The Knockout

by Sajni Patel

  And. Post!

  Ah! Why was I so nervous? Would I ever not be nervous telling people about myself like this? I resisted the temptation to bite my nails. Instead, I sat on my hands and gently kicked the floor in anticipation, my socked feet rubbing the worn carpet.

  A barrage of comments and an ever-climbing number of likes, hearts, and surprise emojis racked up the tally. There was so much outpouring of love and respect and praise that my heart swelled.

  Amid the sea of awesomeness, many of the commenters wondered why I had never said a word. So I explained, and another outpouring of support flooded my screen.

  My chest tingled all over and a calm warmth unfolded throughout my entire body. I wasn’t alone. I’d never been alone. I was too caught up in my own insecurities to find more girls like me.

  Some girls wear tights and glittering makeup, skirts and pompoms, ribbons in their hair, balance marching band hats, cowgirl hats to accessorize with rodeo ropes and spurs, baggy shorts and loose jerseys, tall socks and cleats, shin pads, mouth guards, karate gi and black belts, boxing gloves . . . the list goes on and on. But we’re all here and beautiful and strong and frankly (please don’t kick me out coaches) severely BADASS, y’all. Welcome to the group!

  Oh man, had to love Kimmy. Her optimism poured into the others, and another deluge of comments and likes bombarded the screen.

  My fingers trembled as I profusely thanked the group. They asked for all the deets to the upcoming USMTO and I obliged, my heart revving up again. This time, not from nerves, but with undiluted excitement. I gave all the info, ending with:

  Why do you ask?

  I don’t know about everyone else, but I want to be there!

  Followed by a dozen more volunteers.

  My heart ached as I confessed:

  That’s so amazing and y’all are full of awesomeness that I can’t even begin to describe. But the sad truth is that I don’t even know if I can go.

  What?! Why not!

  You have to go!

  Don’t miss this opportunity!

  World Championships and the Olympics are at stake!

  Of course, I already knew all this, but when several demanded a reason as to what held me back, I confided:

  Money. It’s expensive to go with the traveling and hotel and food, plus I had to buy all new gear and chiropractor treatments. It’s already adding up. I tried to get sponsors from businesses, but it’s not enough.

  There was a short pause in responses. I rhythmically tapped my keyboard, wondering how the group would respond. There went my excitement. Here came reality. Here came the “keep your chin up, there’s always next year” comments.

  I almost logged off. The heartbreak physically hurt; heavy, harsh stones dragging my stomach down.

  We’ll have to raise money.

  Definitely.

  Huh? Wait a minute.

  What can we do real fast with a little amount of expenses/time and can be offered to the masses?

  For sure! Can’t let this slip away without trying something!

  Car washes?

  Bake sales?

  Movie night? Admittance plus concessions.

  Oh my god. Was this even real? Were these girls, some friends, but most of whom I wasn’t even that close with, brainstorming to help me? I drew in a deep, shuddering breath and blinked away tears. When had I become so emotional?

  Raffle? We can do neat giveaways.

  Auction? We can pool some money together and auction something off.

  Bet some local businesses will get in on that.

  Maybe even the athletic department has some school funds that can be parted with? Don’t know how that works.

  Prom’s coming up, we can sell flowers and chocolates.

  That surge of adrenaline and excitement came rushing through me again. I sat on my hands and tapped my toes against the floor in rapid beats. I clamped down on a squeal. I had to text Lily and tell her what was happening! Well, as soon as I stopped shaking.

  Riya and I did a henna booth at the school carnival in Oct. Henna cones are cheap and we can do half a hand in thirty seconds. Raised a lot of money.

  Spring carnival is next Saturday! Let’s do all of these booths and movie night Friday night AND Sunday night. We can do the prom flowers and chocolates during the week.

  Who do we get into contact with to get approved?

  Student council?

  Nah, should be the events committee.

  Maybe we can have booths up at all the sports games too?

  Think we have to ask the coaches about that one.

  All right then, let’s get on it.

  And from there, I hunched over my desk and read every comment within comment as the thread got longer and longer. In fact, it had gotten so long that someone had to sever it into sections: prom committee events, carnival booths, game booths, and freestyle, meaning additional raffles and auctions held at random during the week.

  After a while, my eyes were too blurry to keep reading, and once the tears fell, they wouldn’t stop. I hiccupped and blubbered as love and support and amazing ideas and efficient strategies trickled out of my classmates.

  No one organized fundraisers better and faster than a throng of high school girls.

  The comments died down around one in the morning. I logged off and crawled into bed. Snuggled beneath the covers, I set my alarm and noticed six messages from Amit. Click off. His parents’ verdict could wait until later.

  My eyelids closed for literally half a minute when someone knocked . . . on my freaking window!

  I warily turned my head as my phone beeped again. I grabbed it, ready to call the police and beat the intruder at the same time. As I quietly crawled out of bed and crept toward the side of the window, my eyes caught the beginning of Amit’s latest message.

  Hey, I’m at your house.

