The Knockout

by Sajni Patel

He held it with respect. “Challenge accepted. Be prepared for the evening of your life.”

  “I have no doubts.” I glanced at his friends, who tried to look away, but not in time. “Are we going solo or in a group? Are your friends going?”

  “Maybe Vinni.”

  Vinni offered a wave that turned into a thumbs-up.

  “What are you thinking?” Amit asked me.

  “Rayna wants to group with her date, Janak. Lily won the auction bid for a date with Jared. Turns out, both couples have been crushing on each other all semester and neither ever said a word.”

  “Sounds like a romantic comedy waiting to be written.”

  “Maybe we can go together or share the same table?”

  He thought about it for a second before admitting, “Sounds like fun. But honestly, I’d love to not share you. At least some alone time in the car ride over and back.”

  “It’s a date.”

  He raised a sharp brow. “Is this our first official date?”

  “Hmm. I guess so. Sanctioned by at least one half of the parental units.”

  “The other half will come around. Well, better get cracking on finding a matching sherwani. Pista . . .” He shook his head.

  Twenty-Eight

  USMTO had finally arrived. The principal, teachers, and Kimmy and friends had sent me off with positive vibes, hugs, and high fives after school yesterday. My phone alarm went off at 4:30 a.m., but I was already wide awake, ready to go, and literally shaking in my kicks.

  I paced the foyer and texted Lily, who managed to wake up this early just for me.

  Ugh! Wish I could come! My parents still won’t let up on the car thing. AZ is too far for me to drive to or fly to, blah, blah blah.

  It’s fine, girl! You’re there in spirit. I’d told her a dozen times not to worry about being there. Besides, it would make me nervous.

  Be your best and no matter what happens, we’re all SO proud of you! XOXO!!

  I sent half a dozen heart and kissy emojis in response as Mama changed in between jobs.

  Amit had also texted. I miss you already.

  I gushed and replied to him. That’s so corny.

  Wish I could be there.

  Parents still got you under lockdown?

  Yeah. Bout to break out.

  I laughed out loud, imagining him literally busting through his window. Don’t. Be chill. It’s fine, anyway. Lily and my parents can’t go. No one is going all the way to AZ for this.

  And that sucks. We should ALL be there.

  Circumstantial, dude.

  Is dude your new love word for me? Like babe?

  LOL. Sure.

  I can’t stand not being there for this.

  My brain tingled with all the feels. Shut up. It’s fine. I’d be more nervous anyway.

  So if I showed up, all Bonnie and Clyde having rebelled against the parents, it would throw you off?

  Don’t tell me you’re plotting this already?

  I wouldn’t make it in time to get a room tonight, anyway. Knock ’em out!

  I grinned and texted back with kissy emojis.

  “Ready?” Papa asked, slowly making his way down the hallway.

  “Yeah,” I breathed.

  “Nervous?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  He patted my shoulder. “Don’t be. Let this be like any other fight. Get in their head, wear them down, take advantage of their weaknesses. And don’t even let the thought of failure get to you. There is no failure here. If you lose the first fight in the first round, it’s okay because you fought at USMTO.”

  I hugged him hard. “I wish you and Mama could be there.”

  He rubbed my back. “Live the dream for us, beta. You just fighting there makes us proud.”

  “Thank you, Papa. Are you feeling okay today?”

  He pulled back and nodded. “Oh, yeah. Slowly recovering. And knowing my baby is going to punch someone out makes me even happier.”

  I laughed. “Not something you hear every day. Let me know if you need anything or if anything happens around here, okay? I can come home right away if you need me to.”

  “No. You won’t hear anything from us except cheering. Stay focused.”

  “Okay.”

  Mama walked toward us. “You ready?”

  “Yes. Coach should be here in five minutes.”

  “You remember what I always say, huh?”

  I couldn’t help but cheese. “My Mama said knock you out.”

  We laughed so hard as she hugged me. “My beta is going to knock them all out.”

  A car pulled into the driveway, the headlights shining right into the foyer. That would be Coach. I swung my duffel bag full of equipment over my shoulder and clutched the handle of my luggage with the opposite hand. “And I’m off!”

  -

  The arena was intense on check-in day. It was way bigger than any of my little fights back in Texas, larger than life in fact. The AC blew hard and cold through the vents. Small crowds filled the stadium seating and others grouped together for their respective divisions.

  Coach checked in first to get his badge and checklist all taken care of. Then he walked me to my line. We checked in with ID. I provided all my equipment and clothing for approval on use. People scrutinized every part of me, and fellow competitors turned up their frostiness factors. It was a mental game to psyche me out, but I wasn’t having it. I was a good . . . no . . . a freaking great fighter. I could hold my own and always had. I could throw down and knock down and that wasn’t going to end just because I was fighting national competitors.

  After handing off my doctor-signed blood test results and peeing in a cup for my drug and pregnancy test, I stripped down to my shorts and tank top for a weigh-in. I closed my eyes and prayed to the stars that I stayed within weight limit.

  “One-thirty-three,” the man in front of me announced and documented on his tablet.

  Yes. I’d gained three pounds and stayed as far away from a disqualifying below one-thirty as possible.

