by Tash McAdam
X must see, though, because he laughs. “Think you can take me, do ya?” He’s joking around, but there’s challenge there as well.
“Give me a few years,” Jason replies and then lifts his hand to catch X’s gentle punch.
They mess around on the mats until the rest of the teens show up. X shows Jason a couple of tricks, some head bobs and a bit of footwork. It’s easygoing, a warm-up. Jason’s body feels right when he boxes. It fits somehow.
“Hey, go sign up for the tournament, since you’re already warm. Sheet’s on my desk.” X claps Jason on the shoulder, making him stagger.
Little Jay’s in the office, sitting at the desk and counting cash. Behind him the safe door is partially open.
“What do you want, dude?” Little Jay stops counting, frowning at Jason.
“Sign up.” Jason spots the form on the desk and motions toward it. “Can I?”
Little Jay just hands him a pen. Jason moves around the desk so he can put his name down on the form. Under 18s, rookie, he assumes. Just as he finishes writing his name, something catches his eye inside the safe. A trans flag! He’d recognize that baby blue, soft pink and white anywhere. A swelling feeling of happiness fills his stomach, and he beams, turning to see if Little Jay has noticed that he’s noticed. Maybe they got it for him?
And then it hits him like a ton of bricks. It’s not just a trans flag. It’s a sticker of a trans flag, stuck to a USB stick. A USB he recognizes because he watched Becca stick that flag onto it. Becca’s USB. In this safe.
Jay’s still counting money, mouthing out the numbers. Jason’s heart is pounding in his ears. He feels hot all over, bright red and swollen. He’s about to explode. The pen falls out of his numb fingers, hitting the concrete floor loudly.
Little Jay makes an annoyed noise, puts down the pile of bills and starts again from the top. He’s not paying attention to Jason at all. Why would he? All the money’s in front of him.
It’s stupid, but Jason can’t control himself. Slowly he reaches out, keeping an eye on Little Jay the whole time. Little Jay doesn’t even look up, and Jason forces himself not to rush. Swift movement draws attention.
Finally the cold plastic is in his sticky hand. He almost bangs his wrist on the safe door when X yells, “Jason, hurry up!” He quickly shoves the USB into the front of his boxers, in with his packer. Hopefully it just looks like he’s scratching his balls.
Chapter Eight
Jason is on edge for the whole training session. X gets frustrated with his lack of attention, how he’s always a beat behind the rest of the group, and sends him off to do weights in the corner. It’s a relief to sit down on the bench with the USB digging into his thigh. He knows that he hasn’t dropped it on the floor.
He stays for the whole session, though every inch of his body is screaming at him to get out of there. To get home and see what is on Becca’s USB. And why it was in X’s safe.
It could be evidence, something connecting the gym to Becca’s death, to the missing girls. Should he take it straight to the police? His heart sinks as he realizes he has no proof that the USB ever was in the safe.
The cops will just think he’s making stuff up. That he can’t admit his sister was an addict. At best they’ll come and search the gym. Who knows if there’s anything here at all? Maybe there’s a good explanation for the USB being in the safe. Maybe Becca was working for the gym or dating X. It could be any number of things.
Frustrated, Jason spends too long doing curls. He keeps it up until his arms refuse to complete another lift. Across the gym, X watches him with a curious expression, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on. The rest of the group starts packing up. Jason returns his weights to the stand and scrapes his sweaty hair off his face.
“Later,” he tells X on his way past, not even stopping by the changing room to say bye to his friends. He’s barely spoken to them today. They must know something’s up.
He’s jumpy all the way home. The number 20 bus is packed with its usual crowd. Jason huddles near the doors so he doesn’t have to go near the drunk men at the back. He knows he passes as male now, but he can’t forget the years of confusion and abuse. He can never relax in public spaces.
As soon as he gets back to his group home, he realizes he doesn’t have any way of looking at the USB. Idiot. There is an ancient desktop in the shared main room, but with no idea of what’s on the USB, he can’t risk checking it out while people are still awake. That means he will have to wait.
