Fight Like a Girl

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❝To be a champ you have to believe in yourself when no one else will.❞

-Sugar Ray Robinson

        “Mornin’, sweetheart.” Coach is waiting at the table, ready with his coffee (mixed with Kahlua) and sexist thoughts. “Got me the papers? What a doll.”

I give them to him, eating a protein bar while he fills everything out. Sometimes I wonder why the coaches don’t pick up the packets.

“You’re gonna have three fights today. Kill ‘em all.”

“You don’t know I’ll have three-”

“You’ll have three.”

I don’t want to jinx myself, I’m just thankful that I’m here to have one fight. The cafeteria isn’t as packed as it was last week, and it’s easy to spot the fighters.

“Alright, Davis, we’re gonna go warm up. No time for your girl time, whatever you do in that time before you fight.”

“Why are you so sexist on the days I fight? I can tell there’s a pattern, Coach.”

“Why do you care so much? I’m your coach. I know what’s best for you.”

“I’m me. I know what’s best for me.”

“That doesn’t make sense. We’ve got to go, we only have thirty minutes. You’re up first.”

I cringe at that. First?

We walk to the training room. There’s one other team there, one that I assume to be my competitor’s. She’s got a coach, two other girls, and three guys with her.

One of which is Everett.

“Lane!”

“You know this kid?” Coach looks like he just found out Hillary Clinton’s running for president. Shocked and angry as hell.

“No. I like to think that he knows me, but I don’t know him. I’m a celebrity to him.”

“She’s my neighbor.”

“Great, he’s probably spilled your weaknesses.” It’s the complete opposite. Kind of. I’m still unsure of whether he was lying or telling the truth. I guess I’ll find out soon.

Coach shoos Everett away and practices with me.

Normally he wouldn’t want to be in the same room as the competitor- they can watch your moves- but Coach runs a fake practice. We run through everything I wouldn’t do, to throw her off.

I’m not sure how I feel about today. Nervous, of course, but I feel a twinge of excitement run through me when I think about fighting. Sure, it’s hard, but I enjoy it so much that I don’t even have to think about losing. You win some, you lose some. You move on. You continue doing what you love, and let nothing stop that.

And even if I lose today, I know I can continue on with my list.

I think about Karen, though, and what her opinion would be. She would tell me to stop. That what I was doing “threw off society.” That I should become a teacher, or a nurse, or something shitty like that. That being a feminist and fighting girls contradicted each other. Etcetera.

But she’s not me.

She’s not ready for some of the biggest fights of her life.

I am.

When I hear my name being called, I’ll enter. I’ll find Dad. He’ll smile at me, I’ll smile back. Fight like a girl.

I’ll walk to the ring. Coach will give me some shit ass speech he’ll call a pep talk. We’ll touch gloves.

The bell will sound, and the match will begin.

But that’s not really how it goes.

Coach and I finish warming up, and he leads me to the doors. My opponent is behind me.

“Our first fight of the day, Lane Davis versus Caroline Hummer!”

Cheers come from abroad, mainly Caroline! Caroline! I don’t hear anyone shouting my name, it wouldn’t work anyways, it’s only a syllable.

I walk out, keeping a straight face. I decide to look for Dad right before the match begins, so that he’ll be in my mind as I start fighting.

When we get to the ring, Coach puts his hands on my shoulders.

“You can do this. Gimme all you got.”

He releases me.

Hey, I got the shit ass pep talk part right!

We touch gloves. The referee runs us through the rules.

I look over. There’s Dad, smiling at me, I smile back. Fight like a girl.

And there’s Karen, too.

Wait, what?