He holds his arms out wide. "There is none. If you don't got the skill to land one in thirty seconds, you don't got what it takes."
I hold out my hand. "Deal."
He shakes it. Deal is done.
I walk back to Pablo. "You gonna be my cornerman? You said you had my back."
"I didn't say I had your back." Pablo shakes his head so hard I think he's going to give himself a concussion. "I said you should be more social so you have a crew to have your back. I'm not a crew."
"Well, you're all I've got."
He cranes his neck to look over at Rodriguez and his buddies who are now in the ring prepping him for the fight. "You think you can land one in thirty seconds? Don't get me wrong, you're a great fighter, Hess. But he's got more time in the ring than you have. He can just dance around for thirty seconds and make you look like a damn fool."
"I'm not planning on looking like a fool. I know I can do this. You with me?"
Pablo loosens his shoulders as if he's the one about to fight. "Yeah. I'm with you."
When I take my place in the corner in full gear, the owner of the gym comes up to me. "You're a decent fighter, Ryan," he says. "But Mateo Rodriguez is no joke. You let up for one second or get distracted, he'll pound you like you're a piece of raw meat. Those thirty seconds will feel like thirty minutes."
I nod. "Did you give Rodriguez the same speech about me?"
Projansky shakes his head. "No. You're the underdog."
I've been the underdog my entire life, so his words don't faze me. If anything, they make me stronger and more focused on my goal. One solid punch. That's all it'll take.
"He's a slugger, so watch out for the power of his hits," Pablo tells me when Projansky joins the spectators outside the ring. "I saw him knock a dude out with one punch in the first round. Don't get that close to him."
"If I don't get close, how am I supposed to land a solid punch?" I ask.
Pablo shrugs. "Beats me, man."
When the bell rings signaling the fight is on, Rodriguez and I dance around the ring. He hits the air a few times as I duck his jabs. One of those air bombs gives me an opening to get a liver shot, but I just clip him as he backs up.
"You think you can do this?" Rodriguez taunts as we move around the ring.
"No sweat." I motion for him to come closer with my gloved hands. "Why don't you come at me?"
"I'm waiting for you to make a move. We're about ten seconds in and you haven't landed shit."
"I got time," I say confidently.
"Ticktock. Don't forget to keep your hands up," he says in a condescending manner as if this is my first bout.
He has no idea the ring is where I feel most comfortable. When I'm here, nothing else matters.
I'm usually a patient fighter, analyzing my opponent. That way I can be unpredictable. Sometimes I stay at a distance and sometimes I prefer to close the gap and hit hard and fast. One technique doesn't fit me and I like switching it up. The problem is this round isn't the usual three minutes. It's thirty seconds. I've got to make my move now.
Pablo says Rodriguez is a slugger, which means he might be slow but crazy powerful. I'll let him think he's got a shot at knocking me out. Then I'll go in for the prize.
I close the gap and can see the hunger for blood in Rodriguez's eyes. I know his punch is gonna sting, but I'm ready for it.
He thinks he's got this.
He lands an uppercut and I stumble backward to let him think he's got the best of me. I'm obviously tougher than I look, and a better actor than he is an athlete.
Guys with inflated egos celebrate too soon.
As he turns to his friends to flaunt his victory, I quickly regroup and throw a solid hook to his jaw just as the bell echoes through the gym. Now it's Rodriguez's turn to stumble backward.
"Next time don't forget to keep your hands up," I joke.
I hold out my gloves for him because there isn't any more animosity. Rodriquez was trying to make me prove myself. He set a bar and I met it. Now I get the prize.
He taps my gloves, a boxer's handshake signifying respect. "You're tough," he says. "Most guys would've been out with that uppercut."
"I'm not most guys."
"Obviously."
After taking my gloves off, I meet Rodriguez and his crew beside the ring. "All right, gringo, you earned it," he says. "You want to spend the summer training in Mexico?"
"Of course. I'm ready."
"All right, man." He hands me a piece of paper with instructions to a bar across the border. "Meet me at this bar in a week and I'll get you a meeting with Camacho."
