The Knockout

by Sajni Patel

  My heart constricted. I knew it! “Well, I am a bad influence.”

  “How so?”

  “We can start with the fact that we’re not religious or involved in any way with the Indian community.”

  “You kind of assume people judge you. You don’t want anyone making assumptions about you, but you’re pre-judging everyone else.”

  “You’re going to end up in these study sessions alone.”

  “I’m not saying it to be mean.”

  “Just up front.”

  “Exactly.”

  I narrowed my eyes and he nervously smiled.

  “Think about it: You loathe the fact that you’ve been judged, so you assume that others will judge you the same way. You were hurt. But, imagine how I feel because you assumed I would be judgmental of you before you even knew me. That hurts. I’m not like that. My parents are not like that. And before you say they’re Indian, etc., etc., so what? I’m Indian. I don’t think you’re anything less than—”

  He stopped and I waited for him to continue. “Less than what?” I pressed.

  “Uh . . . adequate.”

  “Adequate? What the heck? I’m not sure if I want to dine with you in the first place.”

  “Will you please think about it? It’s a standing offer. My mom’s a good cook. My dad’s nice. My house is warm.”

  “Anything else?” I glanced at my phone as Lily’s text came through.

  Did you tell him?

  I replied without thinking. Sure!

  “The dining room chairs are soft. Your butt may never want to leave,” Amit continued.

  I put my elbow on the desk and rested my chin in my hand. “You’ve been thinking about my butt?”

  He flushed. “Um . . .”

  I waggled my eyebrows. Messing with Amit was fun.

  Twelve

  Sweat gleamed on my skin. Adrenaline surged through every inch of every vein and took me into a druggy high. I loved this feeling. I wasn’t addicted to it by any means, and definitely didn’t consider myself an adrenaline junkie. Although, I could see why people went after this kind of high.

  For some people, adrenaline rushes felt insanely good: a roller-coaster sensation in their gut, a light-headedness, a near literal feeling of floating off the ground. As for me? Well, it made me weightless, nimble on my feet. It was a wave of ice and fire washing through my soul. I could do anything, be anyone. Clarity sharpened my vision and thoughts, my logic and maneuvers.

  Nothing could touch me.

  With each punch, kick, and strike, I imagined my body as concrete crashing into mortal flesh. Pulverizing my opponent. Shattering her bones.

  I hadn’t figured out how to tell Coach, or anyone, for that matter, about scraping the sewers for USMTO money. So, naturally, I took it out on Natalia.

  One distraction was all it took to take a fighter down. One weakness, one gap. My problems and anger would not be that sliver in my armor. Nuh-uh.

  Natalia came in for a hook, her strength above all else because the girl had steel fists. Steel could go up against concrete. But it had to make contact.

  I ducked and immediately rose to a fighting stance a foot to the left, behind where her fist had been. She lost a fraction of her balance with the miss, enough for me to come at her with a knee. Once an opponent crouched that close to the floor, it was easy killings after that.

  Coach called the fight before Natalia ended up on my long list of beatdowns. The gym roared, giving props to us both.

  As the adrenaline rage subsided, leaving goosebumps and dizziness in its wake, I reached down and offered Natalia a hand. Pulling her up, she nearly stumbled into me and wheezed out, “Awesome fight.”

  Catching my own breath, I huffed out an offbeat laugh but stopped short. My heart stopped too. At least for a long, lonely second as my vision blurred and then came back into focus.

  There, in the small crowd of fighters and spectators, stood Lily. She hadn’t come by the gym for a practice fight in a while. Her presence wasn’t what reaped my thoughts like a scythe.

  It was definitely the boy standing beside her, the one with the “Oh, holy hell” glazed-over eyes, the one with the dropped mouth like a giant donut.

  My feet melted on the spot, cementing my legs into place. What the heck was Amit doing here? How could Lily bring him? Oh my freaking goodness, I was going to kill her!

