Girls Can't Hit

by T. S. Easton

  ‘I’m not. I just don’t want her to be better than me,’ I said, jamming a fistful of forks willy-nilly into the cutlery section.

  ‘So can’t you box her and knock her down? You said you had a good right hoof?’

  ‘Hook, right hook.’

  ‘That too. So what’s the problem? I saw you knock the rapist down.’

  ‘The problem is that Bonita is taller and heavier than me,’ I said. ‘She can reach further with her fists and hit harder. That’s why they have different divisions in boxing.’

  ‘She ain’t gonna kiss ya, Rocky,’ Pip said, in his worst Burgess Meredith voice. ‘She’s gonna kill ya.’

  ‘Exactly,’ I said. ‘If I want to fight her, then I have to put on weight.’

  ‘So put on weight,’ he said, shrugging. I looked up at him as he scraped crumble out of a bowl into the bin. Some people really like to over-complicate things, but not Pip. To him it was simple.

  ‘Do dessert bowls go in the top or bottom?’ he asked.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ I told him. ‘Just plonk it in and risk getting it wrong.’

  ‘Fourteen, fifteen, sixteen,’ I puffed, doing press-ups. My morning run was roughly five kilometres and about halfway I cut through Bosford Park. I always stopped at the bridge over the duck pond and did some press-ups, squats and burpees, just to mix it up. As I completed press-up number twenty, a pair of green trainers appeared in front of me.

  I lifted my head and squinted against the sunshine to see the smirking face of Bonita. She held out a hand and after a moment, I grabbed it and she pulled me up. She was also wearing Lycra. Hers was green. Mine was pink.

  ‘So you gonna fight in this tournament?’ she asked. I shook my head.

  ‘I’m a lover, not a fighter,’ I said with a winning smile.

  ‘Yes, that explains why you joined a boxing club. Oh wait a minute, no it doesn’t.’

  ‘It’s just for fitness,’ I said.

  ‘I overheard what Ricky said,’ she went on. ‘He said you were ready.’

  ‘I’m sure he’s right,’ I said. ‘Still not going to happen though. And why do you care, anyway?’

  ‘Why don’t you care?’ Bonita asked, pointing at me. ‘What kind of girl are you anyway?’ I felt myself blush. I knew she was deliberately goading me. Trying to find the right buttons to push.

  ‘Look, just because you’re strong and fast and good at sports doesn’t make you better than me,’ I said. ‘Girls don’t need to be sporty any more than they need to be princesses. You don’t get to decide what I should be.’

  ‘So what are you?’ she asked. ‘What exactly are you?’

  It was time to go.

  ‘See ya, Bonita,’ I said, but as I jogged slowly away from the confrontation, I found myself wondering about Bonita’s question.

  And I wasn’t at all sure I knew the answer.

  Hold the Front Page

  Sweat dripped from the end of my nose. Today’s session had been tough, and we weren’t even out of the warm-ups yet.

  ‘I’m gonna show you a new exercise,’ Ricky said. He placed a medicine ball carefully on the floor and got down painfully. His back was clearly bothering him. But once down, he showed his fitness by resting his feet on the medicine ball and performing ten quick press-ups, while drawing alternate knees up and to the side. ‘Spider-Man press-ups. Did everyone see that?’ he asked as people lay around, expiring. Everyone nodded and Ricky clambered to his feet, grunting with the effort.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I wasn’t watching. Can you do it again?’

  Ricky sighed and started to get down again. ‘Just kidding,’ I said. Everyone laughed except Ricky.

  ‘If you’ve got breath to make jokes, you can do three extra reps,’ Ricky said. Everyone laughed except me. As I was working on a bag with Destiny later on, I saw a man with a satchel walk into the club and look around curiously. Ricky rushed over to him and they shook hands before going off to one of the trestle tables. The man pulled a notebook out of his satchel.

  ‘Who’s that?’ I asked Sharon as she passed.

