The Knockout

by Sajni Patel

  Saanvi at least assumed one thing correctly: I was about to punch her.

  She muttered something in Gujarati, what sounded like a nasty little word that conveyed filth and disgust to the highest degree. Then she kicked my stall.

  I jumped out of my skin, and she walked out. They knew I was in here?

  I seethed, my body on fire. Part of me wanted to punch her face to a bloody pulp and the other part struggled to reason with the wrath. I was so pissed I could kill her. My knuckles turned white. My nostrils flared. I shook with anger.

  Saanvi was talking so much crap about me, filling Rayna with malicious gossip to keep her from wanting to be friends again. If she could say those things knowing I’d hear, then how much worse was her crap-talk when I wasn’t around? How freaking dare she.

  Oh, she wanted to say that I’d probably hit her? Yeah. I was about ready to show her what I’d learned in my “stupid boxing thing.”

  Breathe. Just breathe.

  If I punched her I would get expelled. I’d mar my record and college applications. I’d disappointment my parents. I’d let down my sport. I’d be disqualified from entering USMTO. If I didn’t go to the Open, it would not be because of her.

  I pushed all the hate and anger out and meditated on peace and harmony, imagining my mind and body and soul aligned instead of ripped apart just as Muay Thai had taught me. It made me rise above the stupidity and ignorance and hostility. Muay Thai wasn’t about violence. I had to honor that.

  That wasn’t easy, though, and tears slid down my cheeks. I wiped them away as fast as I could and slammed opened the door. If I so much as saw a glimpse of Saanvi’s stupid face, I was going to break.

  I startled the moment I walked out of the restroom, coming face to face with Amit. He had a beckoning half smile waiting for me, but it slipped away. Was it because of the anger in my eyes or the pain? I retreated into the restroom. He followed me in. Did he, like, not realize where he was?

  “What happened?” he demanded, firmer than any question he’d ever asked, one laced with concern and rolled with a hint of his own anger.

  When I didn’t respond, frozen into place beside the sinks near the far wall, beneath a window that was too small to crawl out of, he asked, “Did Saanvi and Rayna say something to you?”

  I shook my head like it was the truth. They did not speak directly to me. But had they spoken to him? Had Saanvi infiltrated his kindness toward me with vicious lies?

  “Was it Travis?” he asked, his voice low, his hands inching toward fists. “Did he do something?”

  I shook my head again.

  We were at a stand-off. He couldn’t make me talk. He didn’t have the right to know.

  I stomped toward him and reached for the door handle. He didn’t stop me from taking hold, but he stayed in place. I tugged. Hard.

  “God, are you made of concrete?” I muttered. I wanted to still be angry, but Amit made things a little less red.

  “Well, my dad says I’m hardheaded, so . . .”

  I couldn’t look him in the eye but asked sternly, “Can you just get out of my way?”

  He looked around, seeming suddenly surprised when he realized where he was and what he was doing when he said, “Oh . . . no. I probably shouldn’t be in here.” Amit stepped aside and added, “I’m sorry. That was way out of line.”

  I sighed. If I’d felt threatened, I would’ve made sure he knew how out of line he was. But honestly? I kind of wanted to tell him. Instead, I muttered, “We’re late for class.”

  “Maybe, we can skip one class?”

  My eyes went wide. “I have perfect attendance.”

  “Nerd,” he fake coughed.

  I scoffed. How did he do that? How did he make a hurricane of life’s crap simmer into a light rain . . . of life’s crap?

  “You’re one to talk. So what? Because we’ve hung out for a couple of weeks we’re best friends? We’re just study partners.”

  “I thought we were dating,” he said in all seriousness.

  “Are you joking?”

  He laughed. “Yes. Now, doesn’t being friends sound conceivable?”

  I took a moment to breathe, to calm down, to consider his words. “You want to be friends?”

  “Like chana needs masala.”

  “What? That’s stupid.”

  “But you’re smiling.”

  “Am I though?”

  His laugh died down, his gaze dropping to my mouth. “You’re very pretty when you smile.”

  “As opposed to . . . being ugly when I frown?”

  “No. As opposed to . . .” He swallowed. “Being exceptionally pretty no matter what.”

  “Oh . . .”

  He scratched the back of his neck. “So, yeah, we’re late to class and people might wonder if we walk in together.”

  “True.”

  “I vote that we get out of here.”

  “Where is this streak of rebellion coming from?”

  “From seeing you miserable. And you won’t talk to me. You’ll just brood in class and glare at the computer screen, which by the way didn’t do anything to you.”

  I crossed my arms. “And where do you suppose we go?”

  He cocked his chin toward the door and eased away, sticking his head out for a sneak peek. “Coast is clear.”

  I could’ve made a run for it as soon as we slipped out of the girls’ restroom, but I didn’t mind when Amit brushed the back of my hand and jerked his chin toward the back halls. I nodded. He gently took my wrist and led me toward my first absence. His touch electrified, a burn that branched up my arm in lightning patterns, crackling and sizzling and splitting my nerves.

