by Bella King
“Don’t get too ahead of yourself though. Keep paying attention in class, because it might sneak up on you. It’s only your first day,” my mother warned.
I breathed through my nose in amusement. I doubted what she said very much, but I kept my mouth shut about it. There was no use arguing about things that we wouldn’t agree on, and she was doing what every good mother would do anyway.
I placed a soggy piece of broccoli on my tongue and pulled it into my mouth, chewing it only once before swallowing it. Salt wouldn’t make it much better than it was after it had the life boiled out of it, but I grabbed for it anyway, sprinkling an excessive amount over all of my food.
My mother looked at me pouring salt and frowned. I returned the silver saltshaker back to the middle of the table. “I was playing tennis today. I need to replenish the salt in my body. Something about electrolytes, right?”
My mother laughed and shook her head. “You would only need a pinch of salt in that case.”
“Yeah but I was sweating, like, a lot,” I said, grabbing the pepper and covering my food with it as well.
“You can admit that you don’t like the food,” she said.
“No, it’s good,” I said, unable to force my lips into a genuine smile.
“You’re a bad liar, but I’ll let it slide. Tomorrow we can get pizza.”
“Oh,” I said, putting down the pepper slowly and looking over at my mother. “I actually have something tomorrow night that I was going to do.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Popular already? See, you do take after me,” she said with a grin.
I smiled. “No, I just got invited out. I probably won’t be out for long, but I think I’m going to grab something while I’m out. Tomorrow night though,” I said, placing my elbow on the table and pointing at her.
She frowned and made a motion for me to remove my elbow from the table.
I never understood why table manners were a thing because, you know, we all have to eat, but I did as she said. As she liked to say, it was her house so she got to make the rules. I suppose I should have been grateful that I didn’t have to pay my own rent yet. Some people’s parents had them out the second they turned eighteen.
I was safe from that, but I had also taken on a lot more responsibility than most people did at my age. Caring for my father, making dinner, and tidying up took most of my time that I would have otherwise spent goofing around on my laptop or phone.
I didn’t want to tell my mother who I was hanging out with, but thankfully she didn’t ask. I hadn’t said a word about Mason to anyone outside of school after I had left, and I wanted to keep it that way in case he turned out to be a total douchebag like Emma thought he was.
I was always the type of person to stay on the side of caution, especially when it came to guys. My mother always said that if a guy liked you enough, he would wait. The guys that didn’t wait were the ones who didn’t respect you.
Well, three years was a long time to wait, and even though that’s not what my mother had been talking about, I still hoped that Mason hadn’t gotten with anyone else in those years. I still wanted a shot at him, even if this whole thing was doomed from the start. I had a fantasy of who I thought he was, and I was desperate for him to be at least a little bit close to that image.
I practically inhaled the rest of my food, which was surprisingly easy except for the chicken, which was too dry to swallow without chewing. It took a lot of water to get that stuff down, and my mother watched me, completely unamused, as I gulped down water with it.
“Done,” I announced when I had finished.
My mother gave me a look but didn’t say anything.
I took my plate to the kitchen and placed it in the dishwasher, then charged back up the stairs to my bedroom as my phone started to ring in my pocket.
The number calling was one that I didn’t recognize, so I almost ignored it before I remembered that I had given Mason my phone number earlier that day. The area code was correct, so it could be him. I pressed the glowing green answer icon on my phone screen and held it up to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Hey Jasmine, this is Mason,” a deep voice said through the phone.
Fuck, his voice sounded even nicer over the phone, crackling and rumbling in just the right ways to make my stomach feel funny.
“Hey Mason, how’s it going?” I asked, batting my lashes even though he wouldn’t see them. It was instinctual.
“Let’s meet up at the corner of fourth and second in an hour. They moved the match up to tonight, so you should come down.”
“Oh,” I said. This was unexpected.
I moved over to my window and pushed aside the white curtains. It was already dark outside, which meant I needed to go to bed soon. This boxing match was awfully late.
“Is there a problem?” he asked, an edge of irritation in his voice.
“It’s kind of late,” I replied.
“So, you don’t want to come,” he said, his voice flat.
“I didn’t say that. I don’t think my mom is going to like me going out this late.”
He chuckled. “I think you’re old enough not to care, Jasmine. Why don’t you come out with me so you can watch me fight? I promise you it’ll be fun.”
I looked over at the door to my bedroom. My mother would be too busy getting ready for bed to disturb me. If I left the light in my room on, she would assume I was up doing homework instead of sneaking around town with a guy I barely knew anymore.
One the one hand, Mason was right. I was an adult, which meant I was the one who should be making decisions about how late I stayed out, not my mother. On the other hand, I had school tomorrow and this would have me going to sleep well past midnight. I had to make a choice quickly.
“Okay,” I said finally.
“Great, so you then. Don’t forget, be there in an hour,” he reminded me.
“I know,” I said, but he had already hung up.
Chapter 7
Well, I had already agreed to go out with Mason, so I didn’t want to turn on him now. I would just have to be sneaky about all this and hope that we weren’t out too long.
