The Knockout

by Sajni Patel

  “Are you saying that in the moment or do you mean it?”

  “Both.”

  Bam! A bang at the door startled us both and I jumped.

  “Kareena!” Lily yelled on the other side. “We’re leaving!”

  “We better leave too,” I said, my voice trembling.

  “Yeah . . .” Amit draped my dupatta over my left shoulder so that it hung down to my knee, partially covering my midsection.

  I turned to the door, but Amit wrapped his arm around my shoulders so that my back hit his chest. He muttered in my ear, “Wait, tell me what you just said. Just in case I didn’t hear you right the first time.”

  I turned my head and scrunched my shoulder up to keep our mouths from locking and missing prom altogether. “I love you, Amit Patel.”

  He grinned, and we finally went on our way. No matter the coolness outside, or the chill of the car AC or the ballroom, I couldn’t stop shivering.

  “Are you cold? Sucky thing about a sherwani is that it doesn’t have a jacket,” Amit said as we walked through the bustling foyer where the prom committee greeted everyone with a sparkly gift bag.

  “There’s Vinni. Do you want to say hi?” I asked.

  “Yeah. Want to come?”

  “Be right over,” I said, but watched Saanvi saunter out of the shadows behind Amit and toward me. Amit hadn’t seen her when he walked off.

  She grimaced the instant she stopped in front of me, glancing over my outfit with disgust.

  “Are you that mad that I’m here with Amit? You don’t even like him like that.”

  “I’m just in awe that you think you could pull off a chaniya choli.” She sneered, as if the two of us couldn’t wear similar outfits. But the truth was, there were at least four other Indian girls here rocking this style. I was athletic, Saanvi trim and elegant, Rayna tall and curvaceous, Vicki plump and stunning, Samsha short and dazzling, but we were all gorgeous in our own way.

  “What’s your problem?”

  “You. What is all this?” She gestured to my midriff. “That’s disgusting.”

  “What? Being healthy and muscular?”

  “You look like a man. It’s gross.”

  “It’s called being active and working out. Muscles happen to be a nice by-product.”

  “You should cover up before you embarrass—”

  “Oh. My. Gawd. Do you even hear yourself?”

  She glared at me, stunned speechless.

  “How can you stand the sound of your own voice? It’s so annoying.”

  She huffed and opened her mouth to snap back, but I kept on, “How do your parents not rip their ears off? Your mouth is constantly running with garbage and that’s all people see when you come their way. This giant rubbish truck spewing toxicity at everyone it passes in hopes of spreading your negativity. But don’t you ever get tired? Tired of running that trash mouth? Tired of the bad junk dragging you down? Or is that why you gotta spread it around? To make people as miserable as you?”

  She opened her mouth again, fury in her eyes, but I snapped my fingers shut in her face. “I’m not done. If you’re unhappy, wallow in your misery cuz that’s your problem. As for me? I’m living my best life and not thinking twice about you.”

  Her eyes flickered to something behind me, but I didn’t even care. I was on a motha-freaking roll. “So go on now. I’ve got no craps left to give. Take your ugly cynicism far away from me and rot in it. Because you can try as hard as you want to infect me with your pessimism, but guess what? I’m uninfected. I’m even . . . uninfectable. Is that a word?”

  “It is now,” Amit said from behind me.

  “Immune,” Saanvi corrected, although her voice was half the force it had been.

  “Nah. I like my word better. It makes me happy. Bye misery, I don’t want your company.” Then I pivoted on my heels, hooked arms with my pista-clad date, and strode off.

  “How’s Vinni? Enjoying himself?” I asked casually.

  “Um, yep. What was that all about?”

  “Didn’t hear all of that?”

  “Some of the last couple of sentences, but it’s loud in here. Was she bugging you?”

  “No need to let her ruin our evening. I took care of it.”

  The moment Kimmy and Tanya saw us from across the room, they swept across the dance floor and squealed. “Look at your Indian hotness!” Kimmy said.

  “And those abs, girlfriend!” Tanya added, although her dress had three slits cut sideways across her stomach and waist that displayed her four-pack.

  One by one, all the female athletes from the social group approached, surrounding us. It didn’t take long before I noticed a common theme in all of our dresses. No matter if we wore a chaniya choli, a Cinderella gown, or a sleek cocktail dress, we all showed muscle. Some showed off defined abs, others cut biceps and triceps, sculpted shoulders, and toned thighs. And some athletes weren’t muscular or trim, and they were beautiful too.

  I grinned. “Beauty and power, ladies. Y’all looking mighty good!”

  “Feeling strong whether on the field or in a dress,” Tanya concurred.

  “And looking like hotness whether kicking butt or getting our dance on,” Sheree added.

  Oh, lord. It just now hit me. Prom equated to dancing. And I did not dance.

  Amit held out a hand and I shook my head.

  “Not one dance?” He pouted.

  “I don’t move that way.”

  “It’s a slow dance.” He took my hands and led me to the middle of the dance floor as our friends hollered. That just made dancing worse.

  His hands settled on my waist, burning right through my skin. “Move with me. You don’t have to sway or have any rhythm.” He laughed.

  I glanced at our feet, but of course mine were hidden beneath the ball-gown-like skirt. “Am I doing it right?”

  He spun me once and reined me back in, our chests crushed against each other as I gasped.

  “Looking pretty right to me.”

  Epilogue

  Papa stayed in remission over the next month with no signs of relapse. The foundation had, in fact, erased all his medical debt! Mama had bawled so hard that night after prom when she came home and told me the news. I, of course, ugly cried with her. Every day since felt like a breeze, like a time long ago, before hospital visits.

