Knockout Boys

Chapter 14: Skill to Survive

I waited for the familiar loud, obnoxious motorcycle that signaled Kevin's arrival. I waited for him like a dog at the door, both excited and irritated. Sighing, I opened the door and sat on the porch steps because there was no point in pretending I didn't care. I saw the black motorcycle getting closer and closer, Kevin coming slowly into view, and skidding the bike to a haphazard halt right outside the driveway. He was wearing a leather jacket and a tight white shirt like some 50s greaser. I guess that never goes out of style.

"'Sup," he nodded towards me, not even making eye contact.

I stared at him open mouthed, shocked at the nonchalant way he greeted me. I bet he didn't know, or care, how sick it made me to part like that. He didn't know every night I fell asleep snuggling that damn tiger he won for me, until I hid it away in my closet. "Hey," I choked out. My voice sounded hoarse.

"Ya coming or not?" he said, revving the engine, eyes on the road. "Ain't got all day."

"Yeah," I muttered, the corners of my mouth tugging downwards. His usual rough manner wasn't endearing to me as it once was. Cautiously, trying to touch him as little as possible, I got on the motorcycle behind him.

As we passed house after house, field after field, my stomach was doing nervous little flip flops. I tried to focus on the spectacular scenery of corn fields and the occasional cow or horse and the putrid smells that accompanied them, but my attention kept getting tugged to the total jerk in front of me. I couldn't help admiring said jerk's sharp jawline, and I wanted to run my hands through his dark hair, which was shorter now. I swallowed, wondering when in that month of ignoring me he'd gotten the haircut. I bit my lip hard, disgusted with myself. Get over it, Rocky. Focus on survival, not this petty drama. As my Dad liked to say, listen to your big head, not your little head.

I focused on the road, and noticed Kevin was pulling up at an abandoned field of corn, with a weather beaten sign that welcomed us to the corn maze. I blinked. "Uh, where are we?" I asked nervously. Was this it? Was this the maze? The place I would get pounded to a little pulp for public entertainment?

"Get off the bike," said Kevin. I did, my hands shaking, and Kevin followed, locking his motorcycle against an old, trampled fence. "This way," he said, grabbing a bag hanging off the side of the bike and swinging it over his back. He led me around a shriveled corn field that used to be a corn maze, to a large abandoned shed that hidden behind the tall corn stalks. It was moldy and decaying, looking like it would cave any minute. But when we walked in and Kevin flicked on the lights, I gasped at the sight. The Christmas lights dimly lit the grungy space, littered with red cups and broken glass, and a boxing ring in the center clear to see. What suspiciously looked like blood stains spattered the sides of the blue mat, which looked like it had never been washed. The area was sectioned off by duct tape wrapped around poles, some torn, but most still in place.

"Pretty great, huh?" Kevin's voice echoed slightly in the large shed, big enough to fit about half the school.

"Is this what you call the maze?" I asked the obvious, stepping over an abandoned shirt.

"Yeah," said Kevin, unzipping the bag. "We're gonna train here today." Without warning, he threw headgear at me. Yelping, I swatted it away and backed up a few paces. Kevin stared at me incredulously. "You're supposed to catch that. Jesus, Rocky."

My cheeks heated up as I scurried after the headgear. "Should I... put this on?" I stammered.

"Unless you want another concussion," Kevin retorted. Hastily, I slipped the headgear over my head, feeling the squishy material squeeze the sides of my head.

Kevin was holding long strips of white cloth, and he gestured for me to come over. "Extend your hand," he ordered. "Spread out your fingers." I did as he told me, and he wrapped the cloth carefully around my palm, between my fingers, around my wrist, then did the same to my other hand. I watched the process through half-lidded eyes. It was a nice sensation, to be connected to him through touch. I bit my lip hard to distract myself from those stupid thoughts, tasting blood. He doesn't like me like that, I thought bitterly. He made that quite clear.