The Boxer in Broodmoore

1. (pt. 1)

"I'm like "Hey, what's up? Hello". Seen your pretty ass soon as you came in th-"

"Kyleal Turner Jones, if you don't turn that obnoxious music off, I swear on my momma, I'll drop kick you!" I spat out in utter frustration to my best friend who was making it insanely difficult for me to concentrate on my studies. He laughed as he slowly turned down the dial to our speakers, a calm and relaxing silence took over our living room.

"Thank you." I sighed in delight as I finished typing out my notes for my Intro Psychology class. Ky slid closer to me on the couch, watching over my shoulder as I typed, purposely annoying me.

"I don't get why you study such hard shit, Bree; you could be a professional boxer for Christ's Sake!" He exclaimed, wailing his arms in the air for dramatic affect. I smirked as I saved my notes, shut my laptop, and said, "I could be a professional Clinical Psychologist boxer, Ky. That sounds more kick-ass than anything. Besides, unlike some people, I actually came to college for the learning not the girls." He simply smiled at me, a twinkle in his eyes showed me that he had something 'smart' to say.

"On the contrary to popular belief, my dearest Bree-Bree, I do have a major in Forensics. The girls are just my "research"." He laughs slightly before continuing, "I like to search their bodies, if you're picking up what I'm laying down." I scrunch my face up in disgust- I did not need to know that much of his lifestyle, given the best friend title or not. All laughing died down once Kyleal decided to check his phone, his face went ghostly pale, a frown slightly forming on his small lips.

"What's wrong, Ky?" I asked, genuine concern covered my face like a caked on makeup routine.

"We're late for training.." his voice monotone. I'm sure my face recreated the same pale shade and utter horror as his. Looking at each other for some sort of internal help, we bolted up the stairs to our separate rooms, snatching up all our needed equipment. Deciding that my outfit wasn't "gym-ready", I hurriedly changed into a pair of black, with grey trim, Nike work-out pants and a sports bra to match. Hoisting my bag over my shoulder, I ran down the stairs faster than Usain Bolt. I met Ky at the door, slipping on some tattered Roshes before hauling ass out the door into the cool outside air.

Once we were in the car, Kyleal burst into a laughing fit, I thought he'd get cramps the way he was clutching his stomach. Now was not the time to be laughing. I glared and grunted softly.

"What exactly is so funny, Jones?" my tone, hopefully, menacing. Ky just laughed harder at this. Highly annoyed, I threw my curly locks into a messy bun and continued to glare at him. I waited roughly five minutes for his laughter to die down before he showed me his phone.

5:10 p.m. Training does't start until 5:30.

"What the hell, Ky!? You thought it was funny to scare me like that? Do you even know who the fuck our coach is? He'd kill us if we were late!" I continued to rant and nag into his ear until he apologized.

"Since we're already in the car, we might as well get there early and stretch or something? I promise I'll take you out to eat afterwards, wherever you like" I smiled deviously, knowing a food place Kyleal hates with a red-hot passion.

"Let's go eat at McDonald's!" I exclaimed happily whilst Ky groaned in despair. He stuck the key in ignition, before pulling out of our parking space, he spoke.

"You've got to be the best boxer in all of Broodmore, yet you eat the most unhealthy shit. I don't get you." I laughed and turned on the radio and put in a CD, Guns N' Roses began playing softly as we drove off.

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"Jab, jab, uppercut. Good, now dodge, dodge; Bree, dodge!" Will, my coach, grunted and held my elbows to stop me from 'hitting' Kyleal. I turned and looked him in the eyes, sweat glistening on my body.

"You've got to work to your dodging, Kiddo. You're doing great, just work on that. As for you, Ky, your fists still aren't closed right- you'll break your knuckles that way." Will moved from me and placed a reassuring hand onto Kyleal's shoulder. Will was a tall man, standing at a whopping 6'10, while I was only 5'2.

"Seriously, Bree, the next tournament is in a month and I want to make sure your training can actually train you." Will says, turning attention back towards me. I nod, silently agreeing with his critique before walking to the benches in the corner, picking up a bottle and taking a swig of water. The refreshing liquid feels like cool ice down my throat, hydrating me. I'm dog-tired seeing as I've been training for nearly 4 hours with only a few five minute breaks in-between. I feel someone come up behind, thinking it's Ky or Will, I pay it no mind. That is, until I hear an unfamiliar voice speak in a rude tone.

"Yo, Chick, that's my water bottle." I turn and see a guy around my age, 19, shooting daggers at me. I shift and rest a majority of my weight on one of my legs, looking at him with irritation visibly seen on my face.

"There's at least ten water bottles here, first off. I grabbed an unopened one, so it isn't yours, Buddy. Finally, you seem like you just walked up in here so don't try me, I've been working for nearly 4 hours." My voice sounding somewhat intimidating. He looked taken aback, like nobody has ever stood their ground to him, but he masked it quickly with a blank look. He rolled his eyes, "You sure? You could shed a few, no- scratch that, a lot, sweetheart."

Instead of getting in my feelings and crying, I punched him dead in his stomach.

I watched as he took a sharp inhale, hands resting on his knees, as he struggled to catch his breath. He gulped loudly as he looked up at me, eyes wide but then he smirked. "Baby-Doll, you've got a hell of a punch." I smiled, held out a hand to help him and quietly, yet confidently said, "I know."