Authors: Kelly Favor
She turned to me. “What’s this?”
“Nothing.” I reached out and tried to grab it out of her hand, but she held it out of my reach.
“Obviously it’s
something.”
I felt my cheeks turning red, even though I had nothing to be embarrassed about.
“It’s just a note. From a friend.” I shrugged and tried to be all nonchalant.
“A guy friend?” She looked at me with new interest. “You’re here for one day and you already have a guy? Did you know him before you came?”
“No. I mean, I don’t have a guy.” I shook my head. Talking to Rachel was like talking to a tornado.
There was the sound of feet shuffling outside the door, and Rachel’s eyes lit up.
“That might be him!”
She sounded pleased at the idea, and an irrational wave of jealousy flooded through my body. I wanted it to be Justin. But I didn’t want him meeting Rachel.
It wasn’t Justin, though.
It was Dennis, the RA who had confronted us last night in my room.
“Oh,” he said, surprised. “Hi. I didn’t think you’d be awake. I was going to slide this under your door.” He waved a paper around.
“Yeah, join the club,” Rachel said. She leaned against the door and gave Dennis a knowing smile.
“I’m sorry, who are you?” he asked.
“I’m Rachel Flowers.” Apparently the whole Lola thing was over.
“Oh! I’m Dennis, the RA.”
“Oh.” Rachel turned around and headed for the other side of the room. Now that she knew Dennis was just the RA, she was bored with him.
“Anyway, Lindsay, I came to have you sign this.” He held out an official looking form. “It’s for the incident that happened here last night.”
“What incident?” Rachel asked, interested again.
“It was nothing.” I took the paper from Dennis and looked it over. It basically said that I was in violation of rule 11.3 of the student handbook, and that all guests had to sign in. There was a place for me to sign the paper, acknowledging that I’d had the rule explained to me.
“It was certainly something,” Dennis said. “You can’t have hooligans just running around the building, Lindsay.”
“What hooligan?” Rachel was excited. “Is this the guy? JB?”
“JB?” Dennis spit. “That’s his name?” He shook his head. “Sounds like a thug.”
“He’s a thug?” Rachel was practically salivating for the details.
“No, he’s not a thug.” I picked up a pen from the cup on my desk and signed the paper. I just wanted Dennis to get out of there.
“Yes, he was,” Dennis said. He folded the paper neatly into thirds. “And I need to let you know that if you violate the rule again, there will be stricter consequences.” He sighed and shook his head. “I know that the freedom of college can seem overwhelming at times. But we have to be careful to make wise decisions, especially when it comes to the company we keep.”
He squeezed my shoulder, like I was some kind of infant who didn’t know anything. Then he turned around and left.
“Wow,” Rachel said, looking at me in awe. She shook her head. “You’re kind of a badass. I never would have expected that.” She wrinkled up her lips, thinking about it.
“Especially not from a Lindsay.”
JUSTIN
Landscaping wasn’t what I wanted to be doing, not this day, not ever. But I had no choice. Until I started making some decent money fighting, this was the best job with the most flexible hours.
I was sweating, my shirt soaked through, as I hefted the last barrel of cut grass and dumped it into the back of the pickup truck. Edwin, sitting in the driver’s seat, gave me the thumbs up sign. I threw the empty barrel into the back and then hopped in the passenger side.
“You want me to drop you off at the gym?” Edwin said, as he put the truck in gear and started driving.
“Yeah.” I checked my cell. My meeting with my trainer was supposed to happen in about ten minutes, so no matter what, I was going to be late. I contemplated calling or texting him just to let him know, and decided against it. He would be annoyed no matter what I said. Late is late, as far as he was concerned.
We started driving towards the gym. Traffic in Brookline was bad, so it was going to take us awhile to get to Kenmore Square. Meanwhile, little blades of grass were flying off the back of the truck as we drove. Neither Edwin nor I cared much. I kind of hoped that maybe the grass would fly back and stain some of the rich people’s cars.
“I could sure use another coffee,” I said.
“You trying to get your coach pissed or something?”
“Fuck him.” I was in no mood for anyone’s shit today. I’d woken up on the wrong side of the bed, remembering how last night with Lindsay had seemed like it was going well and then suddenly things had just flipped and ended in the worst way.
