A/N: Just so you know, this is a joint account. The Babysitter was written by the other girl on the joint account. So if you have problems with this one, don't flame her, and if you have problems with her, don't flame me. Or you could make the world a better place by not flaming at all. And I do know the real names of the wrestlers, but in most cases I'll just use their stage names, especially if the characters are watching RAW or SmackDown!. I'm not gonna say "Glenn Jacobs just chokeslammed Paul Wight after hearing voices in his head." R&R. If you don't review, you're just mooching. MOOCHERS!

Who's that jumpin' out the sky? Jacinta asked herself. Not me, that's for sure, she answered. My brother is the one who does all the jumpin' out the sky in this household. Jacinta's brother was Rey Mysterio, the high-flying WWE superstar. I guess I could be doing some jumpin' out the sky myself if I wanted. Being Rey's sister would give me pretty much a free ride to diva-hood...

But that would require Jacinta to get in shape--a prospect she found repulsive. I bet a sloth is more physically fit that I am. That was what her elementary and middle school PE teachers had said when she was attempting to do pull-ups on the Presidential Physical Fitness Test From Hell. And anyway, if I was a diva, everyone would expect me to do all the lucha libre moves that Rey does, which just wouldn't work. Even if I did get in shape, my desktop computer is more aerodynamic than me. And I don't hold a candle to the laptop.

Jacinta--and all the flab on her 5'11" frame that she knew and loved--was lying on her bed reflecting on how her life really wasn't all that bad, but she was going to complain about it anyway.

The sticking point is guys, Jacinta surmised, as she had done many times before. I've been around wrestlers since I was nine and Rey got into the business at 15. For ten solid years I have been around guys who's job--life, even--is to look good on TV and beat each other up. I'm sure even I could get a decent-looking nice guy to take care of me when I'm an Alzheimered old fruitcake , but whenever I meet someone, their eyes aren't as pretty as Randy Orton, they can't rap like John Cena, they don't have Batista's good taste, or the Masterpiece's body--something is always wrong with them!

Jacinta was a hardcore wrestling fan, if that cannot be deduced from the above mental rant. Rey had got her watching it when he was just still just a fan, and her interest hadn't flagged yet. She'd lost count of how many times she'd wanted to Chick Kick or RKO people who said wrestling was the fakest thing they'd ever seen.

It's not fake! Jacinta telepathically projected the speech--honed by years of repeating it--to the minds of non-believers the world over. The outcomes of the matches are predetermined to fit in with the WWE storyline, but how the wrestlers get to those outcomes is spontaneous, more often than not! Fake is if someone takes a spill off a ladder or goes through a table and their stunt double does it or they get hit by a steel chair and the chair is made of rubber! Wrestling isn't--

"Jacinta!" her mother's piercing voice cut through the confusing myriad of her thoughts. "Are you coming or not?"

"Coming, coming!" Jacinta yelled back, as she got out of bed and began to clatter down the stairs. WrestleMania 22 was in three days, and the entire Mysterio clan was turning out to watch Rey in the SmackDown! main event trying for the World Heavyweight Championship. Even though Rey knew which way the match was going to swing, but refused to tell any of them.

The 619-mobile waited in the driveway. Jacinta's car, it was a 2002 Toyota Camry painted neon purple with various Rey-type slogans all over it. Most people seeing it were either puzzled or thought she was some type of crazy Rey stalker. This was the car they were taking to 'Mania.

"I can't believe you convinced me to ride in that billboard on wheels," Mama muttered to Jacinta.

"Whatever," she shrugged. "There's a blanket in the trunk, you can hide in the back seat so your social standing won't be damaged."

Mama was about to give Jacinta a lecture about respecting her elders, when Abuela, the Mysterio family's impressive matriarch, imposed herself on the scene. She did everything majestically. She did not walk, she swept. Grandly. And that is only the tip of the iceberg. "What have you done?" she asked by way of greeting, surveying the car.

Jacinta giggled. Clearly Abuela meant the sizeable dent in the passenger side door. "Nothing," she said innocently. "I most certainly didn't hydroplane and spin off the road and crash into a tree."

"I will drive," Abuela commanded. By this point, both Mama and Jacinta knew not to try to dissuade her. It would only end in tears if they did. "I trust you not at the wheel," she continued.

Jacinta shrugged and got in the back seat. She continued her mental rant or slept for the entire trip.

Crystal--not to be confusted with SmackDown! diva Kristal, or crystal meth--was exhausted. A cut on her forehead bled sluggishly, and she felt the beginnings of a pulled muscle in her leg. But she was happy. She had just beaten Trish Stratus and Mickie James in a brutal triple threat match for the Women's Championship, and the fans weren't booing her. She walked back into the backstage area, hoping to get to the locker room and freshen up before anyone that her appearance would matter to saw her.

"Hey great match," Rey Mysterio said a Crystal passed by.

"Thanks!" Crystal replied enthusiastically. When Rey said you had a great match, you performance had been phenomenal. "Good luck in yours!" she told him.

Rey grinned. "Gracias. Oh, and if you see a girl about this tall," he held up his hand about an an inch above Crystal's 5'10", "wandering around looking lost, don't be mean to her. She's my sister."

Crystal smiled. "Since when have I been anything but nice to anyone?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

"I think you should talk to Victoria about that," smirked Rey.

Crystal waved her hand at Rey in an 'I know you're right but I won't admit it because I'm too stuck up' way and walked on.