The Knockout

by Sajni Patel

  “Are you mad at me for reading it?”

  “Sort of. Partially mad at you, but mainly with myself. It’s frustrating being so close and not fixing it.”

  “It’s a program for a major company. You can’t expect to finish the entire thing.”

  He scoffed. “When your family and your community hammers it into your head that you’re perfect and can do everything and should do everything, it’s hard to accept something that isn’t working out.”

  “Oh . . .”

  He sucked in a breath and dragged his hand down his face, glaring at his backpack. “It’s hard to fail when everyone expects so much from you. Failure takes on a whole new meaning. It’s like . . . my parents just expect that I can do it all and if I don’t, then it basically erases everything I’ve ever done. I hate that word.”

  Didn’t I know it? Failure didn’t come in the form of grades or college rejection letters. It came in missing out on the Open. On losing a chance to fund Papa’s bills. Failure was . . . systematic organ failure. Total renal failure. Failure was my dad not getting medical treatment because we couldn’t afford it. Failure was my dad dying.

  I dragged my thoughts away from Papa and asked, “Why don’t you want me to see the program?”

  “It’s not finished. It’s all the chaos in my head.”

  “It’s brilliant.”

  He froze. His big brown eyes twinkled with irritation and another wave of panic. “You understand it?”

  I nodded.

  “How? It’s not complete; it’s not even in order.”

  He may be a genius in coding, but I wasn’t dumb when it came to programming. It was going to be my college major. He might’ve seen the world as coding fragments, but I understood them. “I see the gaps; I see how it should fit together. May I?”

  “Now you ask?” he asked a little curtly.

  “You gonna make me feel bad forever?” I shot back.

  “At least more than five minutes.” But he handed the notebook to me anyway.

  I flipped it open to the third page and drew a circle around the center segment with my finger. “Typeof operate, third class of returns.”

  He initially shook his head and scoffed. “That’s too simple—” But then he stared at my finger and the equations surrounding it. “It’s simple,” he repeated.

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s like you’re calling me simplistic. I know I’m not the genius in pulling programs out of the air like you are, but dang, dude. Don’t patronize me.”

  “No. No. I mean . . . you’re right. That does work and it’s so simple. I’ve been racking my head and digging into deep stuff to fix the gap. You just look at it once and know. You’re the genius.”

  “Genius when it comes to simple fixes.”

  “It’s medical programming. It’s why I know about your dad.”

  “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  There was a silent void that we’d suddenly fallen into. I chewed on the inside of my cheek and mindlessly flicked my fingernails. My brain wasn’t working. I had questions, but I didn’t care. Maybe it could be a distraction from Papa, but very few things could be that distracting.

  “It really hurts me to know that you’re in pain.”

  My lips trembled. Why did he have to say that? Why couldn’t he just not talk about it like I’d asked?

  “And I might get into a crapload of trouble for telling you, but I can’t keep it all from you. I can’t tell you exactly what this is, but if it works, it’ll help sick people all over the world.”

  “Will it help my dad?”

  He made a tormented wince and looked down at the notebook in my hands. “It’s not done. It doesn’t work yet.” He clenched his eyes, as if “failing” to help with this project truly pained him. But I got it. He had to see sick people all the time. He knew how much more help they needed than what they were getting. He was going to be a part of something huge, of something way bigger than himself. And all he cared about was fixing it so it could hurry up and help people.

  I sighed, annoyed with myself for even hoping a little extra. A thing like that would not be ready soon enough. “You know what? I’m tired and have to train while waiting to find out if my dad will recover.” As soon as those words hit the air, my lips trembled.

  Amit took the notebook away and hugged me.

  Freaking frick. Because now the tears fell. I ugly cried so hard. I’d probably woken up Lily. And I might’ve accidentally bit Amit’s shoulder to muffle my sobs.

