Fight Like a Girl - Sheena Kamal Page 0,57
my backpack. There’s my dad’s name again, right on those papers. I stare at it for a long time, then I put the papers back into the envelope.
That night, I spill the salt from my pocket along the edge of the door to keep the dreams away. Look, I know it’s dumb but I do it anyway. It makes me feel better.
* * *
“Ravi,” I whisper, crouching beside the couch before I leave. His eyes are closed. I don’t know if he can hear me, but I’ve got to try. I don’t dare touch him, though. “Ravi, go away.”
He doesn’t stir.
“She doesn’t want you here. She won’t stand for it any more. Ravi, go home.”
His eyelids flutter. I don’t touch him. “Go home, Ravi.”
Still nothing. I look at the clock. I have to go.
I tuck the envelope with Dad’s life insurance papers into his shirt, sling my backpack over my shoulder and leave without locking the door behind me. I want him to see what she’s done. I want him to know she doesn’t really want him.
thirty
Kru is unhappy I came with them to Florida. I guess he didn’t actually think I would. Imelda’s pissed. Amanda and Noor hugged me at the airport when they saw me, and we weren’t even clinching.
I wait until the team has registered and weighed in, then slip downstairs to the registration desk. I give the man behind the desk my name. He says I’m not on the list. I say of course I am and show him the confirmation email on my phone from Kru, before he kicked me off the team. The man checks his list again, doesn’t see me. He calls a woman over. She’s got a lanyard with the tournament logo on it and, just below, the name Rashida.
Rashida is the floor manager. She has dreads down to her waist, bruised elbows and a cut on her chin that can only mean one thing. She’s a fighter, too. I could tell her a sad story about how my father died and my mother has turned into an evil monster and I broke my arm and this guy I liked wouldn’t even have sex with me to make up for it and that I’ve been training for this for ages and Imelda shows up one day and suddenly I’m on the outs…but she won’t care about any of that.
She looks through her emails and finds a thread about me. “You were on the card, but your coach pulled you.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“Says right here he did.”
I shake my head. “Nobody told me anything.”
“Well, that’s too bad because you’re not on the card anymore. We don’t have space for you.”
“I came here to fight. I want a fight.”
“Honey, this is not a game you want to play with me.” She stares at me, but I don’t flinch. The guy who called her over clears his throat, but neither of us pay him any attention.
“All my paperwork was sent in. I’m ready.”
“I can see that,” she says slowly. Then she points to a couch just off the lobby. “Go sit over there.”
“I want—”
“Yeah, I heard. What I want is for you to sit your narrow ass on that couch until I check on one of the other fighters who didn’t make weight. She’s gonna try again in an hour, and if she still doesn’t make it, you’re in. So don’t test me right now. I might be the best friend you ever had.”
On the couch, I slink down into the cushions, pulling my hood up. My phone buzzes but I don’t answer. Kru, Amanda, Noor and Imelda walk right past without recognizing me. An hour passes, then another one. I’m hungry, but there’s no chance that I’m eating now. I fall asleep and when I wake up Rashida is standing over me, frowning. “Ready, huh?”
“I am,” I say, clearing my throat and sitting up.
“Good. Go weigh in then. And, after that, eat a couple sandwiches, would ya?”
I can’t keep the stupid grin off my face as I promise that I’ll eat as many sandwiches as she wants.
I make weight, then eat three tuna sandwiches.
* * *
The next day, my phone keeps ringing but I switch it off. I’m fighting a Sri Lankan girl from Iowa first up. I didn’t know there were Sri Lankans in Iowa, but now’s not the time to think about details like that. I see her shadowboxing in the locker room area. She’s shorter than me, but wider. Her neck and