Toronto Collection Volume 2 (Toronto Series #6-9)

by Heather Wardell

  About two minutes into the first three-minute round, Brandon was panting and clearly exhausted but the Monster looked as fresh as if the fight had just started. He moved a little closer to Brandon, who reached out and grabbed him and tried to throw him to the ground.

  Matt started to go over, and excitement flooded me, but Andrew muttered, "Shit."

  Before I could ask him what was wrong, it became clear to me. Matt twisted his body as he fell and ended up pinning Brandon to the mat, already blood-stained from the first fight. Brandon flailed around beneath him, throwing a few punches that didn't connect at all and one that brushed off Matt's rock-hard shoulder, but he wasn't getting away until Matt let him go, and Matt didn't seem to have any plans for that.

  The crowd was going nuts. I glanced at my family members: Kim had her fingers to her mouth and Dad was clutching his knees with both hands, his knuckles white. My heart was racing so hard it hurt.

  Only Andrew seemed calm.

  "Is he okay?" I said to him.

  He shook his head. "He's going to lose. Any second now. That guy can do whatever he wants with him."

  As if to prove Andrew was right, Matt punched Brandon a few times then twisted them both around so they were on their sides and he was behind Brandon.

  Then he paused, holding Brandon still.

  "What's he waiting for?"

  Andrew shook his head, in disgust this time. "He's toying with him. Wants a big finish."

  "Ten seconds, Monster!"

  When his trainer shouted those words, Matt immediately locked one arm around Brandon's neck and pulled backward while also pushing his knee forward into Brandon's lower back. My brother's body arched, pressing his neck against the arm that was about to cut off his--

  Brandon's hand began slapping frantically against his own leg.

  The referee, who'd been leaning over watching, grabbed Matt's arm at once and pulled it away from Brandon.

  "He applied that choke perfectly," Andrew said to me over the crowd's cheering. "Brandon had to tap, to say he was giving in, or pass out."

  I stared at him. "That's a choice? Some people don't tap? They wait and pass out instead?"

  He gave me a small smile. "Yeah, some people don't tap."

  Suspicious, I raised my eyebrows, and when his smile turned sheepish I knew. "Really? You refused to tap?"

  "Once," he admitted. "The next time I did, though. Passing out isn't much fun, it turns out."

  I had to laugh. "I'm being trained by a crazy man."

  He laughed too. "You don't have to be crazy to run and fight, but it helps."

  "Apparently." I turned back to the ring and watched as Matt threw his muscled body into a backflip that seemed to defy gravity while Brandon was helped to sit up by his trainer and the fight doctor. "So am I crazy too?"

  "I refuse to answer that."

  "Probably wise." I smiled at him.

  "Whew," Dad said. "I think next time I'll go out to the hall with your mother. That was quite something." He leaned around me and said to Andrew, "Now, he didn't do very well, did he? What happened?"

  "Matt was in better shape," Andrew admitted. "He's also got a lot more experience so he can handle getting tired."

  "He didn't look tired at all," I said.

  "Which means he can handle it, because he definitely was. Every fighter gets tired, no matter how well he's prepared."

  My eyes met Andrew's and I realized what he didn't want to say: Brandon hadn't prepared well enough and it had caught up with him. "Well, this was Brandon's first fight. Now he knows what it takes so he'll do better next time. Right?"

  Andrew smiled at me. "Right."

  Brandon got shakily to his feet and the crowd, mostly other Toronto fighters, cheered.

  "I'll go get your--"

  Before Dad could finish his sentence, Mom dropped back into her chair. "My poor baby. He did so well, though, against that brute."

  She didn't seem to notice our silence, too busy studying Brandon instead.

  The referee raised Matt's hand, of course, announcing his victory "in the very first round", which seemed unnecessarily cruel to poor defeated Brandon, then everyone left the ring.

  Before the next fighters could be announced, Mom said, "I should go back there and see him."

  "Let the boy clean up a bit first," Dad said. "And probably stomp around swearing."

  I choked back a laugh, easily able to picture Brandon throwing a little temper tantrum.