  Twenty-Two

  Amit left the house before any signs of Mama’s return with the understanding that we’d give each other some space unless I needed him. He had work and valedictorian status to lock down, and I had to focus on the big fights coming up. The living room was back to normal and there was no trace of a boy ever having spent the night.

  “I can stay,” Lily offered.

  “And skip all the fun at school?”

  She stuck out her tongue and crossed her eyes. “Can’t wait to graduate.”

  “You’ll be fine.”

  “But will you?” She crossed her arms and tapped a foot where we stood in the small foyer.

  “Yeah. This isn’t anything new.”

  “Doesn’t mean it’s anything easy.”

  “I have training and stuff to keep my mind off things. It’s always been there to distract me. Thanks to the awesomeness of everyone at school, I know where I’ll be two weeks from now.”

  “No matter what happens?”

  “Nothing’s going to happen.” But if that optimism was more for her benefit or mine was uncertain.

  “Can I do anything for you or your mom?”

  “Nah. We got this.”

  “Anything I can do for your training? Pick up some groceries? Time you? Watch you do pull-ups while I sip on tea?”

  “Sounds like fun, but I’ve got my playlist and earbuds and I’m ready to go. Thanks for everything, though. I really appreciate it.”

  Lily hugged me and then left.

  I had plans. A long run, core workout, shadowboxing, hit the gym for more workouts and sparring exercises, and homework.

  Yep. A long, fruitful, packed day.

  I went to the bedroom to change, but the bed looked so inviting, all made-up with freshly laundered sheets and seductive whispers of slumber. Sitting for a second while changing into shorts wouldn’t hurt.

  Okay. Lying down for a minute to shimmy out of my sweats wouldn’t hurt. But the bed was warm and soft, and I hadn’t slept all night.

  Just five minutes.

  Five minutes, that was all.

  -

  My phone rang in my ear, muffled underneath a layer of pillow. Drowsily, I groaned. My eyelids fluttered open. The day was bright beyond the closed curtains, and the sunlight trickled through tiny spaces between the fabric.

  Oh, lord. What time was it?

  I shot up and snatched the phone. “Hello?” I rasped.

  “Kareena? Why haven’t you returned my messages?”

  “Mama. I fell asleep. What’s wrong? Is everything okay?” I asked in a panic.

  “Yes. That’s to say that nothing has changed.”

  I sighed, knowing this was the best we could hope for. Papa had only been admitted yesterday. The longest he’d ever stayed in the hospital was three weeks when he’d been septic and was on the verge of kidney failure. The shortest had been four days, but that was during his first bout years ago.

  When Mama spoke, she was calm and collected. She didn’t always keep it perfectly together. I could always tell when she was hiding bad news. But this time, the situation didn’t seem too awful. Yet. “I don’t expect him to be out for a few weeks, if he’s worse than before.”

  “A few weeks, Mama? USMTO is in two weekends.”

  “I know. You’ll
go, remember, no matter what’s happening here.”

  “But he’s supposed to be there, he’s supposed to watch.”

  “Beta, you know he was never going to be able to go. The traveling, the crowds.”

  “We could’ve driven there in a car. He could’ve watched from a private room, or on the TV in a hotel room.”

  “You know he can’t go far from his doctors and hospital.”

  I crushed down despair. “I just hoped.”

  “We try for the best and do our best, and that’s what you’ll do. Why are you sleeping in the middle of the day? Shouldn’t you be finishing up at the gym and going to your appointment?”

  “Yeah. I didn’t sleep last night.”

  “Kareena, this is not what we discussed.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m getting ready for my appointment now.” I crawled out of bed and hurried to find my clothes still on the floor.

  “Good.”

  “Are you going to work?” I asked as I changed into shorts.

  “Yes. The hospital will call me if anything changes. I still have to pay bills.”

