she can't help but feel embarrassed for her her friend, who now shamelessly belts into the microphone
I think of you every night and day
You took my heart then you took my pride away
But then the entire tent is singing along
I hate myself for loving you
Can't break free from the the things that you do
I wanna walk but I run back to you that's why
I hate myself for loving you
Trevor just stares up at the giant of a woman, shouting her affection in front of the entire student body. By the time the song ends, the tent's filled up considerably. Such is the power of the Blackhearts. Ammy looks over the crowd, holding the mic out in front of her like a gat. She looks down at Trevor, smirks, and then drops the microphone. The crowd goes nuts.
Ammy disappears down the stairs and nearly makes it out the back before Cassie stops her. "You're running away now?" Cassie says, grabbing Ammy's arm. "After all that?"
The Amazon turns. "I told you I don't do vulnerable very well."
"And you call that vulnerable?"
Ammy just smirks again, the same sort of smile she flashed Trevor from onstage. Cassie studies the grin, and she can't help but smile a little herself. Ammy glances past her, and the smile disappears. "Crap!" she shouts. "Trevor's coming." She twists free of Cassie's grip and runs away.
Trevor jogs just out onto the lawn in front of the tent and watches The Amazon go. She moves with relentless energy, tossing aside unfortunate chess players and drama geeks at every step. The confused farmer turns and sees Cassie staring at him. He grins.
"That was pretty amazing."
Cassie chuckles. "Definitely amazing."
So maybe I'm the only person with this problem... I'm a big fan of these sorta "tomboyish" characters that you sometimes see on TV - girls that are brawlers and scrappers. Metaphorical "brick houses," if you will... although not necessarily "stacked" like a... Look, I'm getting off topic. I really like seeing these characters, but every so often they fall in love with someone. And that's, you know, fine, except it seems that whenever they do, they lose a lot of the "toughness" that makes the character so appealing. I thought I'd try writing a mini love story that showed what would happen if one such scrapper chick kept that toughness while also pursuing a new love interest. Don't know if it worked or not, but I had a ball writing it. "Ammy" the Amazon is a character type I might use again.
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