  "It probably is better to wait," Andrew said. "But after I'm sure he'd be happy to see you. I'll go back and let him know."

  As he finished his sentence my phone signaled a text. I smiled at him and watched him depart before I checked the message.

  Hey there. Hope Brandon did okay. Lunch tomorrow? Won't believe what James did now.

  I sighed. Unless it was doing something nice for Amanda, I would believe it. I didn't want to go to lunch. I was running tomorrow morning, and after my first hour-long run and then our now-traditional post-run breakfast I'd much rather just go home and rest.

  I didn't answer right away, thinking about what I wanted to do, and halfway through the next fight my phone rang.

  I pressed it to my ear and struggled to hear over the crowd. "Hello?"

  "Hey. You didn't answer my text."

  "I-- sorry. We're still watching the fights."

  "How'd Brandon do?"

  "He lost."

  "T..." Static buried her words.

  "Pardon? Amanda? Hello?

  But we'd lost the connection.

  "What did she want?" Mom said.

  "Lunch tomorrow. She's having trouble with James."

  "Oh no," Mom said, sounding as upset as if her own child was having difficulties. "What's wrong? She loves him so much."

  Mom had met Amanda at Brandon's birthday party in January and had absolutely adored her. Shockingly, James had been a jerk to her on the way over. Amanda had tried to struggle through at the party but had eventually burst into tears and Mom had cuddled and comforted her and heard all about how much Amanda adored James and how badly she wanted to marry him. I honestly didn't think my mother had ever paid me that much attention. "That she does."

  "You're going for lunch, aren't you? She needs you."

  That she did. "Not sure. I have the run first, so that makes it tricky."

  "Oh, Megan. You're not going to turn your friend down because you want to run, are you? How long is this run anyhow?"

  "An hour. But I'll be tired after."

  She turned to face me directly, ignoring the poor guy getting beaten up in the ring. "You need to be there. She needs you! I'm so disappointed you'd be more worried about your own comfort than your friend's needs."

  A wave of shame swept me. That was exactly what I was doing. No reason at all I couldn't do the run and the lunch. "I'm not, it's just..."

  She raised her eyebrows and waited.

  I fumbled for words, then said, "I'll go. Of course I will."

  She gave me a smile. "Good girl. That's what I like to hear."

  Chapter Twelve

  About a month after the first graduation-committee meeting, I made myself call another one though I knew it would be unpleasant. We had less than two months until grad and I needed to make sure the others had done at least the little work they'd taken on. I expected Amanda to be late again like she'd been the last time, but she surprised me by arriving ten minutes early. Of course, that was only so she could complain about James.

  "It's been months now since we made that stupid chicken, and no ring! I don't know what went wrong."

  Her tone said, "I don't know what you did wrong", and it annoyed me. She'd spent half the lunch we had after my first hour-long run complaining about the chicken's lack of effect and she'd muttered about it enough since that even the word 'chicken' from her irritated me at this point. I'd been exhausted at that lunch, and yawning enough to prove it though I'd tried to control myself, and she hadn't even asked me how the run had gone. Andrew
and Jeanine and the others had clapped and cheered when I finished the hour, which I'd loved even though I'd been embarrassed by their delight, but my supposed best friend had done nothing but pout over poultry.

  Thinking about it now made me angry, but I didn't want to antagonize her before the meeting so I said, "Well, I'm sorry to hear that. Have you guys talked about it at all?"

  "Constantly. I remind him I'm getting older and want kids, I've pointed out wedding dresses and engagement rings I like on TV, I even told him I feel like a whore, and still nothing."

  I blinked. "You told him... why?"

  "Because we're sleeping together and we're not married."

  Surprised, and feeling bad I hadn't realized that was her reason for wanting to marry him, I said, "I didn't know that bothered you."

  She frowned at me. "Come on, Megan, get with it. Of course it doesn't. But the web sites I've been reading about how to get him to propose say telling him that might get him moving."

  I couldn't imagine being told that your girlfriend feels like a whore for being with you would make a man propose, but as I considered whether to point that out Veronica walked in.