  I pressed my eyes together. Suck it up, buttercup. Time to get out of this daze and make ends meet. I needed first place, and I was going to get it. I needed to make it to the World Championships and the Olympics, and I would get there. I had to make them proud, especially Papa, to show that all these years had been fruitful and worthwhile. That they’d allowed me my passion and to excel. When the news broadcasters told my story, this would be a part of it. Adversity in its many forms. Mental setbacks, financial ones, physical ones, and emotional ones.

  “You’re going to stay here with Papa during USMTO?”

  “Hah, beta,” she replied.

  I nodded once. “Good. We can’t both be away. That’s important.”

  “You’re so understanding, my sweet girl, always have been. I’m leaving now. I’ll be home in thirty minutes, enough time to change and go to work. Don’t delay in your appointments, training, and studies,” she said firmly.

  “Yes, Mama. Your lunch and dinner will be in the fridge. The house is cleaned.”

  “You’re much too good. Didn’t know you were thirty already, taking care of a house and your mother at the same time.”

  I smiled. “Love you, Mama.”

  “Love you, too, beta. Now get going!”

  “Hah,” I grunted, mimicking her.

  There was nothing better to keep the darkness away than filling my days with determination and hard work, blinders to block out distraction and rotting thoughts.

  The next five days blended into one another. I trained more than ever, studied, took care of the house and Mama, making sure she had everything she needed without looking twice. Lily and I texted throughout the day and evening when we couldn’t chat. Amit checked in on me and asked about Papa.

  Same, I texted back.

  Since you were busy, Lily filled me in on the sponsorships. We went out and got more. I know some guys.

  I laughed. What?

  Yeah. Turns out I have a good sales pitch. Throw in the Olympics and everyone wants a piece.

  I grinned hard. That was my sales pitch. My heart grew bigger with an explosion of excitement and hope when he replied.

  Does another two grand help?

  I squeezed my eyes tight and chanted to myself: Don’t cry. Don’t . . . like this dude even more than is logically possible.

  I shuddered out a breath and, with trembling fingers, managed to text back emojis only. Prayer hands. Cheesy smiley faces. And even . . . dare to do it . . . a smiley face with heart eyes.

  Amit and Lily kept it up, dragging in sponsors to inch closer and closer to the final tally while I went to all the games and events where the school held fundraisers for me to get to USMTO. Anxiety was no joke. I was so close, and still so far. I didn’t want to vent to Lily every time, and Mama had a lot going on. I needed to talk to Amit, but he gradually stopped returning texts and phone calls. Guessed he was busy too.

  But I had to march on. This was crunch time.

  We sold concessions and face painting and some girls did a henna booth. Even I’d gotten into it and had henna done on both hands. We had raffle tickets with big ole prizes that had been donated by the school. At the end of each event, the girls gave me the money. I counted and recounted and gave every dollar to Mama.

  Last night’s soccer game was the last fundraiser. Most of the money had come from the prom date auction . . . had to love hotties for sale. The rest came from bake sales, movie drives, and straight-up donations. But Kimmy had taken the announcer’s microphone after her winning score and announced it was the last night for a formal donation.

  “Bam,” Kimmy said as she stood from the donation table and handed me the final two hundred dollars from the night.

  I did the math in my head. Of course, I knew how much I needed. I needed a hundred more dollars to cover USMTO, including chiropractor appointments. But I didn’t want to get too excited until I redid the numbers. I’d needed four grand, which was almost twice as much as we’d initially expected.

  “We got it,” I said, shocked. “We did it. We made all the money I need!” With Amit’s unexpected two grand thrown in, we’d actually toppled way over. We had a nice cushion for surprise expenses.

  Kimmy screamed and gave me a big ole hug. Once the girls around us caught on, everyone started cheering. It was bigger than any game. It was definitely a moment. A moment of pride and joy and relief and support and teamwork and utter emotional chaos. Girls. We could do anything we put our minds to.

  I was going to USMTO.

  Lily and Amit had tirelessly worked the city for sponsors.

  My girls had done the impossible for me.

  This school had my back.

