Knockout (Gaslight spin-off)

18| Playground rules

Monday starts with me on my best behavior. I'd meant what I'd said to Coach the other night: if working on my attitude means training for my fight, it's a sacrifice I'm willing to make.

Breakfast proves a challenge – my mother is one of her critiquing moods – but I remain somewhat pleasant, notebook resting loyally by my side as I wolf down my pancakes. At one point, Cody comes down as we're casually chatting and does a double take. It's not often he walks in, and the kitchen is peaceful; today is a special occasion.

"Morning, Chipmunk," I say, but he's quiet as he pulls out a chair. For the next few minutes, as Mom rambles about some promotion she's running, Cody pushes his eggs around his plate with his fork.

My mother, as usual, remains unaware, but as soon as Cody and I are in the car, driving to his school, I turn down his Jazz music. He frowns – no one comes between him and Frank Sinatra – but doesn't say a word.

"Hey," I say, glancing over, "everything okay?" He folds his arms and turns to the window. "Because if it's not," I continue, "you can tell me. You know that, right?"

He nods this time, which offers some semblance of relief, but not much. The truth is, Cody is one of those soft-spoken kids you feel you have to protect at all costs, which is why I worry so much. He's not like me, not quick with his fists, or street smart. He's the kind of kid who holes up in his bedroom, making volcanos out of paper mache. The kid who builds monuments and cars using lego. The kid with a big heart, so big that there are people in this world who wouldn't hesitate to take advantage. That's what I'm up against.

I kill the engine and hug him. He hugs me back, grabs his bag, and opens the door without looking back. I wait for a second, expecting his friends to go over and greet him, but they don't. He walks into school alone.

For the rest of the day, I'm a Stepford-Wives version of myself. If I let myself get angry, then I'll have let Coach down before I ever really started, so the trick is to be calm. Casual. Zen.

"You're acting like a Westworld robot," Daisy says. "It's freaking me out."

We're spending lunch under the bleachers today to escape the afternoon sun. Daisy is pale as a sheet and burns easily, so despite the fact I'd rather be catching up on my tan, it's necessary to avoid another lobster situation.

"I'm not doing anything," I say, which is true.

"Exactly," she says. "You're just...smiling. Are you on crack?"

"I can confirm I'm not on crack. I've just turned over a new leaf."

"Well, go back to the old leaf. I don't like this one."

I sigh and finish the rest of my sandwich before watching the field as the track team runs their laps. Joining a sport outside of boxing could be beneficial, but the thought of having to socialize with others more than I have to is...not.

"Cassie, I'm serious. How long is this going to last?"

"You're supposed to be supportive." I'd spent most of my free period explaining in depth the details of my plan, so she knows better than anyone why this is so important.

"And I am," she says. "I'm totally behind you wanting to save the gym, and I'm even behind your boxing match. All I'm saying is that be careful you don't end up changing what makes you you."

I roll my eyes; she sounds like a fortune cookie. "All right, all right, enough about me. How's violin going?"

She beams the way she always does when I talk about the violin, which is the only reason I ask. "I made it to first chair."