Fight Like a Girl - Sheena Kamal Page 0,25

to do with me. It wasn’t my fault. Sparring went past closing time and Ricky was the one closing so he didn’t bother kicking us out the way that Kru would have.

When I get to the house, I try to be quiet. Ravi comes into the kitchen while I mix a protein shake. He knocks the tub out of my hand. A puff of vanilla-scented powder comes flying up at us.

“We have rules here now,” he says, as the container rolls away and into the wall. “This door locks at nine o’clock. No more gallivanting around till all hours of the night, you hear? That’s not what proper young ladies do.”

I do hear, but I kinda zone him out because who ever told him I was a proper young lady, anyway? My attention is focused on Ma. She’s standing behind him, a stricken look on her face. This is new, so very fresh that we’re both reeling from it. She has never, not once, allowed my father to speak to me like this because it’s always been understood that I’m hers, and hers alone. To love, to scold, to whatever.

But she stands silent behind Ravi and lets him.

She lets him.

fifteen

Proper young lady, my backside. I’ll show him. I start training so hard that, before I know it, I’ve got an injury of my own to deal with. I sprain my right ankle. It hurts like a bitch, but just a little whiny one. I’ve sprained this ankle before, so it’s always a little off. On the floor, I double up on the compression sleeve and am careful to only work my right swing kick on the bag, so that I’m pivoting only on the left leg for now. I make sure the kicks are mid-thigh so that there’s no chance of over-extending and catching a bit of the ankle by mistake.

“What’s wrong with you?” says Jason, as he walks past. Shirtless. He’s been watching me a lot since I got back, out of the corner of his eye. “You look rusty, Lucky.” But I can still beat him one-on-one, so there’s that. Luckier than him, at least.

“Yeah, well, you look soft,” I say.

He grins, passes a hand down his abs. He’s got six of them. I’ve counted. “Soft, huh?”

Amanda smirks because she’s pure muscle. Noor shakes her head at him in mock pity as he grabs his gear and heads off to the men’s locker room. I wonder, again, if he’s got a girlfriend. If he doesn’t, I may have ruined my chance with him with that soft comment.

Do I even want a chance with him?

I never really bother with guys because…okay…I mean…it just never was right or whatever…

But Jason.

It’s not really about his abs, because I have some of my own. So. His are nice but they aren’t the deciding factor. Maybe I like that he’s already in college. Am I into mature men?

Gross.

It could just be Jason. I think about how good he smells.

This time I have the good sense to keep these thoughts to myself. Ricky’s not around to tease me, but you never know. He could be hiding behind the weights or whatever, just waiting for an opportunity to jump out and say something annoying. I honestly don’t know what Amanda sees in him.

When Jason’s gone, we chat for a bit and then we spar.

It’s beautiful. So beautiful. Nothing like it in the world. We don’t even care that the gym smells like ass today, because we’re all a bit ripe after we’ve been at it for so long. I don’t mind the smell. It may be rank with ass, but it’s our ass. There’s a fresh bruise on my thigh, shining deep purple, aching all the way down to the bone. I pour some bright orange Thai liniment on it and rub the heel of my hand over it until the pain evens out to a steady throb. With my team around me, stretching and slap-sparring with their gear off, I feel pure, whole.

I never want this moment to end.

I get back home just before nine so no one can complain. Then I wait till they’re asleep (which is how I think of Ma and Ravi now: them) and rummage through the medicine cabinet. There’s usually a bottle of Advil somewhere. I search the whole bathroom but all I see is four little vials stashed under the sink in a pouch that wasn’t there before. Glass vials with a white label that says fentanyl citrate,