  The next breath was a deep burn all the way down my throat and chest. It could’ve been from the chest hit Natalia got in, or the fact that I had to talk to Amit, to face whatever he thought of me now. A girl fighter. An Indian girl fighter. One with huge arm and thigh muscles that were now on display in these short, ratty Muay Thai shorts and snug tank top. Would he think I was gross? Too manly for him to stomach?

  Ugh! Why did I care so much? Why did those stupid questions even cross my mind?

  Forget that. Muscles were sexy and healthy. They weren’t a bad thing. We all had muscles all the time, under skin and fat layers. They allowed movement and strength, for goodness sake. I was pretty proud of them, especially seeing where they were taking me. But my self-esteem was not as bulletproof as my strikes.

  So I braced myself. I would not let his opinion bother me. I was not any less Indian or any less of a girl because I was a fighter.

  Several people patted my shoulder and hollered their appreciation of one thing or another, but my thoughts careened toward mental mantras.

  I did not need others to validate myself.

  I did not care about what others thought of me.

  I was Indian enough.

  I was girl enough.

  I was motha-freaking awesome.

  “Hi,” I blurted, glaring at Lily who shrugged apologetically. Her smile faded. “What are you guys doing here?” Crap, my voice cracked like a boy going through puberty.

  “Came to rally you on. Yay . . . ?” She pumped her fist slowly into the air and grinned sheepishly. “I asked if you told him, you texted back yes.”

  Oh, crap. I had, hadn’t I?

  She looked to Amit. “What did you think I was talking about when I asked if you wanted to see Kareena practice tonight?”

  “All I heard was, ‘Do you wanna see Kareena tonight?’”

  Lily’s face turned as red as mine felt. She mouthed an apology, but honestly, it wasn’t her fault, and this was for the best. It needed to happen.

  “So . . . you’re a boxer?” Amit asked, forcing me to meet his still wide eyes.

  “Muay Thai fighter,” I corrected and stood straighter. What? If he was going to give me nonsense then I was going to look as intimidating as heck. Why was I acting ashamed?

  Lily slinked away and talked to a water guzzling Natalia. I’d deal with her later.

  Well, let’s get this over with. I put my hands on my hips and lifted my chin. “So, what?” My voice came out bitter and angry.

  “Is this why you feel uncomfortable around mandir? Why you feel less Indian?”

  “Part of it. It doesn’t conform to perfect desi girl standards.”

  “Wow.” He rubbed his chin and glanced away for a minute. “Why didn’t you ever say anything? I thought you knew by now that I’m not judgy.”

  “Most boys are intimated that I can knock them out with a flick of my wrist.”

  “I am not most boys, Kareena.”

  “Really?”

  “You don’t see me running from you or making excuses to get away.”

  I narrowed my eyes.

  He stepped closer, the tips of his toes almost touching mine. The heat from his body clashed against the dampness of my clothes and skin. He stood unwavering, unyielding, but so was I.

  “I’m not running,” he said firmly.

  “Why not?”

  “Why would I? Do I assume you have a bad temper? Nope. I know you.
Are you into drugs? Probably not with your grades. Do you beat up random people in the halls? No. You would’ve knocked out Saanvi by now.”

  I smirked.

  “Am I afraid that you’ll kick my butt? Am I scared that you’re more man than I am?”

  That was the million-dollar question. “Are you afraid of me now?”

  “Yeah. I’m shaking in my socks. Can’t you tell?”

  “You’re barefoot.”

  “I’m shaking so hard, they must’ve run off screaming.”

  I stifled a smile. “So? You still like me. But do you want to take me around your parents?”

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets and nodded. “Wait until they hear what an amazing fighter you are!”

  “No!” I gasped. “That’s the thing I was trying to tell you after Holi. When my parents put me in Muay Thai, the other Indian parents couldn’t handle me being around their kids.”

  “What even?”

  “Exactly.”

