The Knockout

by Sajni Patel

  I shrugged out of the hold. How did I not notice that?

  I slowed down before we came across Amit, who nodded and walked into the library.

  “What?” Travis asked.

  “Don’t put your arm around me.”

  “What? You walked with my arm around you for an entire minute.”

  “I honestly didn’t even know you were still here.”

  “Well, damn.”

  “I mean, you can’t just go around touching whoever.”

  He held his hands up and backed away. The notorious high school flirt . . . he wasn’t really after me. I could tell by how he brushed off the rejection and started flirting with another girl in about two seconds flat.

  “Bye,” I said bluntly and walked away.

  Entering the library was like entering another dimension. The hallway was warm with crowds and noise, boisterous laughing, and the smell of cafeteria food. The library, exceptionally quiet with only a handful of studious souls, had me shivering in the cold.

  I dragged my nails down my arm, not understanding why I felt as if I’d been caught red-handed doing something illegal.

  My legs got weak. They didn’t want to move toward Amit, didn’t want to take me to face his opinion.

  Amit didn’t look up when I sat down. He read his textbook.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hey,” he muttered.

  I swallowed, my throat dry. A shaky breath escaped. Why did I even care so much?

  “You didn’t wear a salwar kameez?” he asked.

  “I forgot Cultural Heritage Day was today. You look nice.” “Nice” wasn’t the perfect word. “Perfect” was the perfect word.

  It would be impossible not to notice how the lushly colored, long-sleeved tunic fit against Amit’s torso, showing off the slight curve of his biceps and V-shape. The navy blue with gold design was an excellent contrast against his dark-brown skin and brought out the honey specks in his eyes.

  Was I staring? Yeah, just like old times.

  My chest tingled, and not in a good way. A whole lot of anxiety squeezed my ribs and the pustules of nasty agitation that sprouted everywhere popped.

  I clenched and unclenched my hands and then wiped my sweaty palms against the desk. Mistake. They left gross streaks that didn’t go unnoticed by Amit.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Are you judging me?”

  “What?” he asked, seemingly shocked.

  I swallowed hard, my spit sliding down jagged edges inside my throat. I was so tired of this, of being judged. “Were you judging me because of Travis?”

  “That’s not my business.”

  “Then why did you look at me like that?”

  He carefully looked around, pointedly, to tell me to lower my voice. “Like what?” he whispered.

  “Like . . . like . . . how old-school traditional, fresh-off-the-boat Indians look at an Americanized desi who let a boy touch her?” I bit my lip the second those words tumbled out.

  His confused, worried expression fell to stoicism. “That’s not what I was thinking.”

  “Really? Because it sure looked like it. Listen, I didn’t even notice his arm there.”

  “You didn’t notice someone touch you? That a guy was walking you down the hall with his arm around you?” His voice went low, seasoned with annoyance.

  “My mind has been somewhere else. I don’t even know what happened between driving to school and getting to the library.”

  He stretched his neck left and then right, slight popping sounds relieving the pressure. “Do you like him?”

  “Travis? God, no. He’s a douche.”

  He bit back a laugh. “I looked at you like that because . . .”

  “Because what?”

  “Never mind,” he finally said.

  “Whatever.”

  “It had nothing to do with judging you, okay? I promise. Can we just study?”

  “Why don’t we read the next chapter and you ask me your questions.”

  “Fine.”

  But there were no questions. Not a sound came from either of us other than shuffling pages and scribbling pencils. The bell rang forty minutes later and we wordlessly packed our stuff, walked out the double doors, and strolled down the hallway. It was very difficult to stomp away from Amit when he had to follow me to the same classroom, but at least he stayed a few feet behind.

  I went to the back row of computers, as usual, and he stationed himself up front. That was fine by me.

  “Why do you look so pissed?” Lily asked. Had she always been sitting there, or was she a ninja slipping into class?

  “Bad day.”

