Super Fat Friend Vol. 2
The Fighter
If you’re already in and know what to expect, scroll down to Vol. 2
Otherwise…
Super Fat Friend Vol. 1
If you already know what you’re getting into, you can skip past the synopsis and content rating and get to Vol. 1, but if not, let me set the table for you…
A Warning About Content
Though I am a Christian who happens to be a writer, I don’t write squeaky-clean “Christian Fiction.” I write people and situations as they are without being overly graphic or gratuitous. There will sometimes be language or disturbing sequences and some heavy topics related to crime and assault, but there will always be hope and light as a compass—my promise to you, dear Reader.
Vol. 2
The Fighter
A year and a half earlier…
Sabrina bent at the waist and zeroed in on the tip of her pool cue. She was in the final round, neck-and-neck with one of the best-looking men she’d ever seen, let alone worked with.
The congregation of fellow staff and faculty from St. Francis Preparatory School watched on with breath-stealing anticipation. They bought out the entire bar for their Christmas party, and most were about four drinks in or more before turning their attention to the match. Sabrina’s abundant curls flopped forward and blocked her view. Surprisingly, her opponent, the statuesque Sebastián Padilla, reached over.
“May I?” He gently returned her hair to its original place over her shoulder. “I mean, you need all the focus you can get at this point.”
Without even flinching the rest of her body, her eyes followed him, glaring. His charms were distracting, and he knew it. Men like him always do.
“Am I lacking focus, or are you just stalling?” she asked.
He let out a chuckle. From behind him, Mr. Yun, the young science teacher whose face still had a youthful shape padded with baby fat, shouted, “You got this, Padilla!”
Others murmured, trying to shush Mr. Yun so they could get on with the game, but not without him first whispering, “What? Even you said he better not lose to a girl…”
Sabrina also heard other whispers, naysaying at its finest. She was in a position where only a miracle shot, ripe with mathematical calculation, could get her out of this. She thought about turning around and asking the stats teacher about her odds, but then she’d just be stalling, too.
Another voice emerged from the crowd and shot back at Mr. Yun. She was the most stylish person on their staff, at least from what Sabrina had witnessed. Even the French tuck of her crisp white blouse looked unplanned and impossibly cool in her wide-leg jeans, while her dark hair swished sheening at her shoulders—Ms. Heather Cha. Maybe her proficiency in the aforementioned mathematical calculations gave her the confidence to root for Sabrina. Either way, they both made a new friend at that moment.
“Crush it, Blondie!” Heather cheered. Then, she admitted to the rest of her peers, “Sorry, I don’t actually remember her name.”
As everyone broke the tension with laughter, Sabrina made her move.
Crrrack!
The eight ball sailed across the worn green felt, bouncing from one wall of the table to another until finally resting next to a corner pocket. It was close enough that one good puff of breath could sink it but not close enough to win.
“Ooooooh!” The crowd wailed.
The game was Sebastián’s. He looked almost sorry for it.
But Sabrina said, “If you don’t finish this, I’ll be even angrier than I am about losing.”
“We can’t have that,” said Sebastián.
With a light tap, his cue ball sank the eight. A roar of cheer vibrated the entire room, and many fellow St. Francis teammates clapped Sebastián on the back and toasted their drinks.
He looked right through them at Sabrina, enamored by how the stained glass overhead lamp drenched her in a warm glow. “Can I get you a drink?”
“A pity drink?” she laughed.
“A victory drink. You beat several other players to get to this round. You’re still a winner.”
“That’s a pretty cheesy way of making me feel better, but I accept.”
His face was nothing but a smile as he approached the bar.
“The pineapple cocktail thing!” she called after him.
“He’s right, you know,” said Heather, appearing next to her. “A winner wins, even if it’s not the final round.”
“I suppose there is truth to that.”
“Ms. Cha, Heather,” she introduced herself with an outstretched hand. “ I teach math. You?”
Sabrina shook her hand. “Ms. Stolarz, Sabrina, school librarian.”
“Yeah, you look like one.”
Sabrina shrugged, and they both giggled in agreement.
“How long have you been here?” asked Heather.