  Exhausted from the travel and long lines of check-ins, I couldn’t wait to get to my hotel room. A nice, spacious room with two queen size beds. One had been for my parents in the slightest chance either could come.

  After showering, and full of excitement, I called them and chatted for a few minutes.

  “No questions or conversation about Papa or the foundation,” Mama chided.

  “You win. Talk to you tomorrow after my first fight.”

  I logged into the girls’ athletics social group and announced my safe arrival and having passed all preliminary qualifications.

  Made my weight, my equipment passed, and no pregnancy or blood-borne pathogens. Yay!

  That earned an onslaught of comments and likes.

  Lily, Amit, Kimmy, Tanya, and Rayna offered a few texts of support while I lay in bed and floated onward to sleep.

  -

  Oh, crap. The arena was a billion times more intimidating on day one of the Open when spectators packed the stadium and the rings filled with fearsome competitors. Coach and I came early to check out a few fights in the next age group up: adult females eighteen and older. Talk about fierce! They were what I had to look forward to, which might’ve scared a nonfighter but put the fire in my bones.

  I couldn’t wait to spar with the likes of them, to have my skill pushed to the next level, to actually become like them.

  The first few fighters were good, really good, but nothing that made me want to crawl out of my skin and right on out of here.

  “Those are novice, first-time fighters within their own groups,” Coach said.

  “Like everyone else, right?”

  “You’re exceptional. You’re going to be in the Underdog division, the Open Class. You’ll be fighting fighters above your level.”r />
  “Uh, what?”

  “That’s what Class A is. I thought you were clear on this. It’s how we’ll get you noticed by the federation. You can annihilate your Novice Class easily. But you can kill in the Open Class. Open Class means ten bouts, instead of the Novice three. Three at Novice level won’t do your skill justice or get you noticed.”

  “All right.”

  “You got this.”

  “I do.”

  Partway through the morning, Coach walked me to the stadium floor and to the ring on the left. My red Muay Thai shorts with a blue stripe down the side were shiny and new and grazed my upper thigh. A matching red cotton tank top, courtesy of USMTO, hugged my torso. Coach carried my duffel bag and dropped it by the man in charge who orchestrated the fights and told us where to go and when. His name was Steve.

  Steve introduced the ring doctor, the referee, and the timekeeper. He checked our gear again and had to approve our garments. We all knew the dress code: Muay Thai shorts, USMTO tank tops, hair pulled back with nothing that could hit or fly off, no glasses, no jewelry, nothing more than gear and an armband. We all passed.

  I stood among some of the best female fighters in my age and weight range. They looked extra badass and I wondered if they looked at me the same way. Coach called me the underdog, so maybe they mistook that for being overconfident or underestimated.

  These girls had muscles bigger than mine, determined grills, and came in all shades. Some seemed nice and cheerful, others stoic and hard, but I knew they would all bring their A-game into the ring.

  Steve demanded our attention with a single look. “Listen up. You have read the rules and know the rules, but you will hear them again. This is Class A, Juniors Girls Lightweight Division. You will each have up to ten bouts and points at the end to determine ranking. We have a computerized random selection system to pair everyone in their bouts. No byes this year. The timekeeper will give you a ten-second warning before ringing the gong to start a fight. He will then ring the gong to end the round. You will break and comply. You will fight three one-and-a-half minute rounds with a one-minute rest period in between. You will touch gloves before the fight to show your respect, any time after that is at your own risk.

  “During a down count, the standing competitor must retreat to their corner. After a bout, you must retreat to your corner and immediately remove your gloves. Your gloves were given to you by us, and anyone wearing their own will be disqualified. You are at the command of the referee. You will listen when he dictates stop, box, and break. Failure to do so will deduct points or disqualify you.

  “If any part of your body aside from your feet touch the floor, or if you hang off the ropes or go outside of the ropes or go unconscious, you have to the count of ten to get back in the fight or you will lose. This is considered a knockout and your opponent will gain all ten points and a win, and you will get zero for that bout. If you are downed and reach the eight-second count three times, you are TKO, technical knockout, and will lose all points, giving your opponent the full ten points and a win.

  “At any time, you or your coach may forfeit. The ring doctor is standing by for assistance, and if she deems you unhealthy or too injured or a danger to your opponent, she can end your bout. Any questions?”

  We all shook our heads.

  “Everyone understand and agree?”

  We all verbally complied with a unanimous, “Yes!”

  “All right. First up . . .” Steve looked to the timekeeper, who ran through the computerized random selection.

  My heart pounded and my pulse raged. But I was not the first to fight. That was the worst, to wait, but meanwhile I studied my could-be future opponents to the letter. Dang, they were spectacular.

  “Get out of your head,” Coach muttered beside me.

  I nodded and pushed out the negativity. “I got this.”

  My name came up for the third fight. The system paired me with a muscular redhead who might as well have had a gold grill the way she was mean-mugging me. She knew she had me.

  All right. Pleasantries aside. We supported one another as Muay Thai fighters. We encouraged one another as female athletes. But right now? We were in the zone and the game was on.

