iWitness Fight Night

Wendy Miller was giddy. It had been a very hard couple of months for her. This wasn't high school anymore. She'd been accepted into perhaps the most prestigious art program in the state – the University of Washington School of Art. It was hard adjusting to college life for her, especially since her lot – artists and other creative types – were always on the outside looking in, anyway.

On the plus side, even on such a sprawling campus, she seemed to have the good fortune to run into her former Ridgeway classmate, Freddie Benson, fairly regularly. Freddie was a wonderfully sweet boy, and Wendy loved him a great deal. She loved him like a little brother, of course, but she loved him just the same, particularly due to his warm disposition and the fact that he reminded her of Carly Shay and Sam Puckett.

Their friendship had endured once they made their transition to college, having lunch whenever their schedules allowed. She did this for a reason. She knew very well that Freddie Benson had a girlfriend – Sam Puckett's identical twin sister, no less. She spent time with Freddie Benson because he was safe. He wasn't her type anyway.

The major plus, for Wendy, anyway, was the fact that the University was smack in the middle of the city she loved so much. That said, she and Freddie could meet up for lunch basically anywhere. It was just like high school, except on a much grander scale. They had chosen their favorite place from their Ridgeway days. It could only be the Groovy Smoothie. Wendy had offered to buy. She told him earlier, via text message, that she had big news. This was cause to celebrate.

LATER THAT MORNING, AT THE GROOVY SMOOTHIE…

Wendy saw him, sitting at their usual booth, munching on an onion ring. She bounded over to him, barely able to contain her excitement.

"OH YOU SWEET AND WONDERFUL BOY!"

"¿Como?... Uh… Hey, Wendy…"

Freddie Benson was thoroughly confused. The redhead wrapped him into a bone crushing hug. He knew that Melanie would be much displeased if she knew this redheaded mess of a woman was hugging up on her man. He chose to think of Melanie and hope that Wendy's temporary fit on insanity would pass.

It did. She was talking again, a mile a minute, as per usual. Freddie had tuned out half of the conversation, simply nodding and throwing in the occasional 'uh huh' for good measure.

"…She made that one Russian chick do this…"

Freddie had completely zoned out. He didn't know very many chicks, except for the ones they'd scrambled around Carly's apartment to find that one time, and he doubted that Poachy, Omlette, or Huevo were Russian. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Wendy laughed.

"Oh, you silly boy… Shelby Marx! I've got tickets to her fight tonight… She's just amazing!"

Freddie had to admit that he found the female cage fighter to be somewhat amazing. She had basically barged in to Carly's apartment and all he could think of was making her raisin toast. He jumped in, hoping he didn't sound completely oblivious, as Wendy prattled on about the expensive ringside seat she had for tonight's fight, courtesy of her parents. Freddie knew that Wendy's father worked for Pear, though he had no idea exactly what the man did. He knew she wasn't rich by any stretch, but she wasn't simply scraping by, either. He poked around on his phone. The TicketWeb app told him that ringside seats for tonight's Shelby Marx fight were long-since sold out, but that they had a face value of five hundred bucks, Seven fifty if that included the VIP pass. Wendy pulled a lanyard from her bag, with a laminated maroon tag hanging from it. She was babbling incoherently. Freddie Benson was ill-equipped to handle something like this. Mythical Melanie was girly as all get-out, but Freddie felt that something was off. He thought for a second that Wendy had taken a hit of loopy gas. He didn't care. She was an old friend. She was an artist. Artists were supposed to be a little eccentric. He flagged down T-Bo and ordered lunch for the both of them. This was supposed to be a celebration.

LATER THAT AFTERNOON, IN FREDDIE'S DORM ROOM…

Freddie's phone pinged at him. He answered it immediately. It was Melanie.

"Hey, Gorgeous!"

"Don't you 'Gorgeous' me, Freddie Benson! I wanted to come see you and that roommate of yours said you were out to lunch with a redhead!"

"Mel… Sweety… Melanie… please…"

Melanie was glad she heard him out. She didn't know this Wendy person, aside from stories Carly and Sam had told her from high school.

"She's just an old friend, Mel… She doesn't know many people here, so we get together for lunch every once in a while, that's all, really…"

Melanie sighed on the other end of the phone, embarrassed that she'd let her insecurities get the better of her. She knew that if Freddie, Carly, and Samantha all counted her as a friend, this woman couldn't possibly be a threat to her. She apologized to him.

"Sweety, don't worry about it… Look, I'll come over to the house tonight. I know your sister's already bought the Shelby Marx fight on pay-per-view anyway…"

He could sense exasperation in his girlfriend's voice.

"A hundred dollars to watch some girl punch some other girl? In high def, no less? Oh, Samantha…"

They both laughed. He told her that he loved her, and that he'd see her at six thirty. They hung up.

THAT EVENING, AT KEYARENA…

Wendy was all whipped up. She was a diehard Shelby Marx fan, from the moment she'd heard that a teenaged girl was climbing the ranks of the CFC. Wendy thought she was absolutely magnificent. The fact that she was pretty darn easy on the eyes certainly didn't hurt either. Wendy had been keeping a secret, admittedly, rather poorly, for quite a long time. No one, aside from her parents, knew that she was gay. Seattle was a pretty liberal-minded, free-thinking town, and as an artist, she certainly knew her share of creative types who embraced the love that dare not speak its name. That was high school. Coming out in high school was, in most cases, akin to the kiss of death. She couldn't help but admire Shelby Marx. She'd never seen the women's champion up close and personal before. Until now, Wendy had always admired her from afar. It had always been magazines, the news, Splashface videos, or pay-per-view, whenever her parents indulged her that much.

