Fight Like a Girl - Sheena Kamal Page 0,52
for you, though! Ryerson! That’s where you want to go, right?”
I nod and pull her fingers away from me. I don’t want her to touch me. It feels so different from when she used to rub coconut oil through my hair. It’s like something about me has changed, or maybe something about her has. Her nails are too sharp now. I can feel them even through my sweatshirt. But we’re still close and I see her eyes on my skin, just below my ear.
She says nothing about the marks on me but I know she’s worried because she cooks day and night, it seems. She cooks like a woman possessed by the spices in her cupboard. You want this? You want that? I’ll make it right now, straight away.
She gives me iron tablets one day. “Your iron is low.”
What is she talking about? How could she know?
After that she tries to get me to eat this gross blood pudding. I gag on it. It tastes fresh and nasty in my mouth. I watch as she eats the portion on her plate, spreads it on a cracker and shoves the whole thing in her mouth. Even Ravi seems disgusted, but he’s even weaker than I am so he can’t say anything.
My lunchtime Desis are horrified by me in a T-shirt, I can tell. “Earth to Trisha,” says Parminder, the loudest one in the group. That’s not saying much, as they’re all pretty loud when they want to be. But Parminder is by far the loudest. I look up from my cards. “How’s your arm?” she asks.
Unconsciously, I rotate my shoulders. The muscles of my biceps press against my shirt. The girls stare at the veins in my arms, the type you usually only see on very hot guitar players. “Good.”
We go back to our cards, but I can feel them sneaking glances. Sharp eyes in their soft faces. Soft bodies, too, moving like sludge through the hallways. They pick up other topics. Everyone got into the university of their choice, except for Rina, who chose to take a year to work and go to beauty school instead. Her dream is to wax the hair off of ladies while they scream (I assume) and we all pretend we don’t pity her, but we do. Even me, covered in bruises.
I run into Mr. Abdi in the hall outside the English department. There’s something haunted in his eyes when he looks at me. “You alright, Trisha?”
“All good, Mr. Abdi.” This is the second time I’ve said this today, that I’m alright. “I was wondering…the soucouyant book…can I borrow it? I can give it back next week.”
He goes into the office and comes back out with the slim novel. “Here, you can keep it. I insist. I love that book, you know. Maybe it will spark something for you the second read—if you make it all the way through. It’s about time we get some more diverse literature into the hands of students, teach them about other kinds of stories. Show them they have a place in the world of storytelling, too.” He rambles on for a bit about this diversity stuff and says things like “representation” and “inclusion.”
Yeah, okay.
I clutch the book to my chest. He can’t stop looking at my neck. I pull up the hood of my sweatshirt and bunch it around my shoulders. “I’m training a lot,” I explain.
“Maybe you should make another appointment with the guidance counsellor. It might be good to talk to someone about…your training.”
He sounds like Jason.
I go to the gym and there’s just something about my focus that’s not showing up anywhere else. If I’m weak, it’s everywhere but here. Which is strange, because everything at the gym reminds me of Jason. Speaking of. He’s been trying to reach me but I still don’t know what to say. I ignore all his calls, his texts. Sometimes I want to talk to him so bad, to just chill in his dorm for a bit, but it’s impossible after what he said about my training.
I’m thinking maybe he quit the gym for a while, but then there’s the fighter’s demo for the upcoming season. I’m wrapping my hands for a little sparring session and feel like someone’s watching me.
Jason.
He looks tired, but alright. He nods to me once, then turns to say something to Kru. Then they both look at me. I continue wrapping and step into the ring with Amanda like there’s no one else in the