Sweat rolled down my spine, cool against the burn of my skin, and pooled within the ridges of the elastic waistband of my black satin shorts. As I clenched my teeth around my mouth guard, I regulated my breathing and bobbed another right hook aimed at my chin, and then dodged to the left to let the ropes of the boxing ring help me to regain my balance. I turned to face my opponent and whirled as a left jab contacted my jaw, forcing me away until the middle rung of ropes dug into the bared skin on my back. Still, I managed to slip the follow-up cross.
Janet pounced.
I pulled my elbows in and started to roll and brought my gloves up to my forehead so that her cross and jabs—the only punches she seemed capable of completing—were absorbed by my gloves and arms. Her dark hair, hanging down her back from a ponytail holder placed at the crown of her head, whipped around to tickle my cheek.
"You think that's enough, Southpaw?" I laughed, still blocking. Why hadn't someone told her coach to teach her a proper stance? Fighting against someone who kept their dominant hand in front was like fighting a one-armed beginner.
"Fights turn around all the time." Janet stepped back, panting, seeming unable to do more than one thing at once—fight or talk—and she was choosing wrong.
"Yeah? In the last round? When you are already losing?"
"Ahh!"
Janet, easy to goad, was too distracted to think about her stance as she took the bait and tried to strike me with another cross. But her feet weren't spread. Once I blocked her punch, I managed a rear Thai kick, throwing her off balance. I weaved to the right, landing a right shovel hook before stepping out of reach.
"One-two, one-two!" Her couch stood outside the ropes, pacing, and screamed for her to complete a combination. "Janet!"
She shoulder-checked and her coach pointed at me, his beady black eyes narrowed. His face, crimson, looked as though he was the one working up a sweat in the ring instead of us.
"One-two!"
With a shake of my head, I smiled through the strands of white-blonde hair hanging in my line of sight as my adrenaline surged. It felt like a zap of energy coursed through my entire body. I brought my hands up to cover my face and lowered my chin so that I could see her through narrowed eyes over the top of my gloves. "Uh oh. Now what are you going to do?"
"I'm sure you'd love to know, wouldn't you?" She darted forward and jabbed, but I danced away.
I grinned, cocked my head to the side, and lowered my arms. Darting my eyes to her coach and back again, I asked, "Don't I already know?" I sucked in air, letting my cheeks puff out as I mimicked the combo her coach was still screaming for her to complete. "One-two, one-two. Hee. Ha! Oooh."
Shaking my arms, I bounced on the balls of my feet and laughed. It was obvious that Janet was trying to ignore her coach's distractions as she shifted, pulling her arms up and spreading her legs, but it was too late. Losing all pretence for humour, I took two steps forward, and then feinted to the right, dipping to bend at the knees. With the full weight of my body, I lunged left, driving up with my right hand while using the power of my legs, and my fist connected with her jaw.
"One-one-two... three!" Whispering out the order, I torqued my hips, and completed my own combination: jab, jab, cross, left hook.
Dancing backwards before she could retaliate, it took a moment to realize she wasn't going to. Instead, Janet raised her arm in the air, dropping her chin to her chest as she tried to suck air into her lungs. The tension began to ebb from my body and I lowered my hands, darting my gaze between our coaches.
"You're not finished!"
"Are you throwing in the towel, Janet?" Gus asked, leaning over the ropes to hear her better over her own coach's denial.
Janet looked at her coach and back to Gus, and then nodded. "I'm done."
She focused on me and I sighed, allowing my body to relax. Would it be possible to have another last fight? I was just starting to warm up.
"Let's go, Janet," her coach ordered, scowling.
She nodded and glanced at me one last time before crouching to pass through the ropes he spread for her, saying, "Good win," under her breath.
Seven people became five, and the main door slammed shut almost as loud as the coach could be heard reprimanding Janet as they left. I watched them go until their backs disappeared, feeling sorry for her, and lucky that Gus had said yes when I asked for training. With a coach like that, I'd only be motivated long enough to learn how to kick his ass for being an ass before throwing in the towel.
