“What is this?” I asked, my lips contorting with disgust.

Kat leaned over the table. “A Blow Job. We can get you a Muff Diver if you prefer that, though. Would you?” She winked.

Huh? Now I was getting weirdness from both sisters. But seeing Kat’s cocky expression and absorbing the energy from around me, I felt a surge of resolve. I tried to refocus my own energy. I needed to be steel tonight. I’d made this team—so far—and I could deal with whatever tonight was going to bring if I had to, even if it meant this foolishness. At least that was what I told myself. I responded, “I prefer whiskey, actually.”

She let loose a raspy laugh. “Well, shit, let’s get this tough bitch a shot of whiskey!”

The team cheered. Someone got the whiskey. I drank the whiskey. More whiskey was ordered. More whiskey was consumed.

About an hour later, I felt well lubricated. I’d been smart enough to drink plenty of water along the way too, so I had my wits about me—but the liquor had increased my resolve. I decided I wasn’t fucking around tonight. I was going to show these people exactly what I was made of—muscles, steel, concrete—no matter what they threw at me. No cracks tonight. No soft edges.

The three other rookies seemed to be in various stages of drunkenness. We’d introduced ourselves at some point. The gold-medal drinker to my left was Potts—wiry, pale, and baby-faced. Grace was the next over and was the quietest of the group. She’d pulled back her curly red hair into a ponytail and looked very serious about all of this. And then there was Sage, who had that “Asian blush” Amma used to get after one glass of sherry.

Potts had drunk the most out of the four of us but was clearly well seasoned in the art of consuming vast amounts of liquor, because they didn’t seem that drunk at all. Grace, I quickly realized, was one of those drinkers who gradually became more and more intense as she drank. She’d already tried to get me to talk about what it was like to be a “young person of color,” to which I responded with a look that clearly conveyed how annoying that question was. Sage was just plain happy and hilarious. Thankfully, she kept interrupting Grace’s attempts at serious talk with squealing appeals for high fives.

At one point, Lena placed her fingers in her mouth and released a piercing whistle that stopped everyone mid-mayhem. “Hey! Anyone wanna hear these little bitty bee-bees’ derby names?”

A calamity of “Fuck yeahs” and “Damn straights” followed.

Shit.

Lena made out like she was carrying a mic and held it to Potts’s chin. “Introducing…”

“Potty Mouth!”

Giggles and a few whoops.

Fuuuuuuck.

Lena moved the “mic” to Grace.

“Grace Under Fire!”

Clapping and cheering.

Crap crap crap.