Knockout (Gaslight spin-off)

14| Golden gates

The second I walk up those concrete steps, it feels like I'm home. My fingers brush the quotes on the walls, stopping at one that seems to have been added in the last day or two: when life gets tough, put on your boxing gloves. A familiar tingle spreads through my fingers and right through my knuckles. I'd probably think it was hope if I wasn't such a pessimist.

As soon as I get to the archway at the top, I hear the familiar thump, thump, thump of the weights. I scan the gym, taking in the several members dotted around the stations. Some are on the heavy bags, pounding the leather-like there's no tomorrow, while others are sweating it out on the leg press. In the distance, dancing around the boxing ring, are Maddie and Hayden.

The softy in me compels me to watch them. Never have I seen a boy look at a girl the way Hayden looks at Maddie. Despite the fact they're surrounded by people, when Hayden looks at her, it's clear she's the only one he sees.

Maddie steps forward with a smile on her lips as she aims for a quick one-two. Hayden dodges the hit easily and retaliates with a jolt to her helmet. She stumbles back but, undeterred, feigns a right hook before landing an uppercut. I grin as they circle, certain I've hit the jackpot. If my mother is right, convincing Maddie to fight against Box Inc will drum up the interest we need to survive. This gym might make it, after all.

A few more minutes of gentle sparring, and the pair call it quits. They pull off their helmets, and Hayden leans in to whisper in Maddie's ear, making her smile. The pair share a kiss – quick and innocent – but it's enough to make me wonder what being in love feels like.

I don't have time to wonder for long. Maddie slips through the ropes and over to the towel rack, where she grabs one of the fresh white towels to dab at her face. I take it as my opportunity, pushing past Auden and a few others as I make a beeline for Maddie. She's wiping the sweat from her face when she turns, sees me, and says, "Gah!"

My hands go up in self-defense. "Sorry," I say sheepishly, "I didn't mean to creep up on you. I just wanted to talk to you."

Her face softens, but I can tell from how she stands so rigid that she's still mid-heart attack. "What's up?"

In one long breath, I tell Maddie all about my plan. She listens intently, her mouth pulling into an uncertain frown when I get to the part about her fighting, but I try not to let it deter me. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's convincing people.

"That sounds like an amazing idea," Maddie says, "and I'm so glad you want to help save the gym, but–" her eyes soften now, and I know what comes next won't be good. "I can't. With college and everything going on now, I don't have any time to dedicate to training."

My shoulders deflate as I try to think fast. While a couple of other girls come in occasionally, they don't come enough to fulfill the commitment that training for a fight would take, which means I'm back to square one.

"I'm sorry," Maddie says, touching my arm, "you know I would if I could, but hey, why don't you enter?"

"Because I'm not a boxer."

"But you're here training every day," Maddie says. "You know how this place works, and you know how to hit. You might not feel ready now, but with a few months of proper training, you will."

The idea is ridiculous. Not only am I not here to train, but a fight with me is hardly going to garner any attention for the gym. If anything, it'll turn people away. "It's fine," I say, waving my hand, "I'll just think of something else."

"Well, let me know if I can do anything else to help."

I thank her and spend the next hour walking around taking pictures of the others, but nothing I do seems like good enough marketing. The truth is, it's hard to know what makes Box Inc so compelling until I know more about what it's like inside. So, despite my better nature, I wait until it's relatively quiet before going full-on detective mode and hopping across the street to Box Inc.

The moment I step inside the reception, I'm transfixed. I try my best not to be: I scowl at the expensive white chairs in the corner, side-eye the coffee machine, grimace at the professional pictures hanging on the walls, and all but have an aneurism at the muscled, epitome-of-health smiling patiently at the front desk.

In an ideal world, I'd avoid him completely and slip through the gym, but the fingerprint scanners mean I'm stuck. I head up to the main desk, put on my best smile, and say, "Hi there. I'm interested in pursuing a membership and wondered if you offer any welcome days or tours."

The guy before me, who can only be a couple of years older than me, grins. His teeth are the kind of brilliant white you can only achieve with several trips to the dentist. "I can show you around now," he says, walking around the desk, and I have to crane my head to look up at him. If Box Inc's idea was to put the most tanned, muscular member up front as some kind of advertisement, it's working.

"Sounds great," I say and proceed to follow him through the reception.

I'd be lying if I said the tour wasn't impressive. Everything is sleek as he leads me down a hallway lined with white doors, each with a different plaque: physical therapy, meditation, relaxation. Finally, we get to a set of double doors that he dramatically pushes open, and a whole other world opens up.

The gym has two floors, the first floor dedicated to every type of weight machine one could possibly imagine. But something feels off. There's no squeaking of metal from the dumbells, no creaking of floorboards as we walk. The weight machines are equally as soundless, no spluttering or whistling on release. This place is so modern that the rhythm of GymCon, the familiar heartbeat that travels through the gym, is missing.

The upstairs is reserved for the heavy bags, which line each side of the room in pairs. In the middle of the room – the main attractions – are two equally-sized rings. I study them closely, taking in the jet-black ropes that line the unblemished canvases. The ring in GymCon is worn and faded, with scuffs and marks from years of fighting, but the ring in front of me looks like it's just been delivered.

I swivel my head to the far ring, where I spot the girl they've been showcasing on Instagram. She's around my height and size, with dark hair scraped back into two French braids as she circles her opponent. And even though I should hate her, even though she's training at Box Inc, something about how she moves makes my heart jump.

"Who's that?" I say to my tour guide.

"That's Katarina," he says. "One of our newest but most promising members." He turns to me now, sees something in my expression that must look like awe, and says, "If you're serious about joining Box Inc, that could be you."

For about a second, I imagine what joining this gym would feel like. I'd have full use of the latest equipment, countless heavy bags to release my frustration, and a brand-spanking ring to spar in. It's like I'm standing at the gates of heaven, guaranteed entry with what my tour guide tells me is the little old fee of eighty dollars per month, and god help me, I'm tempted. But then I think of Auden and all the others, stuck outside the golden gates not because they don't deserve entry but because they could never afford it – that thought alone makes me sick.

I turn to the receptionist and open my mouth just as his walkie-talkie goes off. "Hold that thought," he says, unhooking it from his waistband, "I just have to quickly deal with something. You have a quick look around, and I'll be back in a second to discuss our next steps."

As soon as he leaves, I wander around the rest of the gym, taking in the members on the heavy bags. They're hard at work and covered in sweat, so my presence is barely noticed. I push on further, catching a fleeting shadow near the back as their punches vibrate the bag. And even though I have no proof, no reason to even think it, I'm certain the boy behind the bag is Nico. I inch even closer, breath held as I round the corner, and there he is.

A\N

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