But loving to fight didn't mean that I could fight.
There had always been prohibitions against matching up fighters in our town—that's why it was such a small crowd. This match, like all the others I had participated in, wasn't sanctioned. The authorities had always looked the other way, content to ignore it even though they wouldn't change the laws to allow it. But some mother on the PTA had found out about the fights and called attention to it, even going as far as bagging the training. "There are enough bullies at school without teaching children to fight," she had complained. Or shouted, or whatever it was PTA moms did to gain support.
For some asinine reason, mostly because he trained girls, Gus had been singled out, becoming the example for the gym owners in Hidden Springs.
Now, the restrictions parents had demanded for were being enforced. Gus had no choice: stop training fighters and use the gym for what it was meant for or lose his livelihood. I was just grateful to have been given the chance for one last match, as unsatisfying as it was, before the ring was taken down tomorrow.
"A-wys-sa! You were per-fect!"
I rolled my eyes as Gus gushed with my praise, and then stepped back into my corner, resting my arms on the top rung so he could untie my gloves so that I could take the towel and water bottle he held out for me as soon as they were off. Gus was a little old man with dark black hair and missing teeth that slurred his speech and was either younger than he looked or deserved a record for being the world's oldest living human still able to function on their own. Still, he was tough, his wrinkled skin hiding a lean muscle that he'd spent his youth honing within the ring somewhere fights weren't just sanctioned but celebrated.
I squirted a shot of the water from the bottle onto my head, shaking out my bob of shaggy, chin-length hair like a dog trying to dry itself off. After the exertion of the match, it felt good. I totally understood why athletes never appeared to drink the stuff they were handed—you can't swallow if you can't breathe. But even the effort it took to drag air into my lungs was a sweet kind of pain, reminding me that I was still alive.
"You are a nat-ur-al," Gus said, smiling.
"Yeah?" Lowering the water bottle, I squeezed a stream into my mouth and swallowed, nodding my head. "Then get me another match set up. That wasn't worth it, not for a final fight."
Gus's smile turned sad. "I'm sorry."
I looked around the gym, which was just big enough for a decent workout if you didn't mind using out-dated machines located around a huge ring positioned in the center of the room, and bleachers that pulled out from the wall on either side. Some called it homely; I felt at home.
"I know you are, Gus," I said, and winked. "Stupid PTA moms."
"I could—"
"Are you okay?" My mother hurried from her seat on the bleachers to stand just outside the ropes once the door slammed behind Janet and her coach, looking worried. Her eyes roamed my body from head-to-toe to make sure everything was in its right place, but I doubted I had so much as a bruise.
Why didn't Gus set me up with the same boy I had lost my first fight to? That would be more worthwhile. Fitting, even, since this time I wouldn't stop until I won.
"You did great," my dad said, smiling at me from behind my mother. He put his hands on her shoulders in what seemed to be affection, but I knew he was keeping her from climbing inside to complete a more comprehensive inspection for possible injuries.
Bending at the waist, I set my water bottle down and then stood tall, shaking the water from my head. "I'm fine, Mom," I said and looked to him as if to ask, "Was that enough?"
"Are you sure? Cause that girl hit you pretty hard." Her gaze settled on my hair.
My dad shook his head and looked down to hide a smile.
Nope. Not enough.
Aside from forgetting the fact that I had won, meaning that I totally hit the other chick more often and a helluva lot harder than she had hit me, my mom didn't know a single rule about boxing. To her, it was all about hitting and how badly the boxers could hurt each other. Still, bruises were taboo, and she'd spent a lifetime perfecting the lash of her tongue to inflict the same amount of damage without the physical wounds. But standing next to my dad, who looked like he'd put the meaning behind fighting in his day, she appeared docile, almost complacent. For as far back as I can remember, they'd both been gentle souls and couldn't have been more shocked the morning I'd announced that I wanted to learn to fight over breakfast. Not their little girl. No. Fight?