  "Hey," she said, looking at me and not Amanda. They'd had another big fight earlier in the week after Veronica caught Amanda running off a hundred photocopies for her class using Veronica's ID number. Amanda insisted it was a mistake, and Colette had adjusted their monthly quotas so Amanda didn't gain from it, but Veronica clearly felt that Amanda had done it on purpose and I couldn't help a twinge of suspicion in that direction myself since Amanda was always out of photocopies before the end of the month.

  "Hey. Good day today, I hope."

  She gave me a nod. "I like these guys. A little goofy at times but they're nice kids. You doing okay with my former monsters?"

  "I think we'll all survive the year. Can't say they've changed much, though."

  She grimaced then said, "Well, shall we get started? I'm going out for dinner with Eric tonight and I should get the kids fed before the babysitter shows up."

  Amanda stiffened at the mention of Veronica's husband and family and I quickly said, "Sure, let's get to it. Here's what I've managed to get done."

  Quite a bit, really. As I walked them through it I felt unusually pleased with myself. By begging and pleading and occasional nagging I'd convinced all the teachers to decide what their classes would be doing and as a result the schedule for the night was set. The grade eight teacher had let me know he'd be choosing his valedictorian by the middle of May and when I'd teased him about his well-known poor memory he'd promised he'd buy me a new pair of running shoes if I had to remind him so I figured he'd come through. Or I'd get new shoes. Good either way.

  "And I've even got a guest speaker," I said as I wrapped up, prouder of this than all the rest. Our grade five teacher Theo had suggested a pro soccer player he'd gone to university with, who'd turned out to be busy but had given me a few other possibilities. After at least fifteen phone calls I'd hit upon a junior member of the Toronto Hogs hockey team who had actually attended our school ten years ago and was excited to come back. Once I'd explained who he was, I said, "The kids should love him."

  "The boys, anyhow."

  A flash of irritation tore through me. Amanda was just never satisfied. "Lots of the girls like hockey too," I said before I realized I was going to speak.

  "Of course they do," Veronica put in. "Nice job, Megan."

  I smiled at her, feeling glowy inside. "Thanks. How's your part coming along?"

  She handed me and Amanda each a copy of the program. "The schedule isn't right, of course, since I haven't got it from you yet, but it'll be easy to put the details in."

  "Nice." I skimmed my eyes over the neatly designed page. "It looks great."

  "I'm glad."

  Amanda didn't speak.

  After a moment, I had to. "And Amanda, how are the decorations coming along?"

  She shook her head. "I haven't had time yet."

  Veronica's eyes flicked to me, and in them I could read, "Big surprise."

  I licked my lips, trying to figure out how to proceed without upsetting my best friend. "But you've picked the colors, right? We need those for ordering the cake and the paper for the programs and--"

  "No, I haven't. I'm just too busy."

  I'd been too busy to make all those phone calls, with running and teaching and running some more, but I'd done it. "But--"

  "Sorry, Megan," she said, not sounding it. "I can't do it. But you've got everything else done so it'll be no problem to take this on too."

  When I didn't speak, because I was so shocked by Amanda's blatant statement that I didn't know what to say, Veronica said, "So I guess it's just me and Megan on the committee then?"

  Amanda's eyes flickered. We all knew she had to be on at least one committee. Bailing out of grad would only get her assigned to something else, with a leader who'd most likely require her to do her fair share of the work instead of the tiny bit I'd let her get away with taking on. The tiny bit she was now refusing to do.

  "That's fine," Veronica said breezily. "I'll let Colette know." She pushed back her chair and got to her feet. "She's probably still here."

  "Hold on, hold on. I didn't say I wanted to quit."

  Veronica, still standing, looked down at her. "You said you couldn't do the work. Same thing, really."

  Amanda shook her head. "I can't do it now, but I can do a lot the day of. That's when most of the work happens anyhow."

  She had a point. Getting chairs set up, hanging the decorations, corralling the over-excited graduates... the mere thought of it all made me tired. I knew Veronica would far rather have her gone, but we would need help that day. "And you'll be able to help then?"