  “Does it have to do with Travis?”

  “How’d you guess?”

  “I saw you two walking. I thought . . . wait, don’t you like Amit?”

  “I don’t like either of them. I don’t have time for boys, remember?”

  “All right then.” She rolled her eyes and tapped her books.

  “Sorry. It’s just . . . Amit saw that too, and I swear I didn’t even notice Travis. I was totally thinking about other stuff. And Amit looked at me like I was despicable. He’s just as bad as all those people judging me for not being Indian enough, or in this case, wild with some American guy.”

  “Uh, I think if Amit gave you a disapproving look, it’s more likely that he’s jealous.”

  “What for?”

  “Obvs, woman. He likes you. He doesn’t want to see another dude’s arm around you, especially Travis’s.”

  “He doesn’t like me.”

  She leaned in and whispered, “Were you or were you not flirting in my room?”

  “What flirting?”

  She had a big ole wild smile when she said, “Trying to get his notebook, tickling, sitting on my bed?”

  “I knew you weren’t sleeping.”

  Eight

  A few more sponsorships came through, plus my regulars, amounting to just over a grand. Still had two grand left to go in three weeks. Ugh. Money was definitely on the brain during Tuesday training.

  I didn’t have the heart . . . okay, I didn’t have the girl balls to tell Coach the truth. It would break his heart. I just couldn’t look into his determined, excited face and those of my fellow fighters and say, “Hey, sorry guys! You put a lot of work and faith into me, but I’m not going.”

  Maybe it wasn’t a lot of money to some people. But money had a different meaning when you were already broke and taking care of a sick parent whose medical bills never went down. Finances were a conniving, maniacal vortex. If it meant putting money toward Papa and bills, then so be it. I had to be okay with that.

  So, I did what any scared teenage girl would do in this situation. I went to the gym and practiced as scheduled, pretending that I had nothing to confess. Mama was already spending money we didn’t have on appointments. I couldn’t waste it . . . no matter how bleak the idea of scraping another couple of grand together seemed.

  Anger riled my insides and aggression spewed through my kicks and punches. I went through sparring and pad partners faster than usual until Coach told me to hit core and circuit training. My teammates called me the girl on fire because I scorched in the ring, but right now? I felt like I was just burning myself. My skin was on fire. My blood boiled. My heart wouldn’t calm down. I wanted to crawl into myself and at the same time, out of myself. I just felt a mess.

  Anger was not usually my thing. I felt like I was a pretty chill, nonviolent person. But when you had all sorts of anxieties building up, you had to let them out. I mean . . . was this anger clawing through me like a hundred nightmares, or was this an anxiety attack?

  Well, might as well utilize it. Might as well unleash the fury of having no control over my life by channeling all this unfurling chaos into practice. Made
sense.

  When not fighting, I had plentiful time to cogitate over the truth. The longer I kept my mouth shut, the more the fear built up.

  Tuesday practice came and went, alongside the chiropractic appointment that we couldn’t afford. Wednesday pushed back harder than ever. Natalia, one of the best fighters we had, nearly knocked me out. Her fist came fast and strong but hit the side of my helmet instead of my face. I tumbled back and she took me out at the legs with a swipe.

  Natalia gave me a hand, pulling me up from the floor with disbelief. We retreated to our corners until the bell rang. I sprang to my feet, bounced back and forth, and let the sport flow through me. It took only seconds for the rest of the world to fade out of existence, to forget woes and stress when I channeled my frustrations right. I only felt the pressure in the balls of my feet, the thrum of my nerves where I’d been hit, the swoosh of blood behind my ears, the trickle of sweat down my jaw, the demands of my heart as it urged me forward.

  No matter how Muay Thai soothed my soul, the connection to peace crackled all around me. There was no fight that could evade the fact that we were too poor to go to the Open.

  Natalia swung left and I ducked. It took longer and longer for me to rebound, to regroup. Natalia had no mercy on me. Her knee shot up and that was that.