I didn’t really believe my little note was going to make her feel any better about it, either. She’d probably thrown it in the trash without a second thought.
“I wouldn’t want to spar with you today,” Edwin laughed.
“I can’t spar until this cut heals,” I told him, absentmindedly touching the stitches above my eye.
“Oh, yeah. I forgot. Well, that’s lucky for whoever you would have been taking this bad mood out on.”
“True.” I nodded, waiting for the truck to slow down, then hopped out and ran into Dunkin’ Donuts. The line was short, so I grabbed a couple of iced coffees and then hopped back in the truck.
By the time Edwin dropped me off in Kenmore, I was feeling better. The caffeine had started to hit my bloodstream, and I’d decided that Lindsay from Cambridge was the least of my worries. She was just some girl. There were going to be lots more girls when I signed for the UFF, and those girls would appreciate that I was a fighter. I wouldn’t have to explain that my job was more than simply “beating people up.”
Walking into the gym, coffee in hand, I smelled the familiar scent of sweat and blood and bleach. Uriah was working the speed bag in the corner and there were a couple of guys rolling on the mat at half speed, drilling some kind of jiu-jitsu sweep. Other than that, the gym was nearly empty, which was pretty normal at mid-day on a weekday.
Uriah glanced at me as he pummeled the speed bag with practiced ease. “Coach is waiting for you in the office.”
“Yeah, I’m heading right in.”
“He said you’re late,” Uriah replied.
“Just a couple of minutes.”
“He said you’re never on time.”
“I have a job.”
Uriah almost seemed to shrug, but never stopped hitting the tiny black bag with his fists, a blur of perfectly timed speed and power. Uriah was my size, and a couple of years older than me. He was an African American kid, originally from California, who’d moved here recently and quickly become a top name in our gym. He seemed to think that the only reason I was getting my shot was that I was white and favored because I was a local boy.
We didn’t like each other very much, but I had to respect his skills. Uriah was a tough out for anybody, including me.
“Brown, what the hell are you doing?” the loud voice rang out, accusingly.
Startled, I looked up and saw Coach Jansen with the door to his office open. He was staring at me with his usual look of annoyance. “You’re late, get in here.”
I gave Uriah one last glance before heading into Coach’s office.
“Sorry, my last job ran late today.”
Jansen grunted, closing the door behind me as I walked past him and took a seat.
“I think we already had the discussion where I said I didn’t want to hear any of your excuses.” He came around the other side of the desk and sat down across from me. He wasn’t what you’d have expected from a trainer who taught thugs like me how to fight.
Coach Jansen was kind of small, not particularly muscular, with a goatee and mostly bald. He looked like he should have been teaching history somewhere, or maybe doing someone’s taxes.
But in reality, he was one of the best-known coaches in the Northeast and guys came from all over the country to learn from him. He’d already taken a handful of fighters and trained them to where they were fighting in multiple organizations around the world, making a living at this game.
For that reason alone, I couldn’t mouth off to him, as much as I might have wanted to.
“Sorry about being late,” I said, finally.
He looked at me for a while, and then sighed, tapping the desk with his knuckle.
“You give me a damn headache, Brown. So much talent and drive, but you’re head isn’t on straight.”
“It is, though. I’m completely one hundred percent committed.”
Coach raised his eyebrows. “You sure about that?”
For some reason, Lindsay flashed through my mind, making me hesitate for the slightest moment. “Of course I’m sure,” I said, but now my mind was racing. Why did she come into my head at a moment like this?
“There’s something off about you, Brown. And we better get a handle on it, because in this business, opportunities to make it to the big show are few and far between.”
“I know that. Believe me, I’m ready for my shot.”
His eyes narrowed, and he seemed to analyze me like a bug under a microscope.
“I just got off the phone with Drew Ellis, from the UFF.”
For the first time, I was truly speechless. Drew Ellis was the CEO of the United Fighting Federation, the biggest mixed martial arts organization in the world. He was like Donald Trump and Mark Cuban rolled into one. He could make or break careers with a thumbs up or a thumbs down. It was that simple. Finally, I regained my voice.
