Fight Like a Girl

a w a r d

❝The tempt for greatness is the biggest drug in the world.❞

-Mike Tyson

At school on Monday, I get so many questions, I start to question if everyone is being instructed to ask me something.

But to be honest, it’s a small price to pay to be a state competitor. I get to miss school on Friday to travel downstate. Unfortunately, the ride will be with Coach and the rest of the “team.”

So basically, Coach and I in a school van together for 2 hours. Dad can’t come, he has to drive himself.

This is all elimination. There’s a bracket of 16 girls- 8 fights in prelims, 4 in quarters, 2 in semis and 1 in the final. These fights take longer, so there’ll be more than one going on at once.

The prelims and quarters run on Friday, semis and the final run on Saturday.

Ashleigh Schneider of the Cedar Newspaper decides she’s to interview me in gym class.

“Hello, Miss, uh, Davis.” She pushes up her glasses, somehow managing to wipe some snot from her nose at the same time. “May I, uh, interview you?”

“Sure.” I’m focusing on the current soccer game. “What’re your questions?”

“Well, I don’t have my interview pad with me. I’ll just ask you a few things and I’ll try to remember them, ‘kay?”

I nod.

“Uh, do you think you’re a good fighter?”

“Of course I do.”

“Care to explain?”

The ball comes to me, and I run down the gym with it. She tries to follow, stumbling over herself.

I pass the ball.

“Well, the more pride I have in myself, the easier it is to do well. If I made it to State, I obviously have some amount of talent, right?”

“Uh, sure. Who is your biggest inspiration?”

I am tempted to tell her Dad is, but in all actuality, he isn’t. He’s great to me, and a I highly respect him, but I’m not inspired by him.

“I don’t know, to be honest. Maya Angelou’s pretty cool. My Dad inspires me with what he says, but he’s not one of my biggest inspiration. So yeah, Maya Angelou, I guess. Her poems are amazing, and even though I don’t want to be a writer, the fact that she put so much effort into what she loved really makes me happy.”

“Okay. Uh, one last question. What are you doing to prepare for state?”

I blow air through my nose.

“Practice.” The ball comes rolling toward me. I swivel toward her. “Might wanna duck.” She does, and I smash the ball over her and towards our net.

“Gee, thanks for those answers. Good luck this weekend!”

“Thanks.”

The bell rings.

The next day, at school, someone shoves a newspaper in my face.

“Look, you’re on the front cover.”

There I am. With my big sectionals trophy, Dad, and Coach.

LANE DAVIS - BOXER TOO CONCEDED FOR HER OWN GOOD?

Great.

        That night, I post about it in my blog:

        They think I'm conceded? I have every right to be conceded; I'm the only damn girl at that school who even goes anywhere. Does anything. Wins anything. 

        But you know what? I don't care. It shouldn't be about them. It should be about me. And I'm really happy for myself for making to state. I'm going to try my hardest. 

        Hell, if I don't, at least I know I've gotten this far. 

I scratch the last note, because it's a load of crap.

        Hell, if I don't, then I don't deserve to be there.

I get a ton of comments on my post. 

       "Good luck! I'll be rooting for you!!"

        "I'm so proud of you, Lane!"

        "You go kick some ass!"

It's a hell of a lot better than what I get at school.