The hours drag by. He kills some time making dinner. He wolfs down the mac and cheese standing by the sink, then goes back to hide in his bedroom. For the next couple of hours, he paces up and down the room, running over his plan. He’ll wait until, like, 2 a.m. and then sneak down to the living room. Lift the desktop screen off the table. Turn it so he can hide next to the sofa with a blanket over his head to hide the light. Hopefully, no one will even notice he’s out of bed.
He doesn’t sleep, too scared he won’t wake up. As soon as the old clock on his wall clicks to 2, he slides out of bed. He’s tense and sweaty as he tiptoes to the door and slowly pushes it open. Even though they’ll just tell him to get his ass back to bed if he gets caught, he’s scared.
The trip down to the living room goes okay until a loud groan breaks the silence. The creaky stair! It sounded awful, but now all Jason can hear is his own heartbeat.
He freezes on the stairs for a few minutes. His muscles are trembling from holding so still. No doors open, so he hurries the rest of the way down to the lounge.
Flattening himself against the wall, he waits to see if he’s been discovered. It’s quiet, and finally Jason forces himself away from the wall.
The computer always makes a sound when it boots up. So Jason carefully unplugs the speakers and gets under a blanket before pressing the power button. It takes forever to load. Jason reaches out from under the blanket and feels around on the desk. He’s trying to find the port to plug in the USB.
A throat clears. It’s so loud Jason jumps and hits his chin on the monitor in his lap. The USB falls on the floor somewhere. He pulls the blanket off his head to see who’s caught him. Ron is standing in the doorway, looking at him with a disappointed expression on his droopy, sad face. He’s wearing flannel pajamas and looks ridiculous. Jason doesn’t laugh.
“Buddy.” The tired annoyance in Ron’s voice makes Jason clench his jaw. He curls his hand tightly around the USB stick he managed to scoop up.
“Homework,” Jason says, smiling at Ron. “It’s due tomorrow, and I forgot.”
“I want to believe you, Jason, but the last time you handed in a piece of homework was months ago,” Ron replies.
Words won’t come. There are none in his head. He sits like a lump, shoulders hunched in. Just waiting to see what Ron will decide to do.
“Give me that.” Ron moves closer, pointing at Jason’s clenched fist.
The protest dies in his throat when he sees Ron’s face. Ron doesn’t do “don’t push me” very often. When he does, he means it. Jason glares at his feet, cursing the hot tears that sting his eyes. It feels like all he does lately is cry. He cries at the stupidest times, when he least wants to. It’s so hard to hand over the USB. The peeling sticker clings to his palm when Ron takes it from him. A tiny corner of blue sticks to his thumb. Ron puts the USB in his pajama pocket.
“I’m not going to look at this, and you can have it back when you prove to me that you can be trusted,” Ron says. “We have rules here for a reason.” He doesn’t make a habit of taking things—unless they’re illegal—from the kids in the house, so he must have really had it with Jason.
“I don’t know how to make you start taking your life seriously, Jason. But if you don’t... it’s all downhill from here.” Ron walks out of the room. He doesn’t even wait to make sure Jason goes back to bed.
Chapter Nine
Three weeks pass. Jason is on his best behavior. He’s been going to school, doing his homework and putt
ing in hours every day at the gym. Soon the night of the tournament arrives.
Sunny is also competing in the beginners match, much to his uncle’s delight. Little Jay has been bragging around the place that Sunny’s going to take it, regardless of who shows up from the other local gyms. But Jason has heard X saying the smart money’s on Jason.
That simple statement made Jason feel amazing. And X wasn’t even saying it for Jason’s benefit. He meant it.
Jason warms up with Sunny. They stretch together and then spar lightly. X yells tips at them both. Maybe Jason shouldn’t be looking forward to beating his friend quite so much, but it’s all in good fun.
“Boys, get in here and sign the waiver,” Little Jay yells from the office. Jason and Sunny jog over, teasing each other. Jason ducks into the washroom on the way.
When he gets to the office, he sees a man he doesn’t recognize. Little Jay waves a hand at him. “Big Jay, give the dude your ID and sign the thing, then get back out there.”
