The Knockout

by Sajni Patel

  “Now what?”

  “I’m going to punch her in her face.”

  He chuckled. “No, you’re not. You’re not losing your temper over her. You never have, right? Why start now? Why give that to her?”

  “If you can’t stand her, then how does she know all this stuff about us?”

  “If she knows anything about my personal life, it’s because she talks to my mom during dance practice. And our moms are best friends, so she probably eavesdrops on their conversations. And I’m so, so sorry that my mom even talks about you, especially in a way that isn’t true. I’ll talk to both of them about that,” he gritted past clenched teeth.

  “Don’t bother.”

  “Don’t say that.” His voice rose. “They shouldn’t be talking about you. Saanvi shouldn’t be twisting stuff to get to you, and my mom shouldn’t be talking about anyone behind their backs. It’s a matter of principal, but also because it enrages me that anyone is doing this to you. My mom of all people!”

  “Don’t get into it with your parents over me. It’ll make her like me less and I don’t want to be the rift in your perfect relationship.”

  “Why do you think I’m so perfect?”

  “Because you are. Model student. Model son. Model Indian.”

  “I’m not. And you’re talking as if you’re anything less. You’re not. I’m no better than you. You’re no worse than I am. We’re both perfectly fine. And we can be perfectly fine together.”

  I twisted around, forcing him to step back. I totally understood his viewpoint. I even appreciated parts of it, of wanting to spare my feelings and not distract me or make me feel weird or awkward hanging with him knowing his parents disapproved.

  But then, there was still the fact that he lied. To. My. Face.

  “You’re still mad,” he stated.

  “Amit. I needed you. All this time, you kept trying to get me to open up to you, to let you in. You kept saying that you’d be here for anything I needed. I don’t just talk to people that easily about my problems. You got me to lean on you, but you weren’t there.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I have an appointment.”

  He stuffed his hands into his pockets and watched as I got into my car and drove off. And every half hour for the rest of the evening, he texted. I bit my lip and glanced over his messages. Not all of me was mad, to be honest. And more than ever, I really missed him. I didn’t want to lose him or let this one act ruin everything between us. Amit Patel was not perfect. Not by far.

  But a girl couldn’t just forgive and forget that easily. He had to work for it, to show that he wouldn’t intentionally hurt me or lie to me again. There was a reason why I was friendly with everyone. It was best for my soul. And there was a reason why I only had a few intimate friends. I hated being lied to, being hurt.

  All of his messages went unanswered. I did not have time for this.

  Twenty-Four

  Coach hit hard. Not because he was a man or twice my age, but because he’d been doing this forever. Coach went all in. His hit to my jaw screamed, a pain so rattling that it shook the skin from my bones. But did he let up or back down or ask if I was okay?

  Heck no.

  He came down with an elbow followed by a knee. My entire body raged war with my brain, telling me to get out of there. But my brain said we got this, even though my thoughts weaved in and out. Images blurred and clarified.

  It was the moment. The second when all the nerves and pain and oh crap instances tore themselves apart in the chaos of a fight and realigned.

  One of Papa’s doctors said something similar that surgeons did to their patients when patching them up. They took all the swollen, cut, frayed edges of tissue and sewed them back together nearly seamlessly. He called it reapproximating.

  That’s what this moment felt like. All the shredded puzzle pieces of my life, from Papa’s illness to Mama’s financial woes to Amit’s stupid lying face to USMTO to the pain of the here and now as Coach whipped my butt . . . it all exploded.

  Then the pieces all came together. Lucid coherence. Anything could be overcome with strategy and determination.

  When the proverbial dust of my life settled, my muscles struck faster than my thoughts. I ducked and weaved and punched and spun around Coach to hit him from the shoulder.

  Coach was a big man. Like Jason Momoa big. But a precise hit could take down the best.

  When practice ended at seven, my body still aching, I drove home and showered.

  The house was eerily quiet when one knew they were totally alone. My phone beeped off and on from the usual suspects plus Rayna.

  Are you all right? Did you find out about Amit? Rayna asked.

  I rolled my eyes. The last thing I wanted was to talk about him. I can’t deal with that right now.

  Can you tell me details about the Open?

  Like . . .?

  Date, place, time?

  Why?

  I want to be there.

  I sat up and smiled. Really?

  Of course. It’s one of the coolest things about you. I really missed out. Wish I’d been there to celebrate with you when you got the news. I’d have a cupcake.

  I grinned. Called it!

  I told her the details but added, Don’t go all that way for me.

  I have to go. I want to go.

  All the warm fuzzies filled my soul. Could Rayna and I actually get our friendship back together? Could we be like old times? Better without Saanvi? I replied, I’d get distracted, though . . .

  What if I hide?

  I shook my head and ended the convo there, responding to texts from Lily.

  So, prom and Jared huh? I asked.

  Yes! Squeal! Want to double with Amit?

  I ended that convo real quick. I had never wanted to go to a school dance, much less prom. I checked social instead to see what was going on with everyone else. There was major talk about prom, as the committee was mainly made up of athletes, but there were some threads about USMTO because people actually wanted to go.

