Amina struggled with the same thing in another form.

Her first wrestling meet after suspension was away at Cedar Ridge High.

The crowd knew the clip.

Teenagers always do.

During weigh-in, someone whispered:

“Five coffins.”

Amina heard.

Ignored.

During her first match, her opponent, Kelsey Ward, leaned close in a tie-up.

“Where’s your shovel?”

Amina froze.

Kelsey snapped her down.

Two points.

Coach David yelled:

“Wrestle!”

Amina recovered.

But anger had entered.

Next tie, she shoved after whistle.

The referee warned her.

David:
“Control.”

Amina nodded.

Then Kelsey whispered:

“Psycho.”

Amina tried an unnecessary throw.

Bad angle.

Kelsey countered.

Amina lost by points.

Not because Kelsey was poor.

Kelsey wrestled well.

But Amina had stopped wrestling her and started wrestling an insult.

Afterward, she stormed into the hallway.

David waited.

“Say it.”

“She talked.”

“Yes.”

“She called me psycho.”

“Yes.”

“You heard?”

“No. I saw you stop wrestling.”

Amina:
“I wanted to slam her.”

“I know.”

“Would’ve felt good.”

“For three seconds.”

Amina laughed bitterly.

“Maybe.”

David:
“What did the coffin line buy you?”

“What?”

“A reputation you don’t want.”

Amina:
“I know.”

“Then stop paying interest.”

She looked at him.

“That sounds like a coach quote.”

“It is.”

Amina rolled her eyes.

Amara had come with Denise.

She stood at the doorway.

Amina saw her.

“Don’t.”

Amara:
“I wasn’t.”

“You have face.”

“Everyone reads face.”

They both laughed.

Amara:
“You lost.”

“Yes.”

“Bad.”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Amina:
“Why good?”

“Because now you can stop acting like rescue superhero.”

Amina stared.

Then laughed harder.

“Asshole.”

“Twin.”

They hugged.

Not because of the match.

Because Amara had finally found a way to pull her sister off a pedestal without pushing her away.

At the next meet, someone in the stands yelled:

“Coffins!”

Amina heard.

Kept wrestling.

Won by decision.

No dramatic pin.

Just clean work.

David:
“Better.”

Amina:
“Good?”

“Good.”

She smiled.

The clip’s popularity faded.

New scandals replaced it.

But school memory lasted.

Some students treated Amina like a legend.

Others avoided her.

Amara became “the sister who got tied up.”

She hated that more.

One lunchtime, a sophomore boy asked:

“Did it really take five girls to hold you?”

Amara looked at him.

“Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“What answer do you want?”

He shrugged.

“Were you fighting?”

“Yes.”

“Did you almost get away?”

Amara realized what he wanted:
a stronger story.

“No.”

He blinked.

“What?”

“There were five of them. They grabbed me. I didn’t get away.”

“Oh.”

She leaned closer.

“That doesn’t make what happened less wrong.”

“No.”

The boy looked embarrassed.

“Sorry.”

“Good.”

No myth.

Amara began correcting the narrative when it mattered.

Not every rumor.

Just direct.

“I was restrained. I survived. My sister found me because I told where I was going and she checked when I disappeared.”