“I moved to LA in August.”
“Girl, you’re still fresh! Wow. Well, welcome to LA… for all it’s worth.”
“Thank you.”
Sebastián returned with a beautiful cocktail overflowing its glass with a pineapple wedge resting on the lip. “One pineapple cocktail thing, my lady.”
Sabrina’s face instantly flushed.
“To the winner.” He raised his glass.
Heather and Sabrina joined him, and their three glasses met with a clink.
“To the winner,” echoed Heather.
★★★★★
Sabrina clicked her pen and tucked the freshly completed pet store list for Lazor—the name she had given her rowdy little void—into her purse as she sat in the waiting room. Finally, she was given the green light to visit Heather.
A chill rippled through her body from the raging AC blowing through musty vents as she clopped down the hospital hallway. Sabrina clenched a vase with a bouquet of white roses and blue hydrangea. She had seen numerous stunning photos of the flowers from Heather’s trips to Jeju Island, where she visited her grandmother nearly every summer vacation. These wouldn’t even compare to the floral cascades that lined the quiet streets and coastlines of Jeju. However, she called three florists in Koreatown that morning to find them, hoping they would help Heather mentally escape somewhere more pleasant than a sterile infirmary.
The door to Heather’s room was open. Sabrina caught a glimpse of her friend, slightly glazed over with an IV pouring liquid life into her veins. Heather had a hand plastered to her pale forehead as if suffering one of her classic hangovers. Her standard supermodel sparkle was as dingy as the fluorescent lights flickering the room to a grayish hue every few seconds.
Petite and shaken as a newborn fawn, Heather's mother hovered over the bed. Her father stood with his arms crossed, staring out the window. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and narrowed his gaze through rectangular glasses, eager to concentrate on anything other than his daughter’s distressing condition.
The tension in Heather’s face released slightly at the sight of Sabrina. She croaked, “Stolarz…”
Heather then turned to her mother and said something in Korean. Sabrina could offer a warm “annyeonghaseyo” and “gamsahamnida” when visiting local restaurants, but that was about the extent of her understanding. Whatever Heather said caused her mother to argue for a moment, but then her father ushered them out of the room into the hallway.
“I’m sure you don’t need more flowers, but…” Sabrina said as she handed her the bouquet.
Heather ran her fingertips over the petals and set them on the stand beside her bed. “Thanks.”
Sabrina took a seat on a plastic chair that couldn’t quite fit her entire ass comfortably but did her best to keep a positive countenance. Heather didn’t look her in the eye for at least a minute, but Sabrina remained expectant, watching her friend fiddle with the plastic band around her wrist.
“Your silence is refreshing,” said Heather.
“I kept thinking of things to say, but they were all dumb questions I’m sure you don’t want to answer.”
“I don’t remember enough to answer...”
Heather suddenly gasped into a sob. Sabrina couldn’t help but tear up herself. She had never seen her exuberant friend so fragile.
“Is it okay,” Sabrina started, scooting to the edge of her seat, “if I hug you?”
Heather could only nod her wet face in response, so Sabrina engulfed her and let her cry.
Once Heather broke away, she reached behind for some Kleenex and blew her nose. “My, um… my examination shows “vaginal trauma.” I have some bruises and scratches all over. I think you can fill in the blanks.”
Nausea whirlpooled Sabrina’s insides, but she swallowed it down. “I’m so sorry, Heather.”
“God…” Heather spat. “Fuck this city. This fucking horrible, dirty city!”
Sabrina wished she had something better to say, something more to give, but all she could offer were pensive pauses and strong arms.
The door jolted open, and two members of the LAPD squeezed through the threshold. One was a stern woman in a pastel pantsuit, a detective.
“Shit,” Heather sighed. “I forgot they were coming. I’ll text you soon, Stolarz.”
“Anytime,” said Sabrina. “Truly.”
Heather’s parents trailed behind the police, and Sabrina slipped out.
She didn’t shut the door all the way. Through the small crack left by her departure, Sabrina intended to listen.
“Was she with you?” the detective asked.
“No,” Heather wiped her nose. “She’s a coworker.”