  But getting there and staying there wasn’t cheap, especially since they wanted to rent a party bus with driver.

  Although a Par-tay Bus sounds way cool! I typed, earning a bunch of likes, hearts, and agreeing comments.

  Amit had texted at least a dozen times. Every time I saw his name, my eyes glazed right over the rest of his words on my home screen. I didn’t even bother opening his messages. He was bringing a lot more drama and mess than I cared to handle today.

  After a snack and making lunches and dinners for the week for me and Mama, I headed to the hospital to see Papa. He was so much better. He didn’t have this abnormal bowing-over pain in his stomach anymore. He had been weaned off his pain meds, moved to a regular room, and took several walks around the floor every day.

  He had gone septic again but doing that twenty-four-hour blood culture the second he was in a bed caught it right off the bat. Broad antibiotics and flushing his system out with a dozen IV bags had helped. He’d had a weird UTI and a kidney infection, but no renal failure.

  I really hoped to hear good news today, that Papa could go home because everything was under control. When I turned the corner out of the elevator, I saw Amit’s uncle. I looked around for Amit because of course he would be here right after we had a fight. But he wasn’t.

  Amit’s uncle walked into Papa’s room, and I followed, letting myself in. My parents were all smiles. They apparently knew who this guy was. He glanced back at me when my parents waved me in. I sat beside Mama on the bench. She placed a hand on my knee and beamed. “This is my daughter, Kareena.”

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Nice to finally meet you, Kareena. I’ve heard exemplary things about you,” he said, his voice warm, and a smile on his face. He’d looked all business the other day.

 
“Cool,” was all I managed to say. I just wanted to know why he was here.

  But Mama went on, “She’s getting ready to go to the Open in a few short days. Maybe the Olympics after that.”

  The man nodded like he was extremely impressed. “I’ve heard. But wow, the impact doesn’t lessen. That is an amazing feat.”

  “Thank you,” I said with a big ole grin. But still. Why was he here talking to my parents? And had been, apparently, chatting with them before?

  He looked down at his tablet and said, “Ah. So, the reason I’m here again so soon after our last visit. Thank you for filling out the packet we gave you last week. Thank you, again, for letting me interview you.”

  “For what?” I asked. I couldn’t help but wonder if Amit had told his uncle about my family and getting all up in our business when he was supposed to keep this to himself. If he’d done that, then our little fight was about to explode.

  “Oh! I haven’t had time to tell you,” Mama said. “But you’re here and it’s good to know we might have another option. After you helped me fill out all that paperwork for the hospital to try to write off some of Papa’s bills, Ankit Uncle—” she nodded toward the man “—gave us a packet.”

  Ah. The packet from the day Amit was here.

  “It was a survey type thing.”

  Yeah, because Amit and Uncle worked for some medical programming company.

  “But it also put us on a list for a foundation.”

  “Huh?” I asked, perplexed.

  The uncle explained, “My company works with improving healthcare through various means, one of which is a foundation that helps deserving and underfunded families. The survey portion is for the improvement side. But when I came across your father’s case, I had to personally interview him to see if he qualified.”

  “Does he?”

  “He most certainly does. From a financial standpoint. I interview because I have to make the difficult decision of who may deserve it most at the moment. We only have so much.”

  “Do you interview everyone personally?”

  “At the higher stages, I do. But I took a personal interest here.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, to be honest. I have an assistant who sorts through cases for me. Sometimes that requires more attention than I’m able to thoroughly give.”

  I pushed out a harsh breath through my nostrils. Amit. I knew it. He was all up in my dad’s personal business!

  “My assistant pulls up the most pressing cases for me to follow through with. Normally, he compiles a spreadsheet with detailed information. This time . . . I don’t know. He was very passionate about your case, Mr. Thakkar.”

  I blinked. Passionate?

  “He truly cares for all patients, but your case spoke to him on a deeper level. And I’m glad. It means he has a big heart and it means he takes his job seriously. With that, I wanted to stop by and let you know that you’ve been moved to the top of the list.”

  Mama clasped her hands to her mouth while Papa gave a cautious nod.

  “Now, it doesn’t guarantee anything. The board makes the final decision.”

  It was indeed something. Something that could help, but also something that might not happen. It didn’t mean we’d stop submitting paperwork for a hospital write-off or payment plan.

  My parents thanked him profusely when he left, and chattered on about what tests they were waiting for and which meds Papa had to get to join his ever-growing pack at home.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said and went to the hallway, but the uncle was gone. I went to the nurses’ station and spoke to someone who had been working regularly with Papa.

  “Hi, Cynthia,” I said.

  “Oh, hi, Kareena. Anything I can help with?”

  “Actually, I was wondering about this whole foundation deal. A man was just talking to my parents about it.”

  “Oh, that’s great news! Definitely a good sign. He should’ve explained it to you.”

  “I just caught the end of it. How do they pick the, I dunno what they’re called, winners?”