“Did my name come up?”
“Yours was the only name that came up,” Jansen said. “Well, that’s not completely true. He wanted to talk about you, but I brought up Uriah’s name.”
I felt the blood rush to my face. “Why would you bring him up?”
“Because, I need to be fair to my fighters. You’re the guy that’s got the biggest potential, and you’re the one Drew is interested in signing. But I’m not sure you can handle the pressure. I don’t know if you’re ready to go pro yet.”
My hands involuntarily clenched, but I controlled myself. “You can’t hold me back. That’s not fair.”
“I didn’t say I was holding you back. But I need to give myself some outs, in case you go rogue on me like you did last year.”
“Last year was…that was different,” I mumble, suddenly unsure of myself.
“Last year was a royal fuck up,” he replied, suddenly getting to his feet. “You were ready then, too. Sure, it would have meant fighting overseas, but the money was great and a couple of wins would have guaranteed you a contract with the UFF. What did you do? You went fucking psycho and made me look like an asshole.”
“I didn’t go psycho.”
“Whatever,” Jansen said. “We can agree to disagree on the clinical term for that stunt you pulled last year. The bottom line is that it can’t happen again.”
“I know.”
“And the fact that you screwed up once, means I need to have a backup plan. So I’ve got Uriah on standby.”
I shrugged. “Fine.”
Jansen came over and sat on the edge of the desk, looking at me. His face softened. “This is good news, Justin. Next month, Drew wants to see you step up and fight one more time. If you win, he’s going to offer you a three-fight deal with the UFF.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. My head was spinning, my heart racing.
“Are you sure?”
Coach smiled, a rarity. “I’m sure.” He held out his hand. “Tell me again that you’re ready, and say it like you mean it.”
“Hell yes, I’m ready,” I said.
***
I felt like Norm, coming into Cheers, as I walked into O’Doyle’s and was greeted by shouts of “JB!” from Taryn and Big Timmy.
As usual, there were just a few old barflies hanging out and nursing their drinks, a baseball game on the television, the things I’d come to expect.
I pulled up a stool as Taryn came over, smirking. “You look like the cat that caught the canary,” she said.
“What does that even mean?”
“It means you look damn proud of yourself.”
“That’s because I am.”
Big Timmy sauntered by, slapping my shoulder, as he headed to his station outside the front door. He was carrying his magazine in the other hand.
“So, what’s going on?” Taryn asked, leaning over the bar.
I looked at her, trying to see her objectively. We’d known each other for years, and it was hard to think of her as anything other than that same crazy chick who’d run around drinking forties and smoking weed with me on Friday nights when we were supposed to be home in bed.
She was blond, with green eyes and high cheekbones—typical Irish chick. But I could see that anyone would find her pretty, maybe even beautiful in the right circumstance. I knew that she still had feelings for me, but the fact was, I always felt more like she was my kid sister or something. The days of us hooking up were in the past and always would be, as far as I was concerned.
“Nothing’s going on, really,” I said, suddenly less anxious to tell her the big news about my deal with the UFF. “I’m just trying to have a positive attitude.”
“Oh.” She seemed to sense I wasn’t being totally honest. There was a faint look of hurt in her eyes. “Well, do you want anything?”
“Just a Sam Adams and a turkey sandwich.”
She pursed her lips, nodding. “One Sam, coming up.” And then she walked away.
For some reason, I didn’t want to share my excitement with Taryn and the regulars at O’Doyle’s. I wanted to tell somebody else. I wanted to tell Lindsay.
The realization made me a little angry. Why was I still even thinking about her?
What did she have to do with anything?
Taryn put the Sam Adams bottle down. “Your sandwich will be out in a minute,”
she said. “You look preoccupied, JB. Something’s going on with you.”
I sighed, taking a long swig of beer. “I think I might be going crazy,” I admitted.
“Oh, yeah? Well, it wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”
“But this time, it’s about a girl.”
Taryn’s eyes flashed something—maybe anger, maybe disappointment—but then she recovered. “Girl problems are my specialty.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’m a girl, JB. I know how they think. So go on and spill the beans, already.