Sabrina dipped down, pretending to tie her shoe.
And then, she heard a whole lot more.
★★★★★
Rushing across the tattered library carpet, Sabrina thanked her sub for handling the morning shift as she relieved him from the reference desk. She settled in with a full cart of cataloging but found herself tumbling down the internet rabbit hole instead, chasing every lead she had overheard earlier that day.
She stumbled on a journalist—okay, a glorified YouTuber—breaking down street gang issues and violence against women in LA. She watched video after video—captions on, this is a library, after all—and couldn’t look away. Could the things he talked about be the reason Heather was hurt?
Mr. Yun had entered undetected with his physics club. After sending the students to work in the computer lab, he crashed on the chair across from Sabrina.
She jumped at the sound of his voice forming a sharp, nasal tone as he asked, “Can you tell me where the comic books are?” before pushing nonexistent glasses up the bridge of his nose, mocking all nerds.
He laughed. She didn’t.
“What’s up, Stolarz? You look like you’re in the middle of getting audited by the IRS.”
She pulled out the clipboard he was leaning on from under his elbows. “You’re too loud, Yun, and if you haven’t forgotten, my friend—your colleague—is in the hospital right now.”
“I know… I’m sorry. I did send her some flowers. No one will tell me what happened.”
“It’s better if we wait for her to speak for herself.”
He got up from his chair, reading the icy tone, but Sabrina stopped him.
“Wait. Can I ask you something?”
He immediately flipped the chair the other way and straddled it as if eager for a chance to be right. “What’s that?”
“You go clubbing, right? Karaoke? Things like that?”
He craned his head from left to right. “Head Mistress Archuleta isn’t in here, is she?”
“I promise I won’t judge.”
He leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “I’ve been known to enjoy a night out.”
“Have you ever hired a dongbanja?”
Mr. Yun nearly fell backward, his rounded cheeks turning ruddy. “Shh! Ms. Stolarz… you can’t just ask a guy that on the clock.”
“So, you have then-”
“No! I would never have to pay beautiful women to party with me.” He adjusted his tie with a smirk.
Sabrina offered her best resting Slavic face.
“I’m serious. I never did. But some of my friends, on the other hand… They like having them around, and mostly for photos to make it look like they lead a cooler lifestyle than they do. But dongbanja are respectable. They only provide company, nothing else.”
Sabrina leaned in. “That’s helpful, thanks. What about girls at clubs? I’ve heard some guys wait for girls to stumble out drunk. They pretend to be an Uber or something, take them back to hotels, and then intoxicate them even more. Is this true?”
His eyebrows furrowed slightly. “What’s with these questions?”
“Sorry, I’m sure this feels very out of nowhere. I was helping a student research something for poli-sci and it turns out it’s a very concerning topic. Just trying to understand it better.”
He nodded but then darted his eyes around the room again. “I have heard of that happening. Something that, unfortunately, comes with the scene.”
Sabrina’s hands formed fists under the desk. “I see.”
A ninth-grade girl with a bracey smile approached them, gripping a disheveled binder of notes, and Sabrina knew the conversation was over. Mr. Yun bolted toward the computer lab like someone fired the starter pistol at the Kentucky Derby.
His nervous aura lingered with her the rest of the day, along with the plaguing reality that these things happened in plain sight but were rarely covered in the news. Even a deep dive into the databases didn’t expose much in the way of concrete journalism concerning what really goes on in the streets of Los Angeles. Sabrina didn’t care about the bigger story, at least not at the moment. The only thing that mattered was ensuring that whoever did this to Heather paid dearly.
★★★★★
After a warm shower and a grueling skincare routine, Sabrina lay on her bed in a cross-like posture, staring at her ceiling. The studio apartment that surrounded her screamed of a half-life. Half the necessary furniture, half decorated, half home. The boxes and storage bins that filled the kitchen she barely used told the story of a woman not yet settled, even after two years.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand next to her. She immediately went for it, in case it was Heather, but it only showed that she had two missed calls and one guilt-inducing text message.
Mama.