  "For sure," she said, ignoring Veronica dropping back into her chair with a sigh. "No problem."

  I glanced at Veronica.

  "You're the leader. Your call," she said, her tone making it clear she disapproved.

  If I kicked Amanda out of the committee she'd be furious. She'd stayed my friend even with how much time I'd spent with Kim during her recovery, and I appreciated it. Since I'd finished the rest of my work I could take over the decorations without too much trouble. So I looked at Amanda and said, "Okay. But you really do need to help at the end. Okay?" I wanted to sound calm and in control but I sounded to myself more like I was begging her.

  "Will do."

  Veronica cleared her throat. "Megan, why don't we share decorations? There's no need for you to do it all when I can help." She mostly kept her voice sweet but did put a slight emphasis on 'I'.

  Amanda tossed her hair back and I said quickly, "That'd be great, Veronica, thanks."

  "We'll talk about it tomorrow, okay? I need to get going."

  "Sure."

  She headed for the door, and I braced myself for the Veronica-related complaints I'd no doubt be receiving from Amanda, but as Veronica left Tosca arrived. "Megan, could I-- oh, sorry, you're busy. I'll talk to you later."

  "No, we're done. Come on in."

  She did, and Amanda got to her feet. She paused, and for a second I thought she was going to thank me. All she said, though, was, "See you tomorrow."

  Tosca and I echoed, and when we were alone I said, "So, what's up?"

  Tosca sighed. "One of my kids is driving me crazy. He keeps telling me he doesn't choose to do what we're doing. I know he doesn't get to choose all the time, but he's so... confident about it, I'm having trouble figuring out what to say back."

  I smiled. "Let me guess. Brayden, right?"

  She raised her eyebrows. "How'd you know?"

  "I have his brother Jayden and he's doing the same thing. Apparently they're going to their grandmother's house every day after school now and she lets them choose everything they do."

  Tosca gave me a wry smile. "Fabulous. So, how are you handling it?"

  I spent half an hour or so talking to her about it, and about a few other issues in her class. She listened intently and thank
ed me profusely, but as she left my eyes prickled with unexpected tears. Not her fault, of course, but I was so tired of always giving help and getting nothing in return.

  Even as I thought it, I felt awful. I hadn't received nothing. Tosca had been grateful, and I knew she'd use what I'd told her and that was reward enough. Besides, the whole 'I only do things to get things' concept was pure selfishness. I hadn't thought I had that in me, and I didn't like it.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A few weeks later, I got to the MMA gym an hour early for the Friday night running group, pleased I'd managed to flee right after school before Amanda could drag me into another James-related monologue.

  I'd been late for the previous Friday's run because she wouldn't stop talking at me about how she'd left out a paper with 'Amanda Mitchell' and 'Mrs. James Mitchell' and 'James and Amanda Mitchell' written all over it and James had rolled his eyes and thrown it in the garbage instead of proposing. Her obsession aggravated me, being late for my run only added to my frustration, and when I finally arrived Andrew glanced at the clock before smiling at me and I'd felt miserable and guilty and sure he knew why I was late and didn't approve.

  Well, I wasn't late this time, although I'd felt bad refusing to meet with Tosca.

  She'd wanted to get together after school to continue working on her classroom management skills, but I'd overheard Amanda griping about James at lunch and had known she'd show up to dump it all on me after school. I'd told Tosca I needed to get to my run on time and had some work to finish first, which was true, but I'd felt terrible anyhow. Tosca hadn't seemed upset at all, but I still felt sick inside because I'd said no. We'd decided to meet for coffee tomorrow afternoon, and having other plans with her eased my conscience a bit. At least about her: Amanda was increasingly driving me crazy but I still felt I should be giving her more support.

  I'd brought a bunch of tests to grade, planning to sit near the gym's snack bar and work while sucking down a bottle of water to get hydrated for the run. I did buy the water from the pretty blonde at the snack bar, but the work went out the window when I saw both Brandon and Andrew working out not far from me. Neither seemed to have noticed my arrival and I couldn't resist observing my two fighters in their natural habitat.