How was waiting tables?A PICTURE, DRAWN IN HER QUICK, MANGA STYLE, FILLS MY screen. It’s me, in full armor, sitting astride my horse. Underneath the picture is a caption: KIT OF THE CASTLE VANQUISHES HER FOES!
It’s so ridiculously perfect it makes me laugh. Which does wonders for breaking up the heaviness of my thoughts. I text her back immediately.
Kit: I LOVE IT!
Layla: There’s more where that came from. Stay tuned.
Something moves in my brain. The merest shadow of an idea. Before I can nail it down, more texts come in.
Layla: How are you feeling?
Kit: Sore, tired, exhilarated. Also my mom is pissed.
Layla: You were badass out there!
Kit: I loved it. Do you think I’ll get fired?
Layla: Len’s mad, but don’t worry about it. Talk to him before your next shift. I’m sure it’ll be fine.
Kit: How was waiting tables?
Layla: 
I made $300 in tips!
Kit: Bless you, Eddy Jackson?
Layla: The man is a saint, and also, I’ve never seen anyone eat so much turkey.
Eddy holds the current Castle record of most turkey legs ordered by one person.
Kit: He’s a legend.
Layla: 
I’ll bring your half of the tips tomorrow.
Kit: Those are yours, keep them.
Layla: We agreed to split them. And I don’t need them, so no worries.
Layla’s mom is a brain surgeon and her dad is CEO of an international corporation. Her house is like a museum, and she gets $800 a month in allowance. So, no, she doesn’t need the tips. But I don’t like to tell her how poor I really am.
Kit: Cool. Can I come over tomorrow afternoon and spend the night?
Spending the night at Layla’s is like what I imagine it feels like to sleep in a luxury hotel. With the addition of my kickass best friend.
Layla: YES! 
Good (k)night!
Kit: ’Night (and totally see what you did there).
I’m smiling by the time I pocket my phone. Mom’s door is closed and Chris still isn’t home. I grab a candle, throw out the remains of the takeout—just bones and some bread crusts—and take my letter from Marquette and my phone into my room.
Kicking aside a pile of dirty clothes, I set the candle on my bedside table. It flickers, casting looming shadows. One of my walls is taken up by a screen-printed reproduction of part of the famous medieval tapestry The Lady and the Unicorn. I found it in a thrift store, complete with troubling stains in the upper right corner and a set of cigarette burns where the unicorn’s eyes should be. On the other wall, framing my window, are two bookshelves overflowing with fantasy novels and history books. A photo of Layla, Jett, and me from the Castle sits on my dresser, and the rest of the room is a riot of knockoff medieval stuff. My bras hang from a concrete knight that’s supposed to be a lawn ornament. I got him at a yard sale for a dollar. I’ve put plastic films on my windows, so they look like stained glass. A stuffed dragon sits on top of one of the bookshelves, a present from my dad long ago. Two reproduction swords that I bought at a Renaissance faire lean against my desk.
Above my desk is a collage I’ve been adding to for years. “Fierce Ladies of the Middle Ages,” it says in bold letters. I got the idea from some list I saw online, and I’ve been doing research on these women ever since. Now, they hang in my room like some odd family tree or something.
There are the famous ones most people have heard of: Lagertha (thank you, Vikings the show for cosplay inspiration for days); Joan of Arc; Boudicca.
And then there are hosts of other woman who did remarkable things, but who most people don’t know about: Matilda of Canossa, an Italian countess who battled for 30 years against kings. Caterina Sforza, another Italian woman who said, “If I must lose because I am a woman, I want to lose like a man.” Sichelgaita of Salerno, a Norman woman who commanded sieges. Khawlah bint al-Azwar, sister to a Muslim commander during the Islamic conquest who led a troop of women against the Byzantine army (oh! to go back in time to that battle!). And so many others. Each of them brave. Fierce. And heroic.
“What should I do?” I ask the faces that stare back at me.