  We walked in rushed steps, ducking around corridors and pretending to be opening lockers if someone appeared in the desolate hallways. We trotted down the steps and slid out the side doors to the back of campus. The courtyard to the cafeteria loomed to the right and slowly filled with students from Lunch B.

  Amit released my wrist and my skin immediately missed the warmth. I stuffed my hands into my pockets and watched my steps across the trimmed lawn, to the higher grass, and along a dirt path through the preserved forest around a babbling creek.

  “Where are you taking me? You’re not a demented, knife-wielding killer, are you?”

  He ducked beneath limbs and held back a branch for me. “You already warned me that you could beat me up. I’m not testing that.”

  Fallen leaves crunched beneath our feet and birds chirped above us. The sights and sounds of campus faded beyond the curtain of trees at our backs. At night, this would’ve totally creeped me out.

  Amit searched for something and it didn’t take long to realize it wasn’t a particular spot. Finally, he crouched by the stream where large rocks created tiny pools and small waterfalls. Pink thistle flowers dotted the other side against a canvas of browns and greens and a moving mass of gray and white.

  “What is that?” I whispered, crouching beside Amit, the toes of my shoes barely out of the water’s reach.

  He pointed to the moving creatures. A duck, a mama duck, quacked and waddled out of the brush. She was beautiful in her dark colors speckled with brown and gray around the face. Her beak curved upward like a perpetual smile that made her look happy and carefree and like she was absolutely loving the crap out of life.

  “She’s gorgeous.”

  “Wait until you see the brood.”

  She quacked again, her webbed feet splashing against wet rocks and moss. Tiny noises emerged from the brush, followed by tiny, freaking adorable webbed feet. Ducklings. They were dark gray with white fluffy heads and a streak of black around their eyes that extended all the way to their backs, making their eyes look like ancient Egyptians had painted them with eyeliner.

  Their beaks also curved upward, and they joyfully, awkwardly ran after their mama.
There were so many. First three, then six, then a total of eleven.

  “It’s a horde of ducklings,” I gasped.

  “A horde of cuteness coming straight at us.”

  “I can’t even . . .” I grinned, my lips stretching far and wide. I wanted to die from cuteness overload!

  One of the ducklings walked right into the one in front of it and fell flat on its bottom.

  “I want one so bad.”

  “Yeah?” Amit stood and we followed the family down the way until mama duck slipped into the water and all the ducklings followed.

  He traipsed over exposed rocks dug into the creek bed and scooped up a duckling.

  “What are you doing? You’re going to traumatize it! And mama duck is going to rip you a new one.”

  He chuckled and brought over the most gorgeous little bird that ever lived. It sat pacified in his cupped hands, water dribbling down his wrists and arms.

  “I thought they fought back?” I asked, amazed and mesmerized by the fluff ball.

  “I come out here all the time and feed the mama duck, and after a while she let me get close to the babies to feed. Here.” He offered the baby to me.

  “It’s going to bite me.”

  He laughed. “She won’t.”

  “How do you know it’s a girl? Are you looking at their cloacas?”

  He laughed even harder, startling the duckling, who squirmed. Amit wrapped his fingers over her wings. “I don’t know. I guessed. Don’t be scared. She won’t bite.”

  “How do I?”

  “Like this. Cup your hands like mine, and when I slide her into your palms, gently close your hands over her body, keeping her wings down, but yeah, avoid her beak.”

  I trembled as the little ball nestled into my hands.

  “Just like that.”

  Her feet were cold, and I wanted to cuddle her and take her home. “What do they eat?”

  He scooped up a string of algae growing over the water and laid it over my hand. The duckling pecked at the food, trying to gobble the string, tickling me in the process. She squeak-quacked and mama duck shook her little tail feathers to swim toward us.

  “Oh, she looks mad.” Even with her perpetually grinning beak.

  “Carefully set her into the water. But, ya know, over there away from mama duck.”

  I trudged over the rocks and mud and deposited the duckling in the stream, near the edge so the current didn’t sweep her away. She shook her wings and met her siblings and mama, and together they swam farther downstream. We followed quietly, wandering farther and farther away from campus. I didn’t mind.

  For a good half hour, we watched them until they gathered in their nest. If you didn’t think ducklings could get cuter, then you’d never seen them lean their heads against their downy siblings and fall asleep.

  We watched over them from across the creek, planted on a cleanish, flat boulder, our sides touching, our arms pressed against one another. I could’ve easily laid my head against Amit’s shoulder and fallen asleep.

  He cleared his throat. Oh! My head had a mind of its own then, already resting on the tip of his shoulder. His fingers twitched beside mine. I didn’t move. Neither did he. His fingers lifted off his lap and floated over to my hand.

  I tamped down a smile.

  His fingers, larger than my own, fell in between mine. He swallowed hard beside me. The muscles of his neck and chest constricted, filling my ears with an audible gulp that resonated along with the sound of rushing water, the wind, the call of the wild.

  “Friends don’t hold hands, you know?” I said softly.

  “Hmm, they don’t, huh?” The warmth of his body encompassed mine, making me forget that I wore shorts beneath the chilly shade of the canopy.