  I had an honest chance of winning the Open.

  And I was now on my way to USMTO, on my way to a prize to help pay off Papa’s debts, and on my way to the Olympics because there was no stopping. There was no time to cry from gratitude or emotion. I had to work. I had to keep hustling. I had to keep the positive vibes going for the whole family.

  I’d bounced into the hospital room and announced to my parents that we’d surpassed the goal. I gave Mama the rest of the money and hugged her so tight. “Thank you, Mama.”

  “Oh, beta. You did this. I just wish we could’ve helped more.”

  “Are you kidding me?” I asked and pulled back. “No parent has ever done more than you guys.”

  Before her eyes started to glisten, which would make mine fill up, I sat beside Papa and went into detail, even though he was sleepy from his meds. He managed to smile and pat my head.

  I dutifully visited Papa every evening after training and told him about my day. I visited him every morning before school, or before hitting the gym, to gab about his favorite shows.

  One thing that hadn’t crossed my path of a blurry, fast-paced schedule as much as I’d liked was Amit. There were times when I couldn’t sleep and I wanted to hear his voice or get his silly proverbs or cat videos. But he stopped responding. His calls gradually stopped, and his texts dwindled. Maybe he didn’t want to crowd me, or figured I’d let him know if anything changed. I tried not to think about him, seeing that we’d already had the whole no-time-for-a-boyfriend-right-now talk. It wasn’t until lunch on Tuesday that I’d realized he hadn’t been around. No phone calls, no texts, no emails, no late-night drop-ins. He wasn’t at lunch for our study session, but he was in class.

  I walked over to Amit’s seat in comp-sci. “Hi.”

  “Hey,” he said, standing to hug me and asking close to my ear, “Your parents all right?”

  “Sure,” I replied. As fine as they could be. I’d been waiting all this time to tell him about the fundraising goal being met. I could’ve texted, but I wanted to tell him in person and give him a big hug for being a
part of this. Now should’ve been the time, seeing that we were mid-hug. But the embrace was a little off and abrupt. He was quick to pull away.

  “I have some food to bring over.”

  “That’s nice. From your mom?” I smiled.

  He didn’t smile back. “Yeah.”

  “Does she know?”

  “No.”

  “But she’s making food for us?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m confused. Does she know it’s for me specifically?” I asked pointedly.

  He glanced down at my scuffed sneakers and I hoped he couldn’t see the small holes on the side. I needed to go to the thrift store to replace them soon.

  “Does your mom know you stayed over?” I muttered so no one overheard.

  “Not exactly,” he replied distantly.

  “Um. Okay. Well, I wanted to tell you in person since you stopped texting me. I got the money for the Open, more than I needed actually. Thanks for helping.”

  He smiled. Finally. “That’s great, Kareena.”

  Um, was that all? No super hug? No blinding billion-dollar smile? No witty anecdote about how he knew I’d make it all along? What the crap was wrong with him?

  Well, fine. I’d needed someone to talk to, about all this stuff building up and the anxiety that came with it. I needed someone to lean on about Papa because I didn’t want to burden Mama or Lily every time.

  But, whatever.

  The bell rang and cut off the conversation. Whatever distracted him or had him down would have to wait. Not that I meant to be insensitive, but I had too much on my toppling plate to take on more.

  Whatever was going on could hopefully wait to be dealt with after USMTO when I had one less thing on my shoulders. As the saying went: Boy, I got ninety-nine problems, and this ain’t one of them.

  Twenty-Three

  Restrooms grossed me out. Thanks to biology and the project on bacteria cultures in petri dishes (because guess who did theirs on the germs in the girls’ restroom?), the “ick” factor went through the roof. Since that fateful project, I always washed my hands before and after, turning the faucet on and off with a paper towel. My butt cheeks never hit the seat and preferred squats over sitting. But today, I had to pee before heading to my chiropractor appointment. The entire idea felt like an epic mistake in the making.