  Graduation rounded the corner. In two weeks, Amit would give his speech as Sir Valedictorian. And, although I hadn’t heard anything from the federation, I wasn’t sorely disappointed. Things were just fine, and I could live with an Open win and a father back on track, not to mention a seriously adorable boyfriend. Oh, lord. I had a boyfriend! Eek! And my parents sanctioned it? What!

  Today, there were no trips to the doctors or training or double shifts for Mama or work for Amit. Today, we finally had that family dinner. Guess his parents weren’t toting the now-that-she-has-prestige-to-back-her-unorthodox-sport-she-must-be-acceptable theory. They seemed interested in getting to know us again, and Mama had already told them if they ever did what they did to me again, they’d get it from her.

  Mama didn’t play.

  Amit’s parents totally took that in stride and invited us to join the upcoming summer festivities.

  While the parental units were in the kitchen catching up over glasses of sweet sun-iced tea, Amit, Lily, and I sat on the floor of the living room trying to decide which movie to watch.

  My cell beeped with a text from Coach.

  What are you up to, kiddo?

  Just having dinner with parents and friends at the house. Why? What’s up?

  He didn’t reply and I didn’t think much of it. He checked in on me every couple of days. I’d taken a break since winning the title, and by break, I meant I only went to the gym every other day, no fighting, just weight machines.

  The doorbell rang a s
hort while later, just as we decided to go with a superhero movie, featuring, you guessed it, Black Widow.

  “Probably Rayna!” I jumped to my feet, elated to have her over after so very long. My parents had missed her too.

  I swung back the door to face Coach instead. He grinned in a super dopey way and held a folded letter in his hands.

  “Coach! Come in. What are you doing here?” But my brain already knew the answer. He only ever showed up with a letter or email in hand for something big.

  He walked into the foyer as Amit and Lily stood and the parents emerged from the adjacent room. We all knew what this was about, but that didn’t make me any less anxious.

  He handed me the letter. “Don’t you check your mail or emails?”

  “Not in the past three hours.” I’d all but given up.

  I opened the letter with shaking hands and silently read. Everyone hushed as they approached the foyer. My hearing went blank except for a slight ring of blood rushing faster and harder in my ears. My blood rampaged through my body and the veins in my throat pulsated as if they wished to be their own sentient entities.

  “Well? What does it say?” Mama asked, drying her hands with a towel.

  With trembling lips, I replied, “The federation invited me to try out for the US World Championships Team, and . . . and . . . the Olympics approved Muay Thai to be included in the next Summer Olympics. They’re inviting me to try out for both!”

  The last words hadn’t even flown out of my mouth when everyone rushed me with hugs and ear-pounding cheers.

  Coach cackled and slapped my shoulder. At least this time it didn’t hurt.

  “Looks like we gotta start training again! Didn’t ya miss it, yeah?”

  In all truth, yeah, I’d missed it. But there was nothing on this giant green ball that would tear me away from the “art of eight limbs.” Those other countries I was about to fight? They didn’t stand a chance.

  To all the Upper-Cuts, Roundhouse Kicks, and Flying Knees . . . Kareena Thakkar was coming for y’all. And she would wear pink . . . the most badass color in all of Muay Thai.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Publishing a book requires a lot more than writing all the words. The Knockout wouldn’t have gotten this far without my effervescent agent, Katelyn Detweiler, who plucked this book out of the slush pile and loved it as much as I do. Thank you for your guidance and dedication and helping Kareena find a good home. Your positivity and humor are always just what I need.

  I’d like to thank the entire team at Flux for all the hard work that goes on behind the scenes. Many thanks to my editor, Kelsy Thompson, and Mari Kesselring for seeing the value and story in The Knockout, for supporting Kareena and Amit, and not shoving this book into a corner as “just another sports story” or “just another Indian book.” I greatly appreciate all of your hard work, dedication, and excitement.

  Personal support is always important in anything we set out to do, and not everyone has a team of advocates behind them, which is why I treasure my small but mighty circle of authors (who never gave up on me when I almost gave up on myself), friends (who still get excited when I bombard them with shiny new ideas), and family (who doesn’t harass me (as much) on choosing my creative side). I’m grateful for my husband who stands by my side as I journey through writing and publishing. If you didn’t know, I have the best brother in the world. Seriously. He has unconditional love and respect even for something that others in the community may not quite understand. My younger cousins are now readers because they can see themselves in my characters, and that is something that I will always treasure. Thanks for cheering me on and devouring all of my stories and demanding more.

  Right now, I’m at a writing retreat (in a very creepy Victor-ian mansion) with several amazing writers who deserve a shout out. Marissa Meyer, Lish McBride, and Rori Shay have been there since the beginning. Many thanks to Alexa Donne, Kendare Blake, Alyssa Colman, and Jessica Brody for all of your shared wisdom and creative energy.

  I write stories because they come to me at all hours, at all times. I love words and creating, and there is a deep satisfaction that comes with completing a manuscript where everything fits seamlessly together. I write for myself, but as soon as the story comes together, I want to share that story with others. And now I can. Being able to share Kareena’s story, taken from my own experiences, is a very personal thing. This is a proud moment where I can look back at how far I’ve come; all the trials and tribulations that were overcome in achieving the precious goal of being able to share my story with others. I hope you have enjoyed Kareena’s journey as much as I have enjoyed journeying with her.