Jason goes cold. He’s stuck on Little Jay’s words. Give them your ID. Jason’s ID still has his birth name and his F gender marker.
Sunny shoulders him, gives him a look. “You okay, bro?” He raises an eyebrow.
Jason wipes his face and then nods. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”
So what? So what if this dude finds out he’s trans? Maybe he won’t even notice or care. The contest is mixed genders, apparently. Jason hasn’t seen any obviously female names on the sheet. Preet would have entered if she could, he knows. If she was allowed. And she’s a better fighter than Sunny, maybe even Jason, from what he has seen.
Jason pulls his wallet out of his back pocket. He keeps it on him whenever he can. Old foster-care habits die hard.
The card feels wet in his hand. He puts it down on the desk.
“Sign here,” the man says, pushing a sheet of paper at him. Jason quickly scribbles on the line. The dude doesn’t even look up at him as he looks at the ID card. He takes the paper back from Jason. “Good luck.” His words are neutral, no feeling or emotion. He’s just a man doing a boring job. Jason breathes out in relief and grabs his card. He almost runs back out to the gym.
The ring looks cleaner than usual. There’s a lot of people in the room. Jason recognizes only a couple of others from the training sessions. He guesses that people from other classes are here as well. The beginners’ matches are first, but there’s time to kill. While Jason stretches a bit more, he does some people watching.
Little Jay comes out, carrying a large chalkboard. He hangs it from hooks on the bare brick wall. He looks at the sheet of paper in his hand and starts writing stuff on the board.
Jason leans down to stretch his hamstrings and tries to focus on his body. His binder feels too tight. But he knows it fits him perfectly. The first time he wore a binder that actually fit, it was incredible. Instead of strapping down his chest with plastic wrap or even duct tape over a T-shirt, he had something proper. He had spent two uncomfortable years wanting to die every time he felt his chest move under his shirt. Being able to exercise comfortably was amazing. But now suddenly it feels like the binder doesn’t fit at all. Like it’s choking him.
“Yo, Big Jay. You chicken out?” X always manages to have a mocking note in his voice, but this is straight-up aggressive.
Jason twitches upright like he’s been stung. “No, I just signed in.”
“They must have fucked it up then”—X slings his arm over Jason’s shoulder—“because some girl’s up first.”
Jason’s throat closes. He wants to run away and rip his shirt from his body, but his feet are glued to the floor. He looks at the chalkboard.
He swallows and tries to speak, but it doesn’t work. The words stick in his throat. X gives him a weird look. Jason swallows again, clears his throat. “That’s…uh…that’s me. Jane Ross. My…my old name.”
Is X going to throw him out now that he knows he’s trans? Will he kick his ass? Jason waits, unable to move. His whole body is made of fresh cement, wet and thick and heavy.
“Jane...Ross.” X holds the words in his mouth like he’s tasting them. “Huh.”
X lifts his hand away from Jason’s back and settles it on his neck. Squeezes. The strength there is iron—no way to escape.
“Go get ’em, Jason.” He smirks and pushes Jason in the direction of the ring. Jason stumbles forward. His legs feel like they belong to someone else.
Ducking under the rope, Jason has never felt so awkward and out of place. X’s eyes are drilling holes into the back of his neck. He wonders what X is seeing. Is he noting the curve of Jason’s hips, the sway he can’t quite erase when he walks?
He shakes his head and tries to focus. His opponent is in the opposite corner. A heavily muscled dude in a grubby tank top is yelling in his face. The kid looks to be around Jason’s real age, seventeen, a beard just coming in on his cheeks. He has the wide sort of face the best fighters tend to have. Flat bones that are hard to split the skin on.
Suddenly Jason needs to pee. It makes no sense because he went, like, ten minutes ago. His body tries to insist, but Little Jay hustles him into his corner before he can make a “be right back” face and run off. It’s probably for the best. Jason’s not sure he would have the nerve to come back.
“You got this, kid,” Little Jay tells him. He shakes Jason by the shoulders and hands him his kit. Jason puts in his gum shield, relieved he doesn’t have to talk. The taste of plastic fills his mouth, and he bites down hard. Little Jay nods and helps him with his helmet. Then he hands Jason his gloves to pull over his hand wraps.