  In my corner, Coach double-checked my ankle guards, shin guards, elbow pads, headgear, and the regulation bandages wrapped around my fists while I secured my mouthguard. The henna from the fundraiser was a dull burnt orange on my knuckles. It reminded me of all the girls who were with me in spirit.

  Coach then helped with the gloves USMTO provided, the twelve-ounce ones in accordance to my weight division.

  “Make this count,” Coach said.

  I nodded, dragged a huge breath through flared nostrils, and curled my upper lip over my mouthguard like I imagined rappers often did in their videos to look hardcore. I didn’t know how it made me look in this moment, but it sure made me feel hardcore.

  The timekeeper gave the ten-second warning, during which the referee signaled for us to meet in the center and touch gloves. But this chick had a I’ma-kill-you look swimming in her eyes.

  The gong rang and the referee swiped his hand down between us and yelled, “Box!”

  My pulse raged through every vein and I was sweating before my first kick. I’d always been afraid of getting punched or hit too hard. This girl came at me at full force. She jostled me with the first punch, and I stumbled back a step.

  Good. The first hit was out of the way. My body remembered what it was like to get punched that hard, and now it dove into full-on fight mode.

  She got her points in, but Mama’s voice rang in my head. She told me to knock her out. And I went for it. Hitting, punching, blocking, striking, grunting, and maybe there was a warrior cry or two in there.

  I had her against the ropes and adrenaline surged so hard through me, I almost blacked out. I kept her in place and went at it, her face covered in red, in her own blood, until the referee came over and yelled in my ear, “Break!”

  Dang. I hadn’t even heard the gong. I immediately went to my corner and sat down. Coach wiped my brow and face and squirted water into my mouth that I swished and spat out into a container.

  “You’re doing good, kid, but that was the first round. You’ve got two more. Pace yourself.”

  Pacing was for my little ten-year-old self who was still scared and timid and small. I was bigger now, meaner, harder, determined. I had prizes waiting for me at the end of this thing and this redhead wasn’t going to get anything up on me.

  And so went rounds two and three, the same way. She wasn’t easy to corner, but once locked in, she was easy to control.

  At the end of the day, with some bouts lasting for what seemed like an eternity and others so fast they made my head spin, I sat hunched beside Coach as Steve tallied our scores.

  I was sweaty and gross and smelly and exhausted, and all my muscles screamed. They demanded Icy Hot and a massage, and they demanded it now. Not to mention my stomach growled for food and water, and my brain wanted a bed to pass out in.

  “Kareena Thakkar . . .”

  I sat up straight.

  “Making all ten points in each bout qualifies you for the semifinals.”

  “Yes!” Coach slapped my back and I flinched. “Sorry, sorry!”

  “I made it to the next level of torture?”

  “Congratulations, kiddo. You deserve some rest. We’ve got a big day tomorrow, yeah? They’re going to bring more than just their A-game.”

  “If I can even walk.”

  “You’ll do it. Wake up a little early for a massage and go for a walk to loosen up the muscles. You’ve got a massage appointment in an hour.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes. You need it.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  “I’ll see you for dinner? We can go over strategy and eliminate anything that might have you worried.
”

  “Okay. Dinner at six?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thanks, Coach.”

  He stood with me and gave me a quick, light hug. “Amazing work today. You should be proud.”

  “Thank you. Can’t wait to tell my parents!” I called over my shoulder as I jogged, albeit slowly, up the stadium steps, stopping just short of a small crowd of grinning, familiar faces.

  “Can’t wait to tell your parents what?” Mama’s voice boomed though the tablet in Amit’s hands.

  “What? What are you guys doing here?” I gasped as my brain tried to process the rogue group.

  Amit, Lily, Rayna, Jared, Kimmy, Tanya, and Vinni all beamed down at me as Mama continued to wave on the tablet.

  Lily squealed and bounded down the steps to meet me with a huge hug, followed by, yep, a group hug. We were really doing a group hug in the middle of a Muay Thai tournament with me as the sticky center.

  “What are you guys even doing here?”

  “Did you think we wouldn’t come?” Tanya asked.

  “Uh, yeah. I did think that. You all said you couldn’t make it, and I even said that was good because knowing you were here would make me nervous.”

  “Well, we’re here. Be happy about it.”

  “I am!” I looked to Amit. “What about your parents?”

  “I’m here for you and your parents.” He handed me the tablet. “They got to see your fights. In high def. You were beyond awesome.”

  Mama and Papa blew kisses through the screen and asked, “What were you going to tell us?”

  “I made it to the semifinals. They’re tomorrow!”

  “Congratulations, beta! We knew you would do good!” Papa said.

  “Are you hurt? I saw you take some bad hits,” Mama added.

  “Nah. Can’t hurt stone.”

  “That’s my girl! Can’t wait to see your fights tomorrow. Remember what I always say!”

  I laughed. “My mama said knock you out!”

  “Girl, they were screaming and cheering louder than all of us combined,” Tanya said. “They’re adorable.”

  “I believe it!” I blew them kisses. “I’ll call you later!” I handed the tablet back to Amit, who stepped back and talked to them for another minute before hanging up.