  After another bout of silence, he sighed. And I knew what was about to come next. “You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong.”

  Oh. Not that.

  He went on, “I won’t keep asking because that would be bugging you, and I don’t want you to tickle me to death again.”

  “Don’t forget what you just said.”

  “But I hate to see you down. Just know that you can always talk to me.”

  “Okay. But I won’t.”

  “I understand. We’re not even best friends.”

  “No. We’re not.”

  “And you don’t know me that well.”

  “Nope. Hardly.”

  “But we can get to know each other.”

  “I think you’re all-consumed by the magic of the forest.”

  “You’re going to avoid me once we leave, then?”

  “No.” There was no way in this world I’d want to avoid Amit Patel.

  “Just know that whatever’s got you down has a silver lining.”

  “No, it really doesn’t.” Besides, silver linings aren’t enough to diminish the problems.

  “Then it can be fixed.”

  “No, it really can’t.” I exhaled and sat up straight but didn’t break our interlocked fingers.

  “You’re smart. I’m smart. We can figure something out.”

  “You’re sweet for trying. You wouldn’t understand.”

  “I’m not sure why you think I’m a certain way.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Yeah, you obviously do. You thought I was judgmental of you because of Travis. Now you assume I’d never get a clue about what’s going on with you. I mean, is it a girl thing?”

  My left eyebrow shot up fast and sharp.

  “If you’re pregnant—”

  “Oh, god no. Why would you even think that?” I tensed, wondering if he’d heard the rumors, if he thought I was easy or had been sleeping with a boy.

  “I didn’t think so. Okay, in relative comparison, how much worse or better is it than being pregnant?”

  I stifled a sigh. Oh, was that all? “I’ve never been pregnant so I wouldn’t know. Look, I mean you wouldn’t understand because I honestly don’t think you have a problem, or problems, plural, as significant and devastating as mine.”

  “Are you sure? Because we’ve already established that you hardly know me.”

  “Touché. Tell me your biggest grief in life then, and maybe we’ll compare.”

  His expression squirmed. “I can’t.”

  “Wow. You want me to open my woes to you and you can’t tell me the one problem you have?”

  “My one problem is pretty huge.”

  “Yet I somehow doubt it stacks up to my many.”

  “I do want to tell you my problem. I haven’t been able to talk to anyone about it because I’m not allowed to.”

  “Some cosmic secret?”

  “Close.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Sure.”

  “It’s a problem that only I can solve. At least that’s how my brain sees it. So there’s an entire world’s pressure to solve it. Alone. And I feel that I’m a giant, incendiary pile of nothing if I can’t fix it fast enough. The guilt crushes me. It keeps me up all night, working on it.”

  “Is that why you fall asleep in class?”

  “Yeah. I’m up all night either trying to fix it or worrying about it.”

  “And your parents don’t know?”

  “They know.”

  “They don’t help?”

  “They can’t. No one can help me.”

  That was hard to believe. Especially when he had such a large community supporting him. “I’m sure someone can. If you tell them what it is.”

  “Look who’s talking.”

  “Is it . . . personal? Like, a problem at home? Parents beat you?”

  “What? No!”

  “Parents beat each other?”

  He made a weird face that spoke of incredulity.

  “Well, it happens. So, is it a relationship proble
m?” I held my breath. Did he have a girl?

  “Nope.”

  “No clues, huh?”

  He smiled. “Maybe one day you’ll tell me what’s got you so down and then I’ll tell you.”

  I scraped the mud on my shoe against a rock. “We’re at an impasse, then. You won’t tell me; I won’t tell you.”

  “But we know the other person feels the same way, maybe not about the same thing.”

  “I feel like it’s going to destroy me. I don’t see any of my problems getting better, much less working out. One is a disappointment. The other is losing something that can’t be replaced.”

  “I wish that you’d share.”

  “Same here. We should get back.”

  He checked his watch. “It’s partway through last period. Might as well finish being rebels.”

  “So . . .” I rubbed my palms against my shorts. “What exactly do you do at work?”

  “Part of my cosmic secret.”

  “You actually work in fast food, huh?”

  He tilted his head down and laughed.

  Nine

  I kept all of Amit’s random proverbial texts that he’d sent. Laughter is the remedy for a 1001 illnesses followed by a dozen GIFs and social media links to things ranging from baby monkeys to people tripping over things.

  Alas, laughter did not make it rain money to pay for Papa’s medical bills and enable me to go to USMTO.

  He who undertakes too many things at once seldom does them well. One step at a time, Kareena. Followed by videos of stumbling animals learning how to walk.

  Don’t fall into a fire in order to avoid the smoke.

  At that one I responded, How does that cryptic one even apply?

  Smoke = problems; fire = depression.

  No. Send more funny ones.

  Fall 7 times, stand up 8.

  That’s not a funny one.

  But it was one I’d known for years. It was an old Japanese proverb that I’d learn in Muay Thai. In the beginning, I sucked hard. I fell a lot and had little coordination. I was always getting hurt and losing matches. I used to think about giving up or stepping back because it was too difficult, and I never saw myself getting anywhere near being decent.