The idea of an underground boxing club was somewhat exciting to me, but it also scared me. I mean, what kind of people would be hanging out at that place? And if he was winning money, was it from bets? Was this like some kind of dogfighting thing except with people?
I was having serious doubts, but I decided not to pass judgment until I saw the place. If Mason wanted me to be down there so bad, then I would go and support him. He probably just wanted to show off for me, and that was a good sign. It probably meant that he liked me.
I pulled on my favorite green sweater and replaced my comfy pants with some jeans. I would have to crawl out the window to get out to fourth and second street, but I didn’t mind. I always went out to sit on the side roof and look up at the stars at night.
We were lucky enough to live in a neighborhood with very little light pollution, so it was easy to see the stars at night. One of the other advantages of this was that you could go out onto the street without people seeing you. I wouldn’t be able to drive because my mother would hear the car, but I could easily slink off into town on foot without being seen.
I left the light on in my bedroom and crawled out of the window after I slipped into a pair of white sneakers that I had hanging out in my room. It was still so warm outside that I probably didn’t even need to wear a sweater, but I wanted it just in case. You could never be too careful after the sun went down.
I jumped from the low roof to the grass at the side of the house, walking off casually as though I hadn’t just rolled like a ninja down the side of the roof. I was trying to have fun with my adventure and rolling over the roof seemed like a fine idea.
I made it out onto the road and began walking toward the old 24-hour shop on the corner that Mason wanted me to meet him at. I still have forty-five minutes to get there, so I walked slowly. It wouldn’t take me more than h
alf an hour, but I was always nervous about being late. I hated it.
One time I had been so late to a job interview that they wouldn’t even consider me for the position, even though it was just to wash dishes. After that, I never showed up late anywhere, even if it meant leaving outrageously early to beat traffic. I wouldn’t make the same mistake twice.
And I didn’t. I arrived at the abandoned corner shop ten minutes before I needed to be there. Thankfully, Mason was also early, a trait I was glad to see he hadn’t let go of over the years. He tilted his chin up to greet me as he walked forward.
“I like that sweater,” he said, flickering his eyes over me.
“Thanks,” I said. The sweater was one that hung my body tighter than a sweater usually did. It did wonders for my waist because of that, making my breasts really pop as well, not that they needed to. They were of adequate size as they were.
“You want to go inside?” I asked, eager to see what this place was like.
“Give me a second,” he replied, pulling out a carton of cigarettes from the back pocket of his tight blue jeans and popping them open in front of me.
My heart sunk. “You smoke?” I asked as he lit up a long cigarette with a red lighter.
He took a puff and smiled. “You thought I was a good boy? No way,” he said, blowing a ring of smoke toward me.
I wrinkled my nose as it hit my face. As sexy as smoking was, I didn’t want o see him doing it. It was terrible for your health and I cared about Mason. I had the urge to tell him to stop, but I didn’t think he would. As he said, he wasn’t a good boy.
Mason took another drag of his cigarette before taking it out of his mouth and trying to hand it to me.
“No thank you,” I said, unable to hide my disgust.
“Take it,” he said, smoke leaking from his lips as he spoke.
“I don’t want it,” he said, holding up a hand.
He shook his head as though I was the one who was ridiculous for not wanting to destroy my lungs, popping the burning piece of paper and tobacco back into his mouth and taking another drag. “The show starts in twenty minutes. Maybe you want a drink inside.”
“I could go for a soda,” I replied.
“Whiskey and coke it is,” he said, flicking the lit cigarette into the street. He didn’t give me a chance to protest, turning around and walking into the abandoned building with smoke trailing in behind him.
I followed him in, taken aback by his calm, yet rugged and rude, demeanor. Mason wasn’t the man he used to be. In fact, I was starting to think I wouldn’t be able to reconcile our differences at this rate. He almost seemed too far gone for me.
Still, I walked behind him as he led me to the back of the store and down a set of old wooden stairs to a single door at the end of a dark hallway. It looked abandoned, and for a moment, I thought he had brought me down here to do something terrible, but he knocked on the old door, and it came open after a moment, light flooding into the hallway.
We stepped into a completely different place, lit with strings of light across the walls and hanging from the bar, with a boxing ring in the center of the room. There were already many people there, drinking and smoking indoors.
I had never seen any place like this one. I was surprised that they even existed in such a nice town. Most of the residents here were quiet people who kept to themselves. This place seemed just the opposite. There were rowdy looking men shouting and laughing, and scantily clad women at the bar serving drinks.
“Whiskey and cola for my girl here, and a shot of tequila for myself,” Mason said, slamming a twenty-dollar bill onto the counter of the bar.
I was afraid of everyone in this place, so I stayed beside Mason as he ordered. If I was honest, I was a little afraid of him too, but he was the only one that I knew, so I stuck as close to him as I could without clinging directly to his muscular body.
He was wearing a white t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to show fresh tattoos on his shoulders. He looked a bit like a sailor from the 50s, but I didn’t say anything about it. I imagined that his presentation at this place was important given the aggressive nature of his performance.