Wow, that was easy. "Thanks so much, man. I really appreciate it."
"Just stick with me and you'll move up."
After shaking his hand, I've got a renewed sense of purpose. All I have to do is break the news to my mom and Paul that I'm going to Mexico for the summer. I know it won't be met with enthusiasm, especially because Paul feels a need to break me down and prove to my mom that I'm as worthless as he makes me out to be.
I nod. That's four days from now. "I'll be there."
Max Trieger told me the law of averages says things will get better. Maybe the guy was right. I look up and give him a silent thanks.
Outside, Pablo drapes his arm around me. "We have to celebrate your win, Hess."
"How?"
Pablo grins wide as if he knows he's going to annoy the shit outta me. "Friday night we're going out to party. Don't even try arguing, because I won't take no for an answer. You owe me one."
"And if I don't pay up?" I ask him.
"Then you'll lose your one-man crew."
Four
Dalila
Girls Night Fridays have become a ritual. Sometimes my friends go to salsa clubs in town or to the movies. Other times we just hang out and pamper ourselves with spa treatments.
My friend Soona and I arrived at Demi's casa an hour ago with nail polish and exfoliating face masks we bought online. Demi's parents are in Monterrey for the night at their "city" residence, so we've got her entire house in Panche to ourselves.
Demi, with her short, pink-streaked hair, is the definition of linda. She's fun and always happy. I love hanging around her because her enthusiasm for practically everything is infectious. One night we were bored and crashed a wedding at a fancy resort near the beach. Another time we traveled to Mexico City and camped out for two nights to be the first in line to witness the inauguration of our president.
Soona is the friend who keeps our outrageous ideas and adventures to a minimum. She's conservative and completely neurotic, but Demi and I think it's fun to try to get her to venture out of her comfort zone.
"Tell us the truth, Dalila. Are you interested in Rico as more than a friend?" Demi asks me.
"No," I insist. "He's taking me to some boxing gym. It's not even a date."
"When is this non-date taking place?"
I shrug. "Next week sometime."
"I think you need a boyfriend," Soona chimes in. "You haven't dated anyone since Antonio. That was two years ago."
Antonio and I met at a private school I attended for a few years. We dated for six months, until I found him cheating on me with some girl he met online. "I don't want to be involved with a guy right now. I'm too focused on school."
"You're lucky you don't care." Soona's face turns pensive. "I want a boyfriend so bad."
"Why?"
"I don't know." She shrugs. "I guess I'd like to be held and know there's someone out there thinking of me."
Demi looks at her as if she's got two heads. "That's because you're needy, Soona. I never want to be a resentful old married hag."
"Damn, Demi," I say. "To you marriage sounds like prison."
"It is for my parents. But enough about depressing thoughts like marriage." Demi stands on her bed as if it's a stage and clears her throat. "Girls, I have an anuncio about what we're doing tonight."
"An announcement? I thought we were staying in," I tell her as I scan all the nail polishes a
nd snacks we've gathered.
"No. This is just the beginning. We're going to celebrate your birthday, Dalila!"
"My birthday isn't for a week," I say even though a bolt of energy starts rushing through me at the thought of finally turning eighteen.
Demi grabs her treasured pink stuffed teddy bear and tosses it in the air. "Consider it an early birthday celebration."
Soona and I look at each other with curious expressions on our faces. Demi can definitely come up with crazy schemes. If my papa knew how mischievous I can be sometimes, I think he'd forbid me to hang out with them.
But what he doesn't know won't hurt him.
Soona waves her hands in an attempt to dry her newly painted red nails. "What's this great idea of yours? I'm nervous."
Demi holds her hands up as if she's a preacher about to say something important. "The three of us are going to Texas tonight."
My heart kicks up a beat. "Texas? What do you want to do in Texas?"
Demi's eyes light up. "You ready for it?"
I get up on the bed with her. "Yeah, I'm ready. !Dime!"
"Okay." She braces her arms on my shoulders. "Shadows of Darkness is playing in Loveland, Texas, and I got us tickets for their concert tonight!" Demi lets out a squeal of excitement.
My breath hitches. "You're lying."