Little Jay bops him on the head and ducks out of the ring. The ref is checking Jason’s opponent’s gear.
When the ref comes over to his corner, Jason feels his nerves drop away. Something in his blood is rising. There’s a small crowd gathering around the ropes, cheering already. Jason is surprised to see how many people are present, since these are considered the baby matches, the warm-ups.
The ref nods and waves him into the center. Jason’s opponent skips forward, hands in the air like a champion. He’s working the crowd up. Jason stands still, his body settling. He feels his muscles relaxing, coolness pouring through him like water.
He’s ready.
Chapter Ten
Apart from flat cheekbones, the other guy doesn’t have much going for him. Jason runs rings around him. He has quicker reactions and a better guard. In fact, his opponent barely lays a glove on him.
Jason is declared the winner of each of the three bouts. Usually boxing matches go way longer than that, but the juniors just get in for three rounds. He’s not even bruised. He saunters out of the ring feeling like he’s walking on air.
He has two more matches, but Sunny’s up first. His opponent is already gloved and ready on the mats. The guy—his name is Jack, according to the board—is a stocky sort of dude with heavy shoulders and a square jaw. He looks tough. Indeed, Sunny only wins one of the three matches. And he has bruised ribs and a split lip to show for it.
Then Jason’s back in. There’s another new competitor facing off in the blue corner. The gloves feel good on Jason’s hands. The whoops of the crowd are in his blood. He’s pumped.
It’s a closer match, but Jason takes it two to one. He ends up with a swollen eyebrow. It’s the only bill he has to pay for his second win of the night.
As the loser preps to take on the winner of Sunny’s round, Jason checks the board. He’s relieved to see that someone has rubbed some letters off his name so it just reads J. Ross. Then he realizes with a jolt that he’s listed in the finals. Up for silver or gold! If Jack wins, Jason will have to fight him, but if the guy he just fought takes this match, Jason has won the whole thing already with only two fights. This could be it!
He joins Sunny, Lucky and Preet by the ropes. He groans along with them as Jack pummels the other guy for an easy three–nothing win.
“Well,” Sunny says with a smirk, “at least I lost to the winner. Uncle Jay can’
t be too pissed about that.”
“Can’t he?” Preet snickers and then pokes Jason in the shoulder. “Stay warm, loser, you’re about to get called.”
Jason grins at her. His face feels like it’s cracking open. “About to get silver, more like.” He’s puffing his chest out, tall and strong. He feels so good right now with bruises slowly flowering on his face. Like he could fight a giant.
And he’s about to, he realizes as he gets in the ring. Sunny is a pretty tall guy, so all Jason had registered was that Jack was shorter than Sunny. But he’s got a few inches on Jason, and he’s built like a truck. They touch gloves. The ref waves them apart and then flags the start.
Jason skips forward, light on his feet. He doesn’t want to give Jack the offensive immediately. After watching him pummel his last opponent, Jason has a healthy respect for the force Jack can put behind his gloves. But Jason thinks he’s faster.
He moves in on fast feet. He ducks his left shoulder in to cover his front and then twists his body to throw a mid-range punch. He’s planning to follow up with a hook from his left.
Instead, somehow, he finds himself staring at the ceiling of the gym. His whole face hurts. The ref leans into his vision, and Jason’s hearing suddenly restarts. “Three, four…” The ref is counting! He has to get up.
The world lurches a little as Jason moves and then steadies. He gets to his feet. He presses his thick gloved hand to his jaw. The sense of general pain has settled into a screaming ache right on the base of his jaw. Second time in two months—yikes. He can taste blood in his mouth. He retreats gratefully to his corner.
He rinses his mouth and wipes his face with a towel. He heads back into the ring, ignoring Little Jay completely.
Jack lines up to face him, they tap, and it’s on again. Jason’s head is still a little foggy. He closes his guard up and settles himself down into his shoulders, keeping it tight and close. He takes a bunch of blows to the arms, but nothing the muscles there can’t absorb. And he gets in a few hits of his own on Jack’s sides as the two of them close up and pull apart.