The Knockout Read online

  “You should go natural,” I had said when I first saw her hair after a shower, air-dried and undone.

  “Afro, curls, or waves are gorgeous natural. My hair is a horror show of spiderwebs making awful love to twigs,” Lily had replied.

  About accurate, actually.

  “Freaking cute boots,” I muttered, desperately willing my bleary eyes to focus on the ankle-high, black shoes over Lily’s leggings.

  “Thanks! They’re the ones I bought last weekend.” She side-kicked my sneakers. “Where are yours?”

  “Enjoying the view of my bed from the closet. I wish I was there now.” Plus, my boots were so old, they were starting to literally fall apart.

  “Ooh, what were you doing so late last night?” she asked in a sing-song voice.

  I rolled my eyes. “Fight club.”

  “Whatever. Fine. Don’t tell me.”

  “You never believe me when I say fight club.”

  “You can’t be doing Muay Thai stuff every night. What happened to student council and Spanish club and choir? And boys?”

  “What boys?”

  “Travis was totally asking about you.”

  I gently tapped the keyboard, my slump taking me ever closer to the smooth surface of the table, to the sweet call of sleep. There was no time to think about something as trivial as boys, especially Travis. The guy was the senior class flirt. We’d known each other for years, so if he was asking about me, he was just making his rounds.

  Lily swallowed. “Really?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You really have been fighting every day?”

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s not good.”

  “I need something to distract myself, and unfortunately, all the clubs in the world don’t help. Plus, I’m still pissed at . . . well, you know.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So I can release anger too. Win, win. People’s faces feel better than punching bags anyway.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Lily meant that, she really did, but words were just words. They could cut a person deep, but somehow they didn’t always have the same impact when trying to console. Before we tumbled down a road filled with sympathy and questions, I said, “Wake me if Mrs. Callihan comes over.”

  “She’s on crutches. She ain’t coming over here. Get your sleep on.”

  I winked and almost slid into the perfect position to doze off when the last student walked toward the back of class. His dark hair floated over the top of the computers. I recognized that carefully combed hair anywhere. I’d seen it only twenty minutes ago at lunch.

  Amit Patel didn’t have an MO. He was enigmatic. Not bad boy, brooding enigmatic, but simply puzzling. His perfect hair and nice clothes were straight up out of GQ, but his selection of classes was nerd city (as if I could talk because we shared classes). He never sat in the same place, and sometimes slept more than I did behind a book. Sometimes he chatted up a storm with others and other times he hid in the library. He was both popular and unpopular, charismatic and shy, extroverted and introverted. Enigmatic.

  Most times, Amit made eye contact once a day, preferably in passing so he didn’t walk into me. Today, we caught each other’s eye as I straightened up and he happened to glance my way. He held my gaze this time, and not in an awkward oops-we-saw-one-another-and-it-would-be-rude-to-look-away-but-why-were-we-still-staring kind of awkwardness (usually our thing), but a steady stare. The way football players looked at girls as they rolled down the hall after a big win.

  Most times, I didn’t notice Amit. But then there were incomprehensible moments like this where my heart beat faster. Fight club kind of faster.

  “Tension,” Lily whispered, her head downturned at her notebook.

  “Shut up,” I mumbled and broke eye contact Did I forget to smile? I probably did. Great, now Amit would think I was being salty.

  I tucked a few loose strands of hair behind my ear. Through the corner of one eye, I watched the movement of his feet as he took the empty seat to the left. The bottom of his dark-blue jeans folded over the tops of red and white sneakers.

  My gaze wandered up.

  The hem of a plaid green and black shirt wrinkled around his waist. The short sleeves tightened around his biceps and a muscle in his forearm constricted every time he wrote.

  Amit cleared his throat.

  My cheeks flared hot and I gaped at my screen, at the empty, taunting one that had already won our battle for the day.

  Amit cleared his throat again.