  The small crowd had thinned to a few, and Lily was nowhere in sight. Crafty. The lights in the back dimmed, cue for us to leave or get locked in.

  “We need to disperse,” I muttered, aware more than ever of how sweaty and stinky I was.

  He glanced around. “Oh, okay. I’ll walk you out.”

  I packed my stuff into my duffel bag and fished out the keys to my car, meeting Amit by the door where we slipped into our respective flip-flops.

  At my car, where a decent breeze picked up away from me and sprinkled my stink elsewhere, thank goodness, Amit asked, “How long have you been doing this?”

  “Fourth grade.”

  He smirked. “So then is this the MT stud that you’re monogamously into?”

  I bit my lower lip and nodded.

  “You’re amazing,” he said.

  It took a few seconds for the words to sink in. “Thanks. A lot of years of hard work went into my skills.”

  He swallowed. “I mean, you’re amazing. You’re like this package of awesomeness that gets better and better the more I get to know you. Everything about you blows me away. Smart, kick-butt, pretty. You’re like Black Widow. But Indian, and not a spy. I don’t think.”

  My breath hitched.

  He scratched the back of his neck. “You should come over for dinner.”

  “You know, it’s strange for an Indian boy to have a girl over for dinner.”

  “Like I mentioned before, my parents like to meet my friends.”

  “Friends, huh?”

  “Unless . . .”

  Heat prickled my face. “I can’t date . . . not that I’m saying you want to or that I want to . . . or . . . whatever . . . but my parents would lose it if they knew I was at a boy’s house.”

  “That’s the thing. My parents want to have your parents over. My parents are strict too. Can’t date, either. But the idea was to get to know your family again.”

  “Oh, yeah, of course! That makes sense. But, they’re really busy and my dad doesn’t feel well.”

  “Then just you.”

  “That’s not how things happen.”

  “They’ll understand. It’ll be simple. You wanted to come over, your parents couldn’t, but you felt bad that my mom made dinner so there you are. All considerate and everything, despite social taboos.”

  “Okay,” I found myself saying, despite knowing this was a bad idea. “On two conditions.”

  “Okay.”

  “I’m on a strict diet for Muay Thai. I have to log in all my calories and macros, so don’t let your parents cook a lot on my account. I’ll only eat a few vegetables, preferably not soaked in ghee or oils. And two, don’t mention my fighting to your parents.”

  He frowned. “But it’s a huge part of who you are.”

  A subtle pain shredded my throat. “They might not want us being friends.”

  “I’m trying not to be offended here.”

  “All right.” I sighed. “Tell them if you want. But don’t blame me if it goes south. It’ll make Saanvi look like a saint.”

  He laughed. “Saanvi, I think, is actually a devil in disguise.”

  I shivered. It had gotten colder in the dark, the breeze gaining speed.

  “You probably want to get into a warm car. I’ll let you go.” He searched the near-empty parking lot. “Where’s Lily? She gave me a ride.”

  I tried not to groan. She was in so much trouble because she now for sure did this on purpose to make this conversation happen. Although, she was right, I admitted happily. “I’ll give you a ride home. Hop in. But don’t expect me to open the door for you.”

  He laughed and slid into the passenger seat. I turned up the heat and shimmied onto my towel-draped seat, turned the radio off, and eased out of the parking lot.

  In between conversation, Amit gave directions to his house, which, as it turned out, wasn’t far from my neighborhood. We could potentially do many family dinners all the time if his parents liked me enough.

  “Is this where you live?” I asked, parking between his driveway and the next. I craned my neck to look out his window at the tall two-story brick house with white trim, large porch, and fancy bay windows. The yard, though dark, was immaculate, with two giant oak trees and a border of yellow rose bushes. Everything about Amit’s home was so upper-middle-class Texan hill country.

  “Yep. Been here my entire life.”

  “It’s nice.” I turned to him. “Well, you know my secret. You know what that means?”

  He grimaced.

  “Nuh-uh. We had a deal. What’s your secret? Your big problem that you couldn’t tell me?”