Wendy was completely taken in. She sat there, ringside, staring through the steel mesh of the cage. The champion was just getting warmed up, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Wendy knew she was making something from nothing, but she couldn't help but notice just how beautiful the tall, lean brunette actually was. She reminded Wendy of Carly Shay, except with muscles.

LATER IN THE OPENING ROUND…

The house lights had just come up. It was another short night at work for women's heavyweight champion Shelby Marx.

"…AND THE WINNER BY KNOCKOUT… AND STILL… WOMEN'S HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION, SHELBY MARX!..."

Wendy was excited. She had a full twenty minutes to wait. The champion had time to shower and get dressed, but Wendy would have the opportunity to meet Shelby Marx face-to-face and actually talk to her. She was beyond nervous. What if she said or did something stupid and awkward? What if she acted like the Russian girl, whose jaw Shelby had kicked in two years ago? What if? What if?

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, OUTSIDE SHELBY MARX'S DRESSING ROOM…

Wendy fidgeted as she stood outside the champion's dressing room, her path blocked by a very large black man in a SECURITY t-shirt. At exactly the appointed moment, he inspected her credentials and permitted her inside. He didn't particularly like the fact that she was carrying a book bag, but, after a cursory inspection, he found no cutting, slicing, or stabbing implements. He felt that the champion would be safe.

Wendy walked in. She was quite surprised at how well furnished the room was. She took a few steps and slowly felt her knees begin to buckle. There, sprawled across the sofa in the corner of the room, a bowl of pasta salad in her lap, was Shelby Marx.

Wendy flushed slightly. She smiled weakly, not wanting the famous fighter to know she found her incredibly attractive.

"Hey, How're you?"

Wendy looked around. The champion must be talking to someone else.

She wasn't.

"No, I'm talking to you, Red…"

Wendy chuckled. She closed she short gap and nervously introduced herself.

"Uh… wow… Hi… I'm Wendy…"

The champion smirked. She thought the nervous little schoolgirl thing was pretty darn cute.

"Shelby Marx…"

Wendy tried in vain to stifle a laugh.

"Oh, come on! I know who you are…"

Shelby blushed. Famous as she was, she still wasn't used to being treated like she was anyone special. This was just what she did. Shelby patted the sofa cushion.

"Come here, sit… relax…"

Wendy did just that, unsure of exactly why she was doing it.

She looked at the pretty redhead again for a long moment, as though trying to place her from somewhere. It took a second, but then she said the words that made Wendy Miller's blood run cold.

"Wait… You're Carly and Sam's friend, aren't you?"

The redhead gaped stupidly. She didn't understand.

Shelby smiled. She passed over her Pearphone, showing off a photo of Carly, Sam, and Wendy, clearly taken during Senior Week at Ridgeway. The photo had been sent directly to Shelby Marx from Carly Shay, explaining that Wendy would be at the fight and that she was a big fan.

Wendy fumbled for words.

"I… uh… big fan… Carly… yeah… high school…"

Shelby chuckled. They were in a room full of people – sponsors, TV people, promoters – and she felt drawn to this one redhead.

The two made small talk as though they'd known each other for years. Wendy was still nervous. She rather bluntly asked a question that made her feel out-and-out silly.

"Um… Shelby…"

"Yes?"

"Can I have your autograph?"

The prizefighter chuckled as Wendy produced a marker and a black, hardbound sketchbook.

"Sure…"

Shelby took the heavy book, flipping through it. It was immediately evident that this girl was an extremely, extremely talented artist. It was even more obvious that her muse was Shelby Marx herself. The fighter smiled as she flipped the pages. There were photo-realistic sketches, black-and-white sketches. Ink sketches. Colored pencil sketches. There were sketches done in ink and accented in crayon. There were sketches showing her as an anime caricature. Shelby flushed. This girl obviously took a keen interest in her career. It was evident that this girl spent a very significant amount of time on each image. It also struck Shelby that none of this appeared similar to the obsessive fan art that she received with letters every week. This was fundamentally different.

Shelby flipped the pages again, lost in thought. She clearly wanted to choose her favorite before signing her name to it.

She settled on a very intricate, photo-realistic pencil sketch and finally set marker to paper. She thought long and hard about what she wanted to write. Shelby knew what she needed to say.

Wendy –

You are an amazing talent. I can't tell you what it means to have someone take such an interest in me. You're incredibly sweet, and definitely someone I'd like to get to know better

Give me a call sometime…

XOXO

Shelby Marx

Beneath her signature, Shelby scribbled her cell phone number.

Handing the book back to Wendy, Shelby wanted to make things absolutely clear. She'd noticed it earlier, and now she was putting Wendy on notice that she'd noticed. Shelby caught the redhead's wrist, perhaps a bit more forcefully than intended. The soft leather bracelet, appointed with its multicolored beads, held a very special significance for Wendy. It was the way she could be 'Out', yet still be 'In'. Shelby obviously knew this.

Wendy read over what Shelby had written, trying to put two and two together. Their eyes met, ever briefly. They spoke barely above a whisper.

"Wait… You mean?"

Shelby nodded, but barely, in the affirmative.

It had been a weird night indeed, Wendy thought. Shelby Marx, Women's Heavyweight Champion of the World, had just asked her – shy, insecure, art geeky Wendy – out on a date.