  I groaned as the adrenaline eased away. Fight mode off.

  You better be the stalker at my window . . . or someone is about to get their butt whipped.

  He replied with a flushed face emoji followed by a grimacing one with the toothy grin.

  You’re about to get it . . .

  Nevertheless, I carefully lifted the edge of the curtain. When I couldn’t see him, I yanked the curtain back all the way, ready to attack whoever it was.

  Amit, with one hand in his pocket, the other holding his lit cell, grinned and waved.

  I glanced back at the bedroom door. The lights were out and not a sound rose from my parents. With a groan, I pulled up the window and stood with arms crossed.

  “Are you stalking me because I didn’t answer your texts?”

  He scratched the back of his neck. “Nah. I was on my way home from work and was in the neighborhood. Saw that your light was on.”

  “Really? Cuz my house is two streets from the main road. And in a cul-de-sac.”

  “Might have taken a detour,” he admitted sheepishly.

  “Are you still working long nights? The project hasn’t improved?”

  “Still driving me up the wall and keeping me up all night.”

  “You know what would make it less irritating is if you told me all the details.”

  “And risk ruining everything for my company?”

  I glanced over my shoulder and low-key listened for my parents. “You know, if my dad finds out you’re here, he’s going to beat you with his nine iron.”

  “Your dad plays golf? Cool!”

  “Shh!” Oh! This boy was gonna end me!

  “Can you come out?”

  I bit my lower lip. I really wanted to. But things were getting too . . . intense. I liked Amit more and more every day, but I couldn’t spend any more time on him. “No.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Definitely no.”

  He shrugged
. “Can we talk through the window?”

  I glanced at the bedroom door again. The walls inside were thin and Papa and Mama might actually lose their crap. With a sigh, I pulled out the screen, and now he knew how flimsy our house was and how to break in.

  I grabbed the edge and crawled out, not expecting him to help by taking my waist and picking me up so effortlessly and powerfully. The movement of being swept off my feet took me by surprise, and I faltered like a combative baby monkey, accidentally shoving off from the windowsill and toppling Amit over. So much for his valiant display of lending a hand as I totally fell on him and crushed him in the dirt beneath my window. Although his body was a nice cushion for my fall.

  He leaned his head back into the ground and laughed, his hands firm on my waist, never having left.

  “Shh!” I said and ducked my face against his chest, embarrassment taking over. I didn’t even know what to do now. Getting up and sitting beside him seemed preferable, but my body had turned into lead, like how my legs felt right before a huge fight.

  His arms wrapped around my waist and my breath hitched as he spoke into my hair, “Is this part of the ‘sneaking around to be friends rebellion’ we’re plotting?”

  “Shut up,” I muttered into his shirt.

  “Because I really like it.”

  I pushed myself up, my hands planting themselves on either side of his head as my damp, and now probably filthy hair, spilled over him. His constant, light laughter faded. And so did his smile. The usual cordial, approachable expressions he sported turned dead sexy.

  My brain screamed to my body to move and get out of the strike zone before something hit me. My thoughts shrieked a jillion reasons why this moment couldn’t evolve, all logical and true and consequential.

  But my body didn’t listen. It was immobile and in shock and my elbows even locked.

  We both swallowed. Hard. He reached up and stretched his fingers into my hair at the nape of my neck and lifted his head as he gently pulled mine down.

  Oh, lord. It was happening. Commence freak-out.

  Our lips touched with an explosion of senses that I didn’t even know existed. His cologne hit my nose, mingled with the smell of dirt and grass. His warmth against my skin, the softness of his mouth against mine, the taste of cardamom and pista on his tongue.

  I gasped and pulled back, my heart racing and a horde of butterflies raging in my belly.

  “I think I came here to do that,” he breathed.

  “Amit, we can’t do this.”

  “Why not?”

  “I can’t date. I don’t even have time for a boyfriend. You have ridiculous work projects and grades to keep up. Your parents probably don’t even like me. After graduation, we’ll be in different colleges. The list goes on.”

  “I can’t date either. I don’t need much time; what I get from you right now is more than what I can ask for. My parents actually really liked you. And I’m going to UT-Austin, so we’ll still both be at our parents’ houses and end up at the same college.”

  “I can’t have any distractions with my big fight coming up.”

  “I’ll wait.”

  “It could be months—” I paused. “Wait. Did you say that your parents like me?”

  “Yep. Told you. You’re not easy to dislike, by the way. I’ve tried.”

  I scoffed. “You didn’t try hard enough.”

  “It’s really not easy to dislike you when you’re still lying on top of me.”

  “Oh!” My cheeks turned fiery hot as I shifted to move away, but his arms held me in place.

  “I kinda like it, though. Kinda really, really like it.”

  I quietly laughed and pushed away. “My dad will kinda really, really beat you if he saw this.”

  We sat on a patch of grass and brushed off the dirt. I helped dust off Amit’s back and picked little leaves out of his hair.

  “What did your parents say?” I asked softly.

  “Didn’t you read any of my texts?”