  I side-eyed him and he jerked his chin toward the front.

  “What?” I mouthed, confused.

  He tapped the eraser end of his pencil against his paper.

  “Oh.” Crap. I scrambled for a pencil and scribbled my name and date across the top of my paper.

  Mrs. Callihan had been talking this entire time? I struggled to make sense of the first two questions she’d already asked. I looked to Lily, hoping to catch her attention. When she caught me trying to decipher her chicken scratch, she shrugged.

  God. Lily sucked at computer science more than anyone. How’d she get into AP anyway?

  Today’s attendance quiz proved two things. One, I was present. Two, I didn’t pay enough attention to figure out the primary algorithm. Fail.

  As I tried one more time to glean answers from Lily, tilting toward her while checking for any sign of Mrs. Callihan, a slight cool swish of air hit my arm. An answer magically appeared on my pathetically vacant paper. In Amit’s handwriting.

  I gawked at him. He never did that. But he hunched over his desk and wrote, not paying any mind to my bemusement. I forced myself to forget it ever happened and finished the last question. We passed our papers to the right and then to the front. Mrs. Callihan went over the answers and thank goodness for Amit, because he had given me the right one, although when he passed his quiz over I saw that he had written something entirely different on his sheet. I was too exhausted to wonder why, or if my sight was too blurred to read straight.

  With Amit right beside me, I could not fall asleep. Jerking awake, drooling, snoring, muttering in my sleep? I probably would do all of that. But my eyelids drooped and the next thing I knew, I woke up with my cheek hot, pressed against my short stack of books, an angry crick gnawing at my neck, and Amit shuffling out of his chair along with the rest of the class.

  Lily giggled.

  “Why didn’t you wake me? Why did you let me fall asleep facing the other way?” I rubbed my eyes, my cheeks, my . . . oh lord, was that drool on the corner of my mouth? Yep. It sure was.

  Lily laughed. “Cuz you like him. Admit it.” Then she quietly, somberly added, “And you need a little fun.”

  I stood, sucking in a breath when the pain in my ribs sprang back to life. Jenny might’ve gotten knocked out in round two, but she kicked harder than I did. “Shh. He’s still here.”

  “Why don’t you just talk to him?”

  “I dunno. Maybe because most boys can’t handle a girl who can kick their butt at any given moment. Seems to dissuade the majority.”

  In the near distance, at the front of the classroom, Amit nodded to Mrs. Callihan while she spoke to him. He caught my eye for a brief second before leaving.

  “Well, this was too cute to wake you up for, but . . .” Lily swiped across her phone and turned the screen to my incredulous gaze.

  My jaw dropped. Lily had, at some pro-level angle, snapped a picture of both Amit and myself asleep on our desks . . . facing one another. Like, two lovebirds or something. And in the background, Jared made kissy faces.

  I hated cell phones, and this was why. We weren’t allowed to have them for this very reason because kids took humiliating pictures of people without their permission. “Don’t send that to anyone or show anyone.”

  “Ha!”

  “Oh my fre
aking goodness. Please don’t. That’s embarrassing.” I glared at the picture, hoping the annoyed part of me overpowered the amused part long enough to keep face.

  “I think it’s cute.” Lily looked at the picture one last time before dropping the phone into her purse. “I’m keeping it.”

  “Are you sure it’s not because you’re crushing on Jared and you’ll pretend that he’s making kissy faces at you?”

  She ignored me and said, “I wonder what kept Amit up so late last night for him to fall asleep in class.”

  “Studying? Video games? I don’t know.”

  “Hmm.” She fixed her ponytail. “Maybe he was at fight club too.”

  “Yeah, right. I cannot imagine Amit fighting.”

  “So what’s his secret nightlife all about?”

  I shrugged and headed for the door, hoping to evade Mrs. Callihan by hiding behind Lily. But nope. The teacher called me over to her desk.

  I put on my best smile and said, “Hi, Mrs. Callihan. What’s up?”