  I was done. I was out, and Coach yelled across the mat, “Get up!”

  I didn’t want to get up. My body hurt in all the wrong places. My heart hurt the worst, and at this point I couldn’t tell if it was physical or emotional or a rigid mix of both. My head wasn’t in the fight today. I’d barely kept myself sane yesterday.

  “Get out of your head!” Coach yelled.

  Natalia offered a hand and pulled me up, yet again, asking, “You okay?”

  “Don’t give yourself that much credit,” I joked and then wheezed to catch my breath. Beating each other up didn’t mean we didn’t love our teammates. Natalia had a lot to teach me, but that didn’t mean I should’ve gotten knocked down. Ugh. Frustration rattled my insides, and Coach was for sure going to rip me a new one.

  Natalia nodded and readjusted her gloves as I followed Coach’s irritated finger, wagging and ordering me to get off the mat.

  “Do you want this or not?” he asked, hands on his hips, neck craned to the side as if he needed to press his ear against my mouth to hear my response.

  “I want this,” I replied in truth. I wanted this so badly.

  “Then get in the fight.”

  “Yes, Coach.”

  “Look at your posture. You’re stiffer than usual. Have you been going to your appointments?”

  “Yes.”

  “All right.” He gently slapped my damp shoulder over my tank top strap. “Go, uh, hit the rowing machines for the next hour.”

  I did as he asked and popped in my earbuds to heavy rock, not normally my thing but the blood in my veins required it.

  I checked my phone after a brutal and disappointing practice. Amit had texted. I read it in a hurry on my way to the car.

  Sorry about yesterday. It wasn’t what you think.

  I scoffed but replied.

  Ok.

  He immediately responded.

  TBH? I can’t stand that guy. Was that harsh? Nah. I mean it.

  I smiled at the brightly lit screen.

  Same here.

  He sent a smiley face and a peace sign and that was the end of that. If only he could make it rain money the same way he patched things up between us.

  The house was eerily quiet when I got home, but I kicked off my shoes in the foyer and they thudded against the wall.

  “Papa?”

  Dishes fell in the kitchen. Without wasting a second, my feet moved faster than my whirling thoughts. An intruder didn’t cross my mind. Papa having fallen and passing out did.

  I skidded to a stop, my socks absorbing the veggie soup that quickly covered the laminate floor, prowling toward the living room carpet. A bowl had smashed into a hundred pieces alongside spoons and the soup container.

  Papa hissed and grabbed his head, pushing himself against the fridge door. I hurried to his side, tossing the towel from the counter onto the sopping wet floor. I squatted beside him and checked for any visible injuries.

  “What happened, Papa? Are you okay?”

  “I just got light-headed, that’s all.”

  “Are you lying to me?”

  “No. I would tell you if I didn’t feel right, if we needed to go to the ER. I was hungry and got off the couch too quickly to make soup. I was excited for soup.” He gurgled out a laugh.

  “Not floor soup, though.”

  “No.”

  I wrapped an arm below his shoulders and helped him to the living room, my heart clamoring through my ears. He eased down into the recliner that pushed back so he was semi-sitting. After bringing him a glass of cool water, which he slowly sipped, and his nightly meds, I cleaned the floor and tamped down the cavernous rise of fear.

  “Have you been dizzy since you returned home?” I asked, hoping that keeping my lips moving would stop bad thoughts from careening out of control.

  “No. Just tonight.”

  “Did you skip any medicines?”

  “I don’t think so.” He groaned. “Maybe.”

  After cleaning and mopping and drying the floor with paper towels, I made Top Ramen soup on the stove for him, throwing in some frozen veggies. While we waited for the three-minute cook time, I checked Papa’s meds, counting all the pills in each bottle and hoping he’d missed something, that there was a simple answer.

  I prayed for an extra pill.