  “No. I got busy. What did they say?”

  “They said they liked you. That you’re smart and polite and pretty.”

  “I don’t fall short of their expectations for friends?”

  “Nah. You exceed them.”

  “That’s hard to believe.”

  “Why do you doubt yourself so much?”

  “Because Indian parents have high standards for Indian kids. I know. I have Indian parents in my family. Lots of them. They’re mainly about high grades and prestigious degrees, impressive careers and income, nice houses and cars, and it all starts with training and expectations from day one. My parents may not push me to want a bigger house or be the foremost surgeon in the world, but they push for my best efforts, which turns out can lead to high standards.”

  “Well, they’re impressed by all of you. They said you’re well-rounded and hardworking, and that’s admirable.”

  “What about Muay Thai? That didn’t freak them out?”

  “At first they were baffled, like why would a girl get involved in a sport where she has to fight? They don’t know much about it, but then I explained the basics to them and showed them some videos of girls in training and how rigorous and disciplined they are. My parents respect dedication.”

  “Oh . . . well, guess you were right about them not judging.”

  He nudged my shoulder with his. “Told you so.”

  I nudged him back harder. He almost fell over. “Muh-muh-muh,” I muttered mockingly. “How do you know so much about Muay Thai?”

  “I didn’t know anything about it before, but after that night at the gym, I researched it. Training is wildly intense, and those fights . . . how do you do that?”

  “Which part?”

  “All of it. The training, the discipline, fighting, getting hit, not crapping your pants.”

  I crushed my hand over my mouth to stop from laughing.

  “It’s amazing. I can’t wait to see you fight.”

  “Really? You’re not going to be scared of me?”

  “I’ve always been scared of you.”

  “Shut up. So we’re allowed to be friends?”

  “Yep.”

  “My parents liked you too.”

  “Enough to date?”

  I nudged him, but not as harshly. “No. And even if they did, seriously, I have a lot riding on Muay Thai.”

  “Oh, yeah? Like what? Trophies? Scholarships?”

  I bit my lower lip, which tasted of Amit and cardamom and pista.

  “Something bigger? Now you gotta tell me.”

  Well, the secret was out. Come tomorrow morning at school, everyone and their mama would know. It wasn’t every day, much less every generation, that our school had a possible Olympian walking through the halls.

  “So, my next fight that’s in Arizona?”

  “Yeah?”

  “It’s the US Muay Thai Open.”

  “No way! That’s awesome.”

  “You know about it?”

  “Came up in my research.” He then, to my utter disbelief, went on to nerd-splain Muay Thai and USMTO to me. With full-on excited gestures and exuberant explanations.

  As I watched Amit, this boy who totally blew my mind the more and more I got to know him, my heart swelled something big and fierce and overflowing. He was so into everything. He was impressed, elated, baffled, in awe . . . the entire gamut of positive responses. None of which included disgust or ignorance or assumptions or judgment.

  I grinned hard at him.

  “What?” he asked, suddenly pausing his wild gesticulations.

  “You really got into it, huh?”

  “It’s incredibly interesting. And if you’re doing it, if you’re passionate about it, then yeah. I’m one hundred percent into it.”

  “So you know it’s a huge fre
aking deal.”

  “Yeah. Wow. I can’t believe you’re going. No wonder you don’t have time for me . . .” he ended sorrowfully.

  “You said you’d wait,” I reminded softly.

  “I will.”

  “How long?”

  “What do you mean? It’s only a couple weeks away, right?”

  I pulled my knees to my chest and hugged them. “The thing is, if I do well enough, I could get picked for the US World Championships team. And who knows how long that could go on.”

  “Dang,” he said, the word heavy with equal amounts of awe and disappointment.

  “And then . . .”

  “There’s more?”

  “Muay Thai is on the verge of becoming an Olympic sport. I could be on that first team.”

  “You’re way out of my league, Kareena Thakkar.”

  I smiled to myself. A boy had never said that to me. I had never even considered myself to ever be out of someone else’s league, especially a guy as remarkable as Amit. “It’s just that . . .”

  “What?”

  “Ugh. It costs a lot of money. I have to raise funds and you’d think asking sponsors for money to support a possible future Olympic athlete would be a great sales pitch, but no.”

  He mulled over my words for a bit. “Everything will work out,” he said finally.

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek and rested my chin on my knees. “We’re talking a few weeks if I suck and a few years if I’m top level.”

  “I’d never get in your way or be the distraction that keeps you from being your best.”

  My heart broke, but at least one of us said it.

  “Although part of me is convinced that we could date as our schedules permitted. You’ll have Muay Thai and college. I’ll have my job and college. We both have to make time for family. What else is there? In between classes and family dinners and sports-slash-work. We could do it.”

  Ugh! We were almost there! “You and your logic.” I pushed around some dirt with my toe. “I have to focus.”

  “Okay,” he replied without hesitation.

  He stood and offered his hand, pulling me up and into him. My body would definitely miss his. “How’d you get into Muay Thai, by the way?”