  “Kareena, I wanted to ask a huge favor of you.”

  “Sure.”

  “I’d sincerely appreciate it if you could tutor Amit.”

  My heart skipped a beat and words tumbled over one another on my tongue like clumsy fools. “Um, what?”

  “I know you’re probably busy with your own classes and extracurricular activities, but Amit’s grade is on the line and I’d hate to drop his average. You know, he’s set to be valedictorian and I’d feel awful if this one slip-up ruined years of hard work.”

  “What . . . what about Mike or Angie? They’ve got straight As in your class. I mean, I’m honored that you think of me as someone capable of helping the valedictorian, but, yeah. What about them?”

  “I’m afraid they’re tutoring someone in another class, and I’ve asked a few students already.”

  “Oh.” Well, maybe I wasn’t that special after all.

  “Any help is better than none, and I would give you extra credit.” She pointedly looked at me as if to add: And you sure could use it, missy. I mean, I wasn’t a perfect 4.0, so yeah, who couldn’t use extra credit?

  Which begged the question as to why ask me to tutor anyone unless Amit was actually about to lose out on his valedictorian status? But how could his grade be so bad? He knew all the answers all the time. He didn’t always write them down, and he never showed the work. He was a freaking genius, for crying out loud. If anything, he should tutor me!

  But . . . extra credit was extra credit. And if I’d learned anything from my parents, it was how to haggle.

  “Well, I’m awfully busy, Mrs. Callihan. I have all AP classes and clubs and sports. Lots of cultural stuff to organize and participate in.”

  “Oh, I know and I’m so proud to see so many of my students involved in various activities and still do so well in school.”

  “Like a whole test grade impressed?”

  “Kareena,” she chided. “That’s a lot to ask for.”

  “Tutoring takes a lot of time, especially with family obligations.” I didn’t mean to play that card, it wasn’t there to help me get things, but it was the truth. Papa’s health was deteriorating and tutoring someone who wasn’t anyone to me took time away from being with him.

  “I’ll add ten points to your lowest test score.”

  “To my test average,” I countered.

  “All right.”

  Wait. What? Just like that? I eyed her suspiciously. This wasn’t some ploy so she could give me sympathy points, was it?

  Mrs. Callihan laced her fingers together on top of her desk. “Is everything okay at home?”

  I shrugged and pressed my lips together in the universal gesture for: No, but I’m politely going to nonverbally ask you to stop this conversation.

  “Okay. I’m here if you need to talk. Thank you, Kareena.”

  “Sure.” I left and turned the corner at the hallway, walking right into Amit, who’d been waiting for me.

  We both stumbled away from the other, his cheeks red and mine hot. When he realized his hands had landed on my waist, he jerked back and scratched the back of his neck. “Sorry.”

  “So, Mrs. Callihan said you need a tutor?” I asked, trying to ignore the pleasant burn his touch had left through the fabric of my shirt.

  “Yeah,” he replied. His voice was deeper than most boys our age and always threw me off, but it sure was nice to listen to.

  “How are you even near failing?”

  He shrugged, like no biggie. I didn’t get it. No MO. He was ridiculously smart, but he needed a tutor? Me of all people?

  Oh, well. If nothing else, if I couldn’t figure him out, we had a reason to talk. But I played it cool, as if the possibility of constant close proximity didn’t rattle my insides or give me goosebumps.

  Down the hall, beyond Amit, Lily peered at us from around her locker door, undoubtedly being nosy, when Travis strolled past and flicked her ponytail. He didn’t stop to flirt with her, as he had the habit of doing with many, many girls, but instead slid to a stop beside me.

  “What’s going on, Kareena? You going to the party this weekend?” he asked me and then gave a nod to Amit.

