Fight Like a Girl - Sheena Kamal Page 0,58

shoulders are powerful, but her legs are like sticks.

I warm up with Noor and Amanda. They think it’s about solidarity. Kru’s holding mitts for Imelda, who pretty much ignores me. Maybe she’s hoping my crazy won’t rub off on her. They all get a sense of just what a crazy fucking bitch I am when Rashida comes in and calls my name, along with the Sri Lankan girl’s. Tells us we’re up next.

Kru is so shocked he just trails behind me. Then I’m in the ring, doing my Wai Kru to pay my respects. While I do that, he seems to get a grip on himself and hops up into my corner. Something in his eyes promises we’re gonna have a talk about this later, but there is no later when you’re about to fight a Sri Lankan with toothpicks for legs and thick, muscular arms.

“Don’t let her land any punches,” he says, before the bell goes.

She comes at me from the jump. This is Noor’s style, too, so it’s like I’ve already sparred this girl a million times. I move my head just a fraction and feel her right cross go plowing past me, all power. She’s off balance, so I step to the left and get a swing kick in, right to her skinny thigh. Her knee buckles and she almost drops. I follow with a push kick to her belly and she falls on her ass, looking up at me, stunned.

And never gets over that humiliation. She tries, but this is a lesson I’ve learned over and over, that when your confidence gets shook in the ring, there’s no coming back. The crowd flips on you in that moment.

There’s no loyalty in a crowd.

Loyalty doesn’t even have a place here. No matter if they were on your side at the beginning, they turn on you quick as lightning. They want strength. They want to see power. So I dominate her for the rest of the fight. She lands one solid punch, a hook to my jaw, and though my head spins, I have the sense at least to pull her in for a knee and push her back to take another swing to her thigh, working the same spot I first hit. Making the bruise bigger, redder, angrier. I work it till it turns purple and she’s out of breath from carrying her thick arms on those thin little legs and she’s almost grateful when the final bell calls it. Her arms are so heavy with defeat that when the ref throws my hand up at the end of the match, hers hang so low they might as well be planted in the floor covering.

* * *

Kru wants to have it out with me, but Imelda’s up next and he doesn’t have the time. Ma keeps calling, but I can’t answer. I feel her anger pulsing out at me. Junior calls, but I don’t know what to say to him, either.

Nothing from Jason.

Columbus is the only one I can bear talking to. “Where are you?” he asks, as soon as I answer. “Your mom is going crazy over here. You disappeared and she can’t find Ravi, either.”

“I’m at a tournament. What do you mean she can’t find Ravi?”

“He hasn’t been at your house since yesterday. You need to come back, Trish. Your mom—”

I don’t want to hear about her so I hang up. Head downstairs with vague thoughts of finding something to eat. A wave of heat licks me from head to toe as soon as I step outside, so I retreat and eat at the hotel restaurant. Miami is in between hurricanes at the moment, so the sun is shining extra bright. It’s unbearable, this light in my eyes. Switching tables to the darkest corner of the restaurant helps a little.

The team joins me. Kru sits across from me and watches me eat my burger. I don’t flinch. He sighs heavily. I think he’s starting to regret training girls in the first place, but we’ve all won our first matches so he’s battling with his pride, too.

Pride wins out.

He doesn’t curse me out, just says, “Don’t ever do that again.” And everything’s okay between us.

The other fighters seem relieved. With our hair in braids, our hard thighs in satin shorts the brightest colours of the rainbow, the firm set of our mouths and the wildness in our eyes, we are all crazy fucking bitches here.

* * *

Imelda warms me up before my next fight. We’re good.