❝ The loss just made me hungry; it made me want to go out and win another title.❞
– Thomas “Hitman” Hearns
“Knockout!” I stumble backwards, nearly off the mat. “The fans go crazy, chanting Lane! Lane! Lane!”
I can’t help but giggle. Even though my shell’s rock hard, Dad knows my soft spots in and out.
“I’m just practicing, Dad.” I begin unrolling the tape from my wrists, revealing the nearly-healed scabs from a few nights ago. I crack my knuckles, and toss the tape in the trash.
“You know how proud I am to be your Dad?”
“Yes, Dad,” I’ve heard this speech many a time before.
“No, you don’t. Because you aren’t a dad with an awesome, boxing, independent daughter. When you are-” he winks at me, “-let me know.”
I laugh again.
He tries to be supportive as possible, and he tries pretty well. Sometimes it’s a bit over the top.
“Hey, why the clenchy-face?” I try to loosen my face. That’s what he says when my face gets all tight.
“I don’t think I’m ready for the qualifier. I just don’t...feel ready. You know what I mean?”
“No, I don’t. Why are you nervous?”
I rinse off my scabs, put on some neosporin and try to imagine how I can explain this to him.
“I don’t know. I’m just a bit nervous, and that makes me feel unprepared.”
“Well, you shouldn’t be nervous. Why do you feel that way?”
This is where I begin to feel frustrated. He doesn’t get it at all, and he should try to understand that sometimes people get nervous.
“I know I’ll do fine, but I’m still nervous. I can’t explain it, exactly.”
“Why not?”
“I’m just nervous, ok? There’s no exact reason, but… but…I’m just nervous! Don’t you understand, that when something important is going to happen, people get nervous?”
“Lane, relax.”
“Can I not be nervous?” I yell at him.
“Lane!” I bring my hands into my eyesight. Without realizing it, they’re now balled into tight fists, fists I would use to punch someone with.
“Sorry. I would never- I couldn’t, uh,” I stammer.
“It’s okay. Look, Laney- I understand you’re nervous. I get it, but you of all people should understand that being nervous only brings you down.”
“But I can’t really stop it.”
He walks over to me, placing his hands on my shoulders.
“When you see that other girl in the ring, let the fear sink in. Give it a good five seconds. And then-” he releases me and opens his hands up, really wide. “-just go for it. Because fear won’t simply go away, Laney, you’ve gotta kill it. And I know you can do it.”
“Alright. I can do it. I love you, Dad.” He pulls me into a hug.”
“Do what you love, Laney. Fear will go away after that.”
***********
“Delaney Davis!” I drop everything and freeze when I hear it. It’s that bastard again, calling at my window. I shouldn’t of left it open.
I walk over to it, almost ready to close it.
“No, wait! Come down, I’ve got something important to tell you!”
“Everett, you son of a bitch. Don’t you dare call me that, I-I-”
“Lane, the real question is: do you want dirt on who you’re going to fight at the qualifier, or not?”
I start to close my window. I know his deal, he’ll tell me everything so I fail. Or tell me all the right stuff, so that I’ll think he’s lying, and do the opposite…
Either way, I don’t want to mess with him.
I slam my window shut, and lock it. Tight.
A minute later, I hear the doorbell ring. I decide to answer it, even though I know who it is.
“Hello, Delaney.”
“Don’t call me that, idiot.”
“Left ribcage. She broke a rib last year. Need proof?”
“Why are you doing this?”
He winks at me.
“You’ll never guess.”
YOU ARE READING
Fight Like a Girl
Short StoryLane has a list of everything she loves most hanging over her bed, and it goes a little like this: "1. My dad 2. Boxing 3. Feminism" If Lane wants to stick to what she loves, she may just have to fight, well, like a girl for it- because girls fight...