Their song "One Night in Crazy" is the last song I listened to with my brother before he died. Lucas used to tell me their lead singer, Atticus Patton, wrote it after his girlfriend broke up with him. He did all of these loco things to destroy his life, but he came out of it stronger instead of weaker.
Jumping off her bed, Demi opens the drawer to her bedside table and pulls out three tickets. "Here they are," she says, tossing one to each of us.
"Wow," I say, staring at the ticket as if it's a piece of precious gold. "This is the best present ever! There's just one problema."
Demi's eyebrows furrow. "?Que?"
Soona and I lock eyes knowingly. "If you haven't realized," Soona says, "we don't just walk around with our passports in our purses."
Demi dismisses Soona's concern with a tilt of her head. "That's not a problem. I'll drive by each of your houses so you can pick them up."
"I know where my parents hide our passports, but they won't let me go to the US without their permission," I tell her.
"Mine are the same." Soona's frown deepens. "And if we tell them we're going to a punk concert, they'll never let us go."
"So don't tell them, Ms. Neg." Demi calls Soona Ms. Neg, short for Ms. Negative, whenever she picks apart our fun plans. "You have to learn how to take chances in life. Just go home and snatch your passport without them finding out."
"That's not taking chances, Demi. That's stealing," Soona challenges.
"It can't be stealing when it belongs to you," Demi counters. "Right, Dalila?"
Suddenly a sense of rebelliousness rushes through me. Lucas would tell me to do it, because he was carefree and hated to follow rules. "Let's do it, chicas. I'm in," I tell them.
"Me, too," Demi says. "Soona, what about you?"
Demi and I nod, willing her to go along with our adventure. "Fine," Soona finally says, "but if my parents find out, just be aware that I might be grounded for life."
The three of us jump on Demi's bed like we used to do when we were little kids, getting excited for an adventure. Even Soona starts talking about how much fun we're going to have.
Crossing the border tonight will only be the start of our journey. I can just imagine this evening ending up being One Night in Crazy, just like the song!
Five
Ryan
I'm standing in front of The Cage auditorium with Pablo. He's looking up at the posters promoting the concert tonight.
"Are you aware that Shadows of Death is a punk band?" he tells me in a pained voice.
"Alternative punk, Pablo," I counter. "And it's not Shadows of Death. It's Shadows of Darkness."
"That doesn't even make sense." Pablo scrunches up his face. "I hate to break the news to you, but Mexicans don't do crappy alternative punk. We listen to good music."
"You said we could go anywhere I wanted. I want to listen to SOD." It's no use telling him that the crowd is going to be louder than any other concert he's been to. He'll probably end up wishing he'd brought ear plugs.
When we take our place at the end of the line, Pablo's eyes go wide at the sight of a couple with piercings attached to chains traveling from their ears to their lips. He shakes his head in confusion. "White people. Most of these dudes look like they need heavy doses of therapy."
"Are you saying Mexicans don't need therapy, Pablo?"
"You know what would happen if I came home with chains attached to my face, Ryan? My old man would kick me out of the house, not tell me I need to talk my feelings out by seeing a shrink."
I wonder if my dad would be strict or more like a buddy. Maybe he'd be one of those lenient parents who let their kids do whatever they want. I try not to think about it too much.
There are about five people in front of us when the guy at the ticket counter announces, "Sorry. We just sold out."
A collective groan echoes through the line of people behind us waiting to buy tickets.
"Sorry, man," Pablo says without any remorse. "Maybe we can go to a normal club and dance to normal music."
But I don't want normal music. I want to hear Shadows of Darkness. When I had no friends the lead singer Atticus Patton was there to share my pain. "Listen, can't you just sell us two tickets?" I ask the guy at the ticket counter.
The dude looks up at me through his long bangs resembling a mop that practically covers his entire face. "No."
While the lucky crowd with tickets shuffles into The Cage, I shake my head at my lack of luck. This sucks.
"We could always go to a movie," Pablo suggests as Mop Head closes the sales booth and disappears.
I'm almost about to give up hope when I see a Dimitri's Catering van pull into the alley behind The Cage. I tap Pablo on the shoulder. "Follow me."