Sabrina rolled her eyes, avoiding whatever words waited to scold her in the text. Even if she wanted to read it, she was interrupted by a sudden visit from Lazor, pouncing on her robed stomach.
“Oof!” she grumbled. “Zwierzę ciemności…”
But Lazor flopped and rolled on her with a humming purr she couldn’t resist. She ran her fingers through his shiny black coat and scratched his chin.
Thoughts dug and toiled inside her, but her pink boxing gloves and sweatshirt draped over the recliner unexpectedly gave her pause. What good was all that boxing and training if she never once fought a real match?
A real match…
Sabrina sprung to a seated position, sending Lazor zooming to the other side of the room. She stripped down to her cami and shorts, then zipped the bright pink hoodie over her torso and put on her gloves.
No, she thought, too bulky… perhaps the-
Tape!
She wrapped her hands in the boxing tape and planted a few air punches on her invisible opponent.
Much better.
She tied her hair in a messy bun and stared in the full-length mirror by her shoe rack. “I’ll order some better shoes,” she promised her reflection.
But something felt missing. She slumped into the recliner.
What am I doing? Who do I think I am?
Lazor used the zigzagged, overstuffed drawers like stairs to climb to the top of her dresser.
“Don’t you dare knock anything over,” she warned him.
There were pictures of the past up there, after all.
But then, her eyes caught something else from the past. The last thing her grandmother—her beloved Babcia—made for her when she was in high school. There was a masquerade-themed homecoming dance, and Sabrina needed a mask to join the fun. Babcia took a basic Venetian-style base and coated it in resin. She then decorated it with intricate wycinanki floral designs, which she cut from paper and then preserved in another coat of resin. If Sabrina closed her eyes, she could still see Babcia’s aged hands pressing out the flowers, leaves, and birds over the pink base.
Babcia had married a German woodworker named Wolfe, which is why Sabrina, unlike all the other women in her family, was built like Bavarian cattle. She was told he had to make custom door frames in their home broad and tall enough for him to pass through. Sabrina never met him since a heart attack claimed his life shortly before she was born, but she had seen a few photos and, in them, a piece of herself. With their unified craftiness, Sabrina’s grandparents made the most exquisite furniture pieces, which sold for thousands and kept Babcia comfortably wealthy, even when her beloved had gone to heaven.
The mask, however, was created solely from Babcia’s Polish pride. After her passing, Sabrina displayed the mask on her bedroom wall for nearly twenty years across two states—still there, still strong.
She removed the precious piece from the wall. It hadn’t been on anyone’s face since that sophomore dance, and Sabrina wasn’t sure if it would still fit properly. She smoothed the ribbons through the side loops and placed the mask over her eyes and nose. She tied the ribbons around her unruly bun, took a deep breath, and glanced over her shoulder.
There she is. The person Sabrina didn’t know she had been carrying all this time.
The Fighter.
She could hear her bratty older brother now, laughing with his signature snort, “Okay, Nacho Libre.”
Sabrina recalled from his WWE and other fighting obsessions growing up that Mexican wrestlers, the luchadores, wore masks during public appearances to keep their personal lives separate from their alter egos. When they put on the mask, they became their fighter selves. She considered what the Polish equivalent of luchador might be—a masked fighter, a masked warrior…
Zama—er—zamaskowany wojownik!
Maybe Zamojo for short. We’ll work on it.
She unzipped the top of her hoodie enough to give silvery St. Ambrose a loving pat, or perhaps it was a plea for prayer. The school year would be over in a couple of months, and she would have most of the season—barring her halftime shifts in the summer session—to figure this out. The Fighter was still somewhat of a stranger to her, but as she gazed at this other self through crescent eyeholes, she knew her enough to start kicking ass.
READ IT ALL
Like a comic book, Super Fat Friend is released one chapter (aka. Vol.) at a time. Subscribe to get email notifications when they drop!
Introduction (3/11/25)
Vol. 1 - The Librarian (3/18/25)
Vol. 2 - The Fighter (4/1/25)
Vol. 3 - The Problem (4/22/25)
Vol. 4 - The Ally (5/20/25)
Vol. 5+ TBD!