“I don’t want the whiskey part,” I whispered to the bartender as she swiped the bill off the counter that Mason had laid down.
She promptly ignored me and came back with a chilled glass filled with whiskey, coke, and a few ice cubes. I knew that it had alcohol in it from the smell. I lifted it off the marred wooden bar and took a small sip, trying to be polite. I couldn’t help but cringe at the overwhelming flavor of cheap whiskey.
I looked over to see Mason downing his shot of tequila, expertly chasing it with a quick squirt of lemon. He didn’t even wince at the harshness of the beverage as he slammed the thick shot glass back down on the table. “Time to fight,” he said, winking at me.
“What should I do?” I asked as he stepped away from the bar.
“Enjoy the show,” he replied, walking away.
Chapter 8
I leaned against the bar, looking around and hugging my drink close to my chest. I felt so out of place here, but I was fascinated by the array of unique individuals that occupied the space. These weren’t the type of folks that I would ever associate with outside of here.
I took a closer look at the details of the underground club while I waited for the boxing match to begin. Other people were already huddling in toward the boxing ring, but I stayed back against the bar. I didn’t want to bump elbows with the grimy people here.
The bar itself was old, and had probably been here for a while. The wood on the table was worn and scratched, with deep grooves in it that could have only been made by knives. Some of them looked pretty fresh. I wondered how rowdy things got in here.
There was only one room as far as I could tell, aside from the genderless bathroom where Mason had gone. Stacks of boxes containing beer and other spare drinks were piled in the corner and sitting behind the bar where the two women worked. There were a few other women here as customers, but it was mostly men with long beards and bald heads.
The floor was sticky, as though it had a hundred beers spilled over it but hadn’t been mopped in a week, and the entire room smelled like body odor and alcohol. It wasn’t the nicest place, but I suspected that wasn’t why people were here. Peeling wallpaper and suspicious yellow stains weren’t the main attractions to a place such as this, it was the men who stepped into the ring that pulled them in.
I questioned the legality of this establishment, but I suppose it didn’t matter so long as there wasn’t anything inherently evil going on. Besides, it wasn’t my place to judge. I had blurred the lines of legality plenty of times in the past and would probably continue to do so as I saw fit. Rules were made to be broken, right?
My eyes followed Mason as he jumped into the boxing ring. He had his shirt off, and bright red gloves on his hands. He was still wearing jeans, which I found odd, but when the next guy jumped into the ring I figured it out. This wasn’t an official match. These men were clearly fighting off the books.
Mason’s opponent looked more like a crackhead than a boxer. He was skinny, with missing teeth, and ears that looked boxed into all hell. One blow to this guy’s ribcage and it was all over for him. I didn’t see how this was a fair fight at all.
The men around the ring cheered as a bell rang and the match started. Money was already trading hands when Mason landed his first blow.
I clung to my drink so tightly that the glass threatened to give way as Mason threw blow after blow at the frail man. He guarded his face, but got hit in the stomach a few times. Suddenly, the skinny man punched a gloved hand out from the side, whacking Mason in his ear.
Even from across the smokey room, I could see the color rising in Mason’s angry face. He was beet red and looked like he wanted to kill the man after that blow. He rained a battering of heavy fists down on him, knocking him left, right, and backward with such fury that I was sure the match would be called.
Yet, it
wasn’t. Mason continued to rain fists down on the man until he bounced off the far side of the ring and managed to recover long enough to counter the attack. The man swung an upward hook at Mason, which hit him squarely in the jaw.
I nearly yelped as I witnessed Mason take the hit, but the rest of the crowd went wild, some booing while others cheered. I gripped my drink, taking another sip as Mason came back in full force.
Sweat was already dripping off both the men, rolling down the tips of their nose as they fought. There seemed to be no referee to stop them, and no glowing red time for the match. I wondered when the bell would ring to end the round, but it never came. The men kept fighting as though their lives depended on it, trading vicious swings in their red gloves.
Finally, Mason stepped up, coming up very quickly on the man and knocking his fist into his stomach and then his face. The wind was knocked out of him, and I could see him wheezing, gasping for breath as Mason pummeled his face with those bright red gloves.
He crumbled to the ground, Mason beating down on him despite his body going limp. People began to cheer and shout as Mason beat the man while he was down. Nobody stopped him. I raised my hand up in protest, but Mason stopped when he was ready, finally climbing off the skinny man when he was sure that he wouldn’t be getting up to fight back. The match had been won.
Mason raised a glove into the air, smiling through his mouthguard and pumping his fist high as people cheered. The whole thing made me feel sick inside. The man that Mason had beat still laid on the floor of the ring, his ribcage rising and falling faintly to indicate that he was still alive.
This whole match had been dirty and unprofessional. This wasn’t boxing, or if it was, it wasn’t any kind of boxing that I grew up seeing. Not only did it seem dangerous, but it also looked illegal, and the man that Mason had gone against didn’t even look like a boxer. He looked like a man with a drug problem who was desperate for money.