Pablo follows me to the back alley. The van parks by the back exit and my idea springs into action.
"You're late," I bark at the two guys inside the van. "The band wants to know where their food is and I've had to stall them." I act real jittery so they think I'm about to lose it.
"I couldn't help it," the driver says as he jumps out. "Traffic was a bitch and we've still got two more deliveries tonight."
I blow out a frustrated breath. "We need to get this food to the band right away. The boss man sent Pablo and me to find you." We follow him to the back of the van.
"Help us, then. Here," he says as he hands us trays of food. The other guy pulls out another tray and we all head for the back entrance of the club. I knock as if I own the place and think if we can pull this off, it'll be a miracle.
Some big guy with tats all over his arms answers the door. "Catering," I tell him.
He scans us and then opens the door wide to let us in. I'm completely at a loss as to where to go, so I wing it.
"Not there, you idiot!" some skinny white geek with slicked-back hair cries out as I find an empty room to set the tray down. "It's for the band!"
I follow the geek down a brightly lit hallway to a door with a star on it. He opens the door and I'm suddenly face-to-face with none other than Atticus Patton. He's wearing black jeans and a T-shirt with the band's name on it. His jet-black hair is spiked in the back and the front covers half his face, his signature look in every Shadows of Darkness video. The rest of the band is here, too, sitting on the couches, completely chilling. It's so surreal being in their presence, I almost drop the tray.
"It's about time, man," Atticus says in a lazy drawl. "We're fuckin' starving."
I set the tray down on an empty table while Pablo and the caterers follow suit. Pablo looks uncomfortable, like he fears being caught.
"Thanks, guys," the geek says as he takes out his wallet and hands all four of us twenty-dollar bills.
>
The caterers look confused as to why Pablo and I would get tipped, but they shrug and leave the room.
Not one to be shy, I walk up to Atticus. "I'm a big fan," I say. "Your song 'Fight for It' got me through a rough time."
He smiles. "Glad to hear it, man. What's your name?"
"Ryan. And this is Pablo," I say, gesturing to my friend.
"Nice to meet you, guys." He holds out a hand for me to shake. "Hey, you guys can stay and watch the show if you want. Unless you got more deliveries."
Pablo and I look at each other, then back at Atticus. "No more deliveries," Pablo mumbles.
I clear my throat. "Um, yeah, that was our last delivery. It'd be awesome to see the show, man."
Atticus nods to the skinny dude. "Brian, get them some passes," he orders.
Brian waves for us to follow him through the corridor. I think we're about to be busted when I see Mop Head walk by, but luckily he's focused on texting someone on his phone and doesn't notice us. We're led past security guards to the massive crowd gathering in front of the stage. The place is packed.
When Brian leaves us in the front row, I glance behind me at the massive number of people here. It's standing room only. I nudge Pablo. "This is fucking amazing."
"For who?" Pablo eyes the oversize speakers so close we can touch them. "Um . . . Ry, I think we're too close."
"No. This is perfect, man."
The crowd starts roaring as the lights go off and the opening band sets up. It's a lesser-known punk band called Psyclones. It isn't long before the stage lights burst with a flash of bright colors. The crowd moves even closer and we're practically on top of each other, but I don't care. The floor is vibrating to the beat and I'm fist-pumping and jumping to the music. Usually I'm reserved and shut down, but this music seeps into my soul.
Pablo shakes his head and seems amused, as if he can't believe how much I'm letting go.
The lead singer of Psyclones is singing to someone on the other side of the stage. I follow his gaze and see a Latina girl with long, brown hair with a blue streak who looks like she's having the best time. She's got two friends with her and all of them are smiling and enjoying the punk music.
I grab Pablo by the elbow and point to the girls through the crowd. "See? Mexicans enjoy punk music," I tell him.
He shrugs. "They're hot chicas, but they must be loco."
Loco? I don't think so. I glance over at the girl with blue-streaked hair. She's jumping up and down to the music, completely uninhibited, as if she doesn't have a care in the world. I can't take my eyes off her.
Crossing the Line Page 3