When a 14-day dating challenge erupts between skeptical Blossom and her secretly smitten best friend Hunter in the waning days of 1999, their easy friendship is plunged into a maelstrom of teenage angst, unrequited affection, and the terrifying poss...
(DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE SENSITIVE TO: themes of past potential rape/sexual assault to a minor)
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~ ~ ~ 1999
The fluorescent lights of the dojo hummed, a stark contrast to the late afternoon sun painting the sky in hues of orange and purple just beyond the building's windows. Hunter fidgeted with the frayed edge of his baseball cap, the worn fabric a familiar comfort against the nervous energy that pulsed beneath his skin. He scanned the room, a mix of focused concentration and restless anticipation stirring in his chest. He was here, waiting for Blossom, per the dictates of their ridiculous fourteen-day bet.
He had chosen this specific date strategically. Blossom's mixed martial arts class, he knew, was important to her. She spent hours there, honing her skills, her movements as fluid and precise as a dancer. He hoped by being in her space, surrounded by something she was passionate about, would reveal some hidden facet of her, some chink in her typically impenetrable armor then he'd take her out to eat at her mothers restaurant and let her talk about how good her class was today.
The rhythmic thud of feet against the padded mats filled the air. He watched as a group of teenagers, mostly boys, grappled and sparred, their faces flushed with exertion. He was surrounded by a world of sharp elbows and flying fists, a world that was entirely foreign to him. He was more comfortable with the familiar cadence of a guitar riff than the percussive sound of bodies colliding.
He shifted his weight, feeling out of place. He was clad in his usual attire, faded jeans, a vintage t-shirt, and his reliable jacket Blossom wanted so desperately, a stark contrast to the loose-fitting gi worn by the students. He felt like an intruder, an observer in a world where he didn't belong. He caught his reflection in the mirrored wall, the awkwardness apparent in his posture, the uncertainty in his eyes. He forced a smile, hoping it didn't look as strained as it felt.
Just then, a tall, broad-shouldered man with kind eyes strode over to him. He had a salt-and-pepper beard, and a voice that boomed in the cavernous room. "You must be a friend of Blossom, I saw you enter with her." he said, his voice as warm as a summer day, "I'm Mr. Reynolds, her instructor."
Hunter nodded, offering a tentative smile. "Yeah, I'm Hunter."
Mr. Reynolds clapped him on the shoulder, startling Hunter with the force of it. "Good to meet you, Hunter. We're a bit short-handed today. Want to join in with Blossom for a bit? We could use an extra body for the sparring session."
Hunter's eyes widened. The thought of stepping onto the mat, of tangling with the other students, filled him with a mixture of apprehension and amusement. He was not that athletic; his coordination was, to put it mildly, questionable due to his attention disorder. But the idea of sharing the space with Blossom, of being on the mat with her, despite his blatant lack of skill, was strangely compelling. "I, uh, I guess. If you're that short-handed."