Not. A. Chance.
It was easy to wear them down, though, and I loved it. Kickboxing required flexibility I couldn't master—did I mention I hate gym class? —while boxing was just... easier. Quick on my feet, I was filled with unburned rage. After just a few training sessions, Gus announced I was his prodigy and then threw me in the ring—against a boy. I didn't win, of course, but it gave me the taste of competition.
A year of training, combined with a healthy dose of stubbornness, and now I didn't lose. The workouts kept me distracted and the fights... Well, they transported me back into the past, so real at times it felt like I was really there. Every blow that was exchanged was like I was given the chance to finally defend myself against the Elixir students that had attacked me and my boyfriend last year.
Every time I won, for just a moment, David didn't die.
Suzie walked over to us from the washrooms, no doubt fixing her already perfect blonde hair and immaculate make-up. The girl was a mirror-a-holic and if vanity was a disease, she was its origin. We'd been friends since forever except for a year during which she'd discovered cheerleading and, by extension, popularity. I hadn't liked her when she'd bullied others—like me and Tina—to keep her status. But now Suzie was Suzie again, still a cheerleader, but no longer a bully. And for the last year, it was like the one before that hadn't happened at all.
"So, we'll see you at home?" My dad looked at Suzie and then me, but Suzie shook her head.
"We're heading to Deryk's, Mr. Frank," she said.
"We are?" I looked down. "I'm not dressed to be seen, Suzie." Lifting my arms, I let them drop to my side, and focused back on her. "I cannot go to Deryk's in a sports bra and shorts."
She dangled her over-sized tote that doubled as a purse from her finger and smiled. "Why do you think I came prepared?"
Because girls like you need to have a back-up for everything?
Instead of saying what was on my mind, I looked back over my shoulder to Gus, who winked, and then moved to spread the ropes so I could exit the ring.
"Go have fun," he said. "You earned it."
"You could have made it a better match," I said, lowering my voice into a growl even though I continued to smile.
"Janet is feather weight. That's two weight classes up from you!"
I rolled my eyes but stood on the tip of my toes to kiss him on his cheek. "I know. Thank you."
"So...?" Suzie's voice cut into our conversation and I rolled my eyes.
Sending one more smile to Gus, I turned and walked to where Suzie and my parents had grouped a few feet from the ropes to wait, and he went to hibernate in his office until we left. Knowing him, the minute we were gone, and he could lock the door, he'd be sleeping in the ring tonight, dreaming about his favorite matches.
"So, what?" I narrowed my gaze on Suzie.
"Let's go get ready!" Suzie jumped up and down like a little girl needing to use the washroom and waved the bag from side-to-side in front of her. "Come on. I picked out a really great outfit for you to wear."
"From my closet?"
"No!" She laughed. "Mine."
Ugh. Why did I ask questions when I didn't want to hear the answer?
I used to be like my mom: short and dainty, and as fragile as the last plate belonging to a set of priceless china. I hated Suzie for her long legs and model-perfect face, but over the last year—and most of it in the last few months—I had shot up to stand within an inch of her. On one hand, it was great since we could share clothes, but on the other... Well, we could share clothes, and the only thing Suzie loved more than a mirror? The attention she got from using that mirror to make sure she looked fabulous, which meant there was much less fabric to her tops than what would be considered legal in polite circles.
With a sigh, I looked to my left to meet my parents' gazes and hoped for a flat-out refusal. They knew what Suzie was like, but no chance. They were way too easy-going and with my eighteenth birthday only weeks away, I was an adult in their eyes. If I wanted to go home, it would have to come from me.
"Okay, then," Suzie said, grabbing my arm to pull me into the locker room. "You need a shower."
"I'll see you guys at home," I called over my shoulder, and waved. "Thanks for coming!"
"Not too late!" My mom yelled back, standing on the tips of her toes to wave back as the door closed.
Suzie laughed, and I cringed. God, I hoped it wasn't another party.I am so over the party of it all.