  “They’re called recipients. He and his assistant go through cases by the numbers, the finances. If there are any patients with larger debts, they ask the family to read some material and sign a release form for the company to be able to go through their situation. The assistant does most of the sorting. He’s always here.”

  “Amit?”

  “Yes. That’s him. Do you know each other?”

  “Turns out, we go to the same school.”

  “What a small world! Well, Amit has been doing this for a couple of years. He jokes that he just crunches numbers, but I heard the CEO of the foundation company telling the doctors how his assistant was so intense about your father’s case that he kept insisting the CEO take a better look. Usually he’s not that vocal. I’m glad something caught his eye because that was a good call. He fought very hard for your dad, made the CEO himself interview your dad right away.”

  “Oh. Wow.” There were no words. That was the absolute truth: there were no words to describe Amit Patel.

  He had never mentioned his company funding a foundation, much less that he was part of the process. I couldn’t believe Amit had done that. He hadn’t been prying into our business at all. He was just doing his job. And apparently, very passionately advocating for my dad.

  I clenched and unclenched my fists on the way back to Papa’s room. We couldn’t hold our breaths, despite how excited Mama was over Papa’s new candidate position. We knew a little too well how badly false hope hurt. At the same time, it could be something really huge. And it was all thanks to Amit.

  Amit who had never said a word.

  Amit who had fought for my dad from behind the scenes and never used it for his advantage. Even when we just had our first fight, he didn’t bring it up to win.

  All I knew was that he gave my dad a fighting chance. Catching up on these bills didn’t just mean being medical-bill debt free. It meant that if Papa needed invasive treatments, then we could go for them without the collections company coming after us. It meant we could breathe. It meant a whole lot of possibly good stuff.

  It meant Amit hadn’t truly ghosted me. He may not have been there for me to talk to, but he had been busy doing a whole lot more. He did something no one else could have. Maybe something no one else would have.

  I exhaled through shuddering lips while I watched my parents laugh for the first time in days. The paperwork for a hospital write-off stayed in a pile on the counter behind the bench. We were, had always been, a proactive family. We never relied on others to help us, much less save us. I was ready to go all Breaking Bad so my father could get the treatment he needed.

  Then came along Amit Patel.

  He’d compared me, of all people, to a Marvel character. He knew that I did not need saving.

  But I knew a superhero when I saw one.

  Twenty-Five

  I’d finished stupid calculus, wondering if Mr. Strothers would give me a free pass for making history at school, and was walking to bed when someone rang the doorbell.

  It was ten at night and every hair on my neck stood up. A burglar or attacker wouldn’t give fair notice, but that didn’t mean I was about to waltz to the front door and naively open it. I skimmed through my missed texts, all from Amit, starting with the most recent.

  You still awake? I’m outside.

  I sighed. Yeah. I was still awake and happy that he dropped by, even though he wasn’t supposed to. I needed to know why he did what he did. I needed to hear it from him.

  I dragged the baseball bat from the hallway closet behind me and checked the front porch through the peephole. The motion-activated sensors illuminated Amit in a bright, fluorescent glow.

  I cracked the door open about five inches, my foot secure on the interior side of the door so he
couldn’t push through, my grip firm on the handle of the bat. I didn’t honestly think I needed such precautions, but a girl couldn’t be safe enough. Especially when she had been annoyed at a certain boy’s behavior.

  “What?” I asked sharply.

  “I’ve been texting you. You haven’t responded.”

  “Hmm. Somehow I know that feeling.”

  He blew out a breath. “I’m a prick. I get it.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I have to explain myself.”

  “You already did.”

  “You’re still mad at me.”

  “I didn’t expect those things from you. The narrow-minded parents, the drama from my arch nemesis who happens to be BFFs with your momma. But the worst part is—”

  “Is the lying.”

  I clamped my mouth. Bingo.

  “But I couldn’t stand the idea of seeing your face if I told you the truth, of knowing how much that would hurt, of the risk of losing you just because of them. And on top of that, I was consumed by this infuriating project, and my parents. Ugh. Always with the pressure and hating how they reacted to you. I can’t talk to them about anything outside of being picture perfect. And I realized the more time I spend with you, the less I put into school and work.”

  “Oh, so now I’m the distraction?”

  “That’s my fault, getting distracted, but there’s no way I can be around you and concentrate on anything else. I can’t handle you.”

  “So you’re using the fact that you can’t handle a girl as an excuse to walk away when she needed you? No. Never mind. I don’t need you.”

  “You’re right. You don’t need me. But that doesn’t mean I should’ve ghosted you with the truth. There should’ve been a balance. Being there for you without distracting you, being there for you without getting distracted. But things got intense and I didn’t know how to act.”

  We paused and just looked at each other. I couldn’t even be mad, really, but I waited for him to ’fess up.

  Instead, he said, “I can’t stand the idea of being away from you, of having walked off when you needed me, of having you pissed at me. I can’t stand the idea of not having you near me, Kareena. I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I wasn’t there most of all. I won’t ever do that again.”