They’re silent, as always, so I turn away from my favorite ladies and toward what hangs on the other wall above my bed. It’s a giant sheet of poster board with “KIT’S BIG PLAN” written at the top in gigantic letters. Big plan, big letters. I can’t help it. I’m a planner, literalist, and sucker for a pun. Beneath the title are ten tidy bullet points and rules for living that will get me from where I’m at to where I want to be. It’s half bucket list and half dammit-universe-I-will-wrestle-my-destiny-from-your-cold-unfeeling-hands.
As I do every night before I get into bed, I recite the bullet points. To remind myself of the direction I’m heading and what I have to do to get there.
• Get a better job, preferably KNIGHT!, to save money for college.
Chris tells me that some Knights can make close to $50,000 a year, which is more than I need, but even just working a few shifts a week as a Knight would net me more than the tips I make as a Wench. You’d think wenching at a place like the Castle, with the sheer number of guests we have, would bring in a lot of tips, but most guests leave small tips because they’ve paid so much for admission and then blown the rest of their money on souvenirs and beer.
Next point:
• Get into a great college to study history. Options: Stanford, Yale, UPenn, Harvard, Marquette.
Marquette sits out there alone, like the last fragile leaf on a tree before the autumn wind comes along. I glance at the letter on my nightstand. I can’t open it and risk marking through that last hope. Not tonight.
After the college plan, the bullet points get more abstract:
• Study in Paris—so much history! Musée de Cluny! The Louvre! Notre Dame! (A whole bunch of hearts and exclamation points follow this one, and hopefully it will be repaired by the time I get there).
• Get into law school, join fancy law firm, take care of Mom… .
I can’t read the rest of the bullet points after that like I usually do because instead of getting closer to the first one, after my stunt at the Castle tonight, I’ll probably have to start over and get a new job.
Not part of my plan at all.
After brushing my teeth, I crawl into bed, ignoring the Big Plan. My bones ache as I settle onto the pillow. Another text comes in as I’m falling asleep.
Jett: You okay?
Kit: Erm … I got grounded. And I got my letter from Marquette… .
Jett: Well?
Kit: Well what?
Jett: Did you get in?
Kit: I didn’t open it. I’m preparing myself for a rejection.
Jett: KIT!
Kit: JETT!
Jett: What if it’s not a rejection?
Kit: I’m not ready to take that leap of faith just yet.
Jett sends me a GIF of a squirrel leaping from one branch to the next. I reply with one of a dog trying to jump over a kiddie pool, failing miserably, and landing in the water.
Jett: Ye of little faith.
I can almost hear the teasing tone in his voice.
Kit: Promise I’ll open it tomorrow. Just can’t handle any more drama tonight.
Jett: You get in trouble for fighting as a Knight?
Jett: Call you tomorrow. Oh, and did you see this?
He sends a link that takes me to a YouTube video. It’s titled Kickass Girl Knight Takes On the Castle!
My heart speeds up as I recognize myself in the arena. This is definitely not flying under the radar.
Kit: Did you have anything to do with this?
Because of course he did, since Jett’s planning on studying filmmaking in college and he’s seen like a million documentaries. This video also looks like it was shot from the royal box.
Jett: Maybe.
Kit: I can’t decide if I’m mad or delighted.
Jett: Sleep on it. Tell me what you think in the morning.
I risk one heart emoji and promise I’ll watch it tonight. After I say good night to Jett and blow out the candle, I click on the video.
It starts with my “I am no man” moment, then has a bunch of clips from the show. I watch it three times in a row, still not quite believing it’s me on the screen.
It’s fierce, badass, and fun.
I think my wall of medieval ladies would be proud.
The number of views keeps jumping as I watch.
It’s only been up for an hour, but it’s already been viewed more than four thousand times. And the number keeps climbing.
Holy shit.
That’s a lot of people watching my video.
That’s a lot of people who could be watching at the Castle in real life.
That’s a lot of people who I should tell the Castle Corporate Group about.
Where is that flyer?
Using the light from my phone, I find my backpack. My wenching dress is shoved into it. I fish the flyer out of the pocket.
“Email us your thoughts, plans, dreams, and schemes,” it says.
And I suddenly know exactly what I need to do.
I scrawl notes into my bullet journal until my phone’s low-battery light flashes at me. Before I go to sleep, I click back to my video one more time.
Six thousand views and still climbing.
This might actually work.