  He scratched his forehead. “Can we talk about it later?”

  “Speaking from experience, this feels like a giant, soul-crushing weight taken off me for you to know,” I said, feeling a wonderful sort of high. Heck, maybe I might even get the girl balls to tell his parents too.

  “It’s just . . .” He bit his lip and looked down at me for a quick second in a way that totally blew my mind. It didn’t really matter what his next words were if he kept that look going. “I’m not supposed to tell anyone.”

  “Am I just anyone?”

  “No. You’re definitely not.”

  I gulped and took his hand. We both glanced at our fingers as they interlocked and spread warmth between our touch. Maybe I was just overjoyed with his reaction, that he had proven to be as real and amazing as I knew he was. Or maybe it was because there was something more going on. Whatever the case, all that mattered was that he made me feel invincible and able to stand up to anything. I wanted him to feel the same way too.

  He leaned in and whispered in my ear, “I might be delirious.”

  “You’re ruining a moment,” I whispered back.

  “It’s the job I’m doing. It’s top secret and only a few people know about it.”

  “What kind of job?”

  “I’m coding something that will . . . change everything.”

  “That’s pretty awesome, not delirious.”

  “There’s a lot of pressure to finish it fast. There’s glitches and holes and I can’t figure them out and it drives me up the wall. On one hand, this is a major project and my work will make or break the success of it. That’s a lot for a seventeen-year-old kid. And it’s not a new video game or phone tech. It’ll change everything. On the other hand, part of my brain is practically a computer. It’s coding so fast, the rest of my brain can’t keep up. It’s all I can think about. Well . . . almost all that I think about.”

  I swallowed, aware of how close his mouth was to mine and the fact that his parents could probably see us under the streetlight. “I thought for a serious second that you were going to tell me something really weird.”

  “I feel like I am weird, not quite right. I see numbers and equations everywhere. There are pages of coding
all over my car and on dry-erase boards covering my bedroom walls. I can’t sleep half the time. I just work through the night. My parents tried to calm me down from it, but they can’t. They know finishing it is the only way to get my calm back.”

  “So they let you go to work all night and to school during the day?”

  “We don’t have a choice. I started scribbling equations on the actual wall when they tried to keep me home at night.”

  “Dang. That is intense.”

  He sat back and glared at the console between us. “You think I’m strange, don’t you?”

  I squeezed his hand and said, “It’s more that you’re a genius. I think, anyway. What’s the project for?”

  “I’m legally obligated to keep that to myself.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes. Giant corporation business.”

  “Oh.”

  “But you’ll be the first to know when I can tell someone.”

  “I’ll hold you to that. Your parents must be so proud.”

  He released an agitated grunt. “They put on a lot of pressure for me to be . . .”

  “Perfect?”

  He sort of snorted and glanced away, his brows knitted in annoyance. “Yeah. Perfect grades. Perfect at mandir. Doing plays and traveling and teaching the kids in classes and making sure I talk to everyone and am always smiling. Making sure all the teachers like me, that I have a lot of friends, that I don’t make mistakes or bring reproach to the family.”

  “I thought it was natural for you.”

  His face hardened, the already angular lines of his jaw tensed. “I want to do those things, but at some point, it became an expectation and anything less isn’t right.”

  “Oh,” I breathed, recalling how he’d mentioned that his parents weren’t excited about his valedictorian status. This was why. It was expected.

  “My parents are great, don’t get me wrong. I love them and I know they love me, and I owe everything to them. I am me because of them. I like that they push me to be my best. It would just be nice if they told me I’m doing a great job instead of simply nodding because I’m just doing what I’m supposed to be doing. Or if I miss any number of high marks, that they don’t look at me all disappointed. If I was salutatorian, they would be disappointed. If I was just top ten, they’d be disappointed. Not to mention passing all the mandir tests. It’s never-ending.” He hit his head against the headrest and stared out the window straight ahead.