  “No,” I replied. I didn’t even know which party he was referring to. Parties weren’t my thing. Then I froze, suddenly hyper aware of Amit. He was . . . to put it bluntly, the perfect Indian boy. He went to mandir and participated in all the religious stuff. He listened to his parents and got perfect grades. He had a ton of Indian friends. No one at school hated him and all the Indians respected him. All the teachers loved him. He never got into trouble. He was . . . the opposite of me.

  What did he think about this guy asking me about parties? Did he think I was a party girl? That I drank at those parties? Made out at those parties?

  “I’ll talk to you later, Kareena,” Amit said and gave me a small smile before turning to leave, but I grabbed his wrist and pulled him back, stunning both myself and Amit. A shocking amount of electricity sparked beneath my fingers, the kind that could potentially stop a heart. If anyone watched us, I didn’t notice.

  I blinked back into the moment, realizing all too suddenly and powerfully that I was holding a boy’s hand. There was no throwing it away or playing it off. Instead of continuing this awkward staring thing we seemed to be doing a lot of these days, I gulped, pulled out a pen, and wrote my number on his palm.

  “Text me,” I managed to say without sputtering. Real smooth, Kareena.

  The corner of Amit’s mouth curled up into a half smile, but the scruffy clearing of Travis’s throat ruined whatever this was. Amit backed into the hallway and disappeared into the throng of students hurrying to their next class.

  “I’m not going to any parties, Travis,” I told him and walked away.

  Plenty of students waved and said hi to me in the few minutes I had to get to my next class. I smiled at all of them. Kimmy gave a high five in passing, flipping her red curls over her shoulder. “I better see you on the bleachers this weekend!” she called back but didn’t wait for an answer.

  Tanya did a little dance move in the hall, probably pumped about her basketball win from last night.

  “Nice game!” I shouted to her through the growing crowd.

  Most students wore green and black on game day, so the soccer players, like Jared, walked around with pride colors on and smiles turned up. I glanced around looking for Lily to see if she was swooning yet. Yep. Right against the door to her next class before slipping inside. Staring hard and grinning like a fool, even though she’d just spent an entire hour and a half sitting ten feet away from him.

  At my locker, I exchanged comp-sci books for bio and checked my phone out of habit. Mama had texted. I didn’t want to know, not yet. I didn’t want to hear in definite terms if Papa’s condition had worsened overnight, or even that he hadn’t improved, that mayb
e he had to get readmitted to the hospital. I just wanted to fight, to have a few hours a day where my focus honed in on kicking butt and my brain concentrated so hard on compartmentalizing techniques that I didn’t have a second to think about all the crap going down.

  I read it anyway.

  Kick butt at school!

  I grinned and shook my head. Okay. Those were the best texts.

  My phone dinged before I tossed it back into the cavernous void known as my locker. Email. I thumbed through my inbox, opening a message from Coach.

  I read it quickly. Then again. Slowly. Because I couldn’t have read the elite invitation correctly the first time.

  My heart palpitated so hard that I forgot to breathe, and wheezed for the next breath of air. Oh my freaking goodness! This was not happening. Like I was Cinderella finally being noticed by the prince, something she never thought could actually happen (because c’mon, the prince), but then one day! Bam! The seemingly impractical and improbable shoe fits!

  Or in this case . . . the hot pink and black boxing gloves fit.

  I scrolled to the very beginning of the email and read the opening lines another five times.

  THE ART OF EIGHT LIMBS. Kareena Thakkar qualifies for this year’s US Muay Thai Open: Class A Juniors Girls Lightweight Division. First place prize: $50,000.

  Three

  I hugged the phone to my chest. My body pulsated with a jillion emotions and possibilities. They came crashing over my soul, dragging me down with an intense current, and throttling me back to the surface, only to repeat the pattern. There was so much to gain! Title, prestige, yeah, of course.

  But the prize money. I needed that money. I needed it to help the family because ever since Papa fell sick, like beyond being able to keep up kinda sick, we’d spent most of our money on basic bills and the rest went to medical stuff.