In His Corner [Story Preview]

Chapter 2: Ava

"Shelly, I just don't want to go. It's not my scene and it's illegal."

"Ava, the cops are like the biggest supporters of this stuff. They are totally in the loop and have money on the line. It's not getting busted." I hate it when Shelly just recites exactly what Eric says with a sense of haughtiness as if she truly knows the information firsthand. As if she actually has any idea what she's talking about. I'm usually suspect of most of Shelly's flings but Eric is a different kind of trouble. And after everything I've been through recently, I'm not exactly keen on getting involved in his "underground fighting" lifestyle. A lifestyle I didn't even know existed until last week.

Two weeks ago, I was a college senior at a posh private school pursuing a degree in marketing. Now, thanks to a ridiculously tragic serving of fate, I'm a college-dropout, technically homeless, and beyond penniless thanks to my lying, cheating, completely-faking-his-entire-life father. I also may be officially friendless aside from Shelly, considering my college friends and the guy I'd been casually dating, Jacob, have yet to reach out to me after what I call the reckoning. A literal scene from hell, it's when the cops came to find me at my dorm to inform me that my father had been arrested for fraud and that all of my accounts were now frozen. If not seized for everything they'd been worth. Which, I'm now realizing being on the other side of life, were worth a hell of a lot of money. The likes of which I'm not going to see anytime soon.

So the last thing I need in my crumbling life right now is to engage with anything risky or unknown when I'm still reeling from the loss of everything I've ever had.

This includes grappling with Shelly's latest and eccentric dating choices.

To be fair, Shelly was the only person there for me when my whole life fell apart before my very eyes. We have been friends since childhood, always incredibly different but somehow in sync. We met in elementary school and hit it off even though we never hung out in the same social circles. I went off to private college and she went to cosmetology school, working in various high-end salons around Boston. When I called her telling her I needed a place to stay, she didn't even question me about it. Which is more than I can say for anyone else in my life, including my greedy and nosy network of aunts, uncles, and cousins who were only concerned with the dollar signs flashing before their eyes.

So maybe I could just do this one thing, this one time, for her. Even if it is scary and illegal and insane. Just the thought makes my stomach knot.

"Okay fine. But I'm not going to any parties after the fight. I don't know these people."

"Ava, stop being such a snob! Meet new people, it's fun." Shelly bounds over to me, twirling the ends of my long hair playfully. "Can I pick out your outfit?"

"No." More like absolutely not. I am already agreeing to go to an underground illegal boxing fight; there is no way I'll also be caught dead in one of Shelly's outfits. She can rock the off-duty model look with strappy, slinky dresses, but I cannot. If I try to pull off her style I just look downright outrageous, my chest and hips much fuller than her slender, waif-life physique.

Besides, my goal right now is blending in and not attracting any unnecessary attention. I've had enough attention over the past few weeks to last me this lifetime and into the next.

"Fine, fine, I won't push it. Let's leave at 7:00 PM. It'll be fun I promise!" She gives me a quick peck on the cheek before running into her bedroom, likely to try on seven variations of sparkly short skirts and tank tops. I can't help but smile a bit to myself. As frustrating as Shelly can be she is always happy and positive, never harboring on painful moments from the past.

—

The underground arena is fairly dark with lights surrounding the ring. There are metal chairs close to the ring itself and long metal benches further out. I'm surprised at how close our seats are, but it seems like Eric has decent potential for this fighting stuff so I guess the coach we met with the other day at the gym wants him up close and taking notes. We find our way to our seats, only the second row back from the ring. I keep my eyes on the floor, desperate to get away from the overt looks and catcalls from several other fans finding their seats. I'm certain the catcalls are mainly directed at Shelly, whose blonde hair stands out brightly under the spotlights dancing above the arena. After chancing a quick look around, I'm certain that I am in fact the most conservatively dressed woman in the whole arena. I'm wearing my favorite light blue denim jeans and a long-sleeved cream ribbed sweater that hardly shows any cleavage. Even so, I find myself self-consciously pulling up on the neckline.