  And there was. I counted the pills in the red top bottle five times and closed my eyes. I brought Papa his soup and helped him bring the recliner back to a sitting position.

  “Thank you.” He blew on his soup and took timid slurps.

  “You forgot a pill.”

  “Oh. Good. It was user error.” The worry melted off his face, but it stayed solidified in my thoughts.

  -

  “Are you going to Holi?” Amit asked on Thursday during our lunch study session. He’d returned to his old self, with that billion-dollar smile and warmness. That smile was hard not to stare at. Wait . . . was he saying something?

  “Hello? You there or did you check out on me?” He snapped his fingers above my textbook.

  “I can’t.” Couldn’t he ask me to do something else? Like the movies or dinner or the park or even a study date outside of the library? Stuff that didn’t revolve around religion? Not that it mattered much. Anything outside of school was on restricted time.

  I’d be perfectly content staring at his beautiful teeth, but nope. He had to press on. He had to know why I wouldn’t be interested in something like Holi. Like there was something wrong with me for not caring to go.

  “Oh,” he breathed, sounding disappointed, and slouched. “Why not?”

  “I just can’t.” I slammed my books shut, shoved them into my backpack, and knocked back my chair getting up.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, going for my chair while I went straight for the doors. He scrambled for his stuff.

  Look, dude. You don’t really want to know how I really feel about the Indian community that you love so much. The community that shoved my mom aside. The one that pushed me away. The one that had taught their kids I was a bad influence because of what? My sport? My mom?

  Not to mention that I had so much stuff piling up in my head that I could explode any second. Screaming sounded nice right about now. Screaming about nothing and everything at once.

  Despite walking fast, he caught up with me in the hallway. I ducked into the nearest girls’ restroom, locked the stall door shut, and sat on a closed toilet seat.

  I breathed hard and steady, but my body shook and goosebumps ran up and down my arms. I closed in on myself
as tears stung my eyes, making everything blurry.

  Papa was so sick. He was home but he wasn’t better. We had no money for his bills, for us, much less for USMTO. Everything was like sand escaping from a broken bottle that I was desperately trying to keep together, but the sand kept slipping through my fingers. And without money, my one refuge, my outlet for stress, had become the most painful dream vanishing before my eyes. I almost wished that I’d never been invited to the Open.

  Three girls came and went without a word. Then two more walked in.

  “Did you see Travis all over her the other day?” That high-pitched voice reverberated off the walls, bullets of deadly words.

  “Shh,” the other girl said, then muttered something.

  “I know,” Saanvi replied. “First she goes after your crush, my brother, while she was talking to Reg? Of course Travis wants to mess around with her. He probably heard about her hooking up with guys. There’s no way she dated Reg and didn’t do stuff. She probably would fool around with Travis. Why else would he bother flirting with her? Travis is ever only after one thing, we all know that. And he only goes after girls who he thinks he can get.”

  I rolled my eyes. That frosty snitch. But my throat was dry and aching from keeping it in. Stupid high school gossip shouldn’t bother me. Way more pressing matters in my life right now.

  “It was a long time ago.” Great. Saanvi talked crap about me with Rayna. With her still bringing the past up, Rayna would never forgive me.

  “No wonder she doesn’t show her face at mandir. She wants to be American, let her mess with American boys and leave my brother out of her nastiness.”

  “Okay. Let’s go,” Rayna insisted, her voice small.

  “Of course I’d never say that to her face. She’d probably hit me.”

  “Saanvi,” Rayna pleaded.

  “She still does that stupid boxing thing. I’m embarrassed for her parents.”

  I rolled my eyes. What even? My parents were my biggest motha-freaking fans.

  “She’s way far gone. She doesn’t fit in with our community. A freakish liar and a slut. She’d taint the mandir if she ever came. But now we gotta have a chat with Amit. Warn him.”

  “Okay, I’m leaving. This is out of hand; you don’t have to be that mean to her.” The door opened and closed.