  ‘He’s from the paper,’ she explained. ‘They’re going to do a story about the club, and the tournament.’ As she said this, Ricky turned and pointed to me and Destiny, then Bonita and Taylor on the other side of the hall. The reporter nodded and scribbled something down in his book.

  After the session I looked for Tarik, wondering if he might walk me back to the bypass. I found him in the kitchen with Bonita and Taylor. They were laughing at something he was saying. I caught his eye and waved goodbye before turning away. I tried not to be annoyed. Why shouldn’t Tarik and Bonita be friends? It’s not as if I had some claim on him. But once again, it seemed Bonita had muscled her way in on my life.

  I was a hundred yards down the street when I heard someone running behind me. My heart leapt and I turned quickly. It was Tarik.

  ‘Hey! You didn’t wait,’ he said, falling into step beside me.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘You seemed … busy.’

  ‘She’s funny, Bonita,’ he said.

  I pulled a face which he wasn’t supposed to see, but did.

  ‘Don’t you like her?’

  ‘I don’t know. I don’t think she and I are … similar people. She’s a fighter. I’m not.’

  ‘Yes, you are,’ he said.

  I stopped dead. He walked on a couple more paces and turned to me, his deep, dark eyes peering at me curiously. ‘You think I’m a fighter?’ I asked.

  ‘Sure. You keep coming back, week after week, you push yourself. You always look to improve. You listen, you think. Ricky threw you out of the club, you came back with a face like a storm.’

  ‘But I’ve never actually fought against someone else,’ I pointed out.

  ‘Who said you had to fight against someone else?’ Tarik said. He tapped his temple. ‘Sometimes the toughest opponent is in here.’

  When I got home my exam results were waiting for me. Mum was dancing around like a flyweight, nervously waiting for me to arrive and open the envelope.

  ‘They’re not important,’ I said as I pulled out the sheet inside. ‘It’s next year’s results that really count.’ It was easy enough to tell myself that, not so easy to believe it though. My stomach was churning. Because if I’d screwed it up … then what? It was not going to be easy to make up the ground in the final year.

  I looked at the sheet. Taking it in. I swallowed.

  ‘Well?’ Mum said, her voice quivering. ‘Well?’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ I said.

  ‘Oh God,’ she said, and sank down onto a chair. ‘It’s bad, isn’t it? I knew it. All that boxing business has been a distraction.’

  ‘No, Mum,’ I said. ‘Actually I nailed it. Four As.’

  She snatched the paper from me and read it in astonishment. I practised a few shadow punches in her direction, bouncing on my toes. She looked up at me and her face broke into a huge grin. She leaped up and grabbed me in a great bear hug, squeezing tightly. ‘Oh Fleur, I am so relieved. All this exercise, all this pushing yourself. I’ve been really worried.’

  ‘I know you have, Mum,’ I said, hugging back. ‘But you know what they say.’

  ‘No. What’s that?’

  ‘Mens sana in corpore sano. A healthy mind in a healthy body.’

  School (and Biltong)

  ‘People, we are running out of time,’ Ricky shouted. ‘We have ten weeks and I’m seeing too much flab, too much fat, too many breaks. I need you as sleek as racehorses. Do you get it?’

  A few people mumbled a yes.

  ‘DO YOU GET IT?’ Ricky screamed.

  ‘YES COACH RICKY,’ we yelled back. It was all part of the theatre. But I loved the feeling of being part of a team. Like a unit in the army.

  ‘Now we have five fights set up. Four boys’ matches and one girls’ match.’

  ‘Why only one girls’ match?’ Jerome asked. ‘We’ve got four girls.’

  ‘We only have three girls ready to fight,�
� Ricky said. ‘Remember. No one has to fight if they don’t want to. There’s no pressure.’ But as Bonita, Destiny and Taylor turned their heads to look at me, arching their eyebrows, I did feel the pressure. I knew I was letting them down. ‘Now those who are fighting in December,’ Ricky went on. ‘I want you over in the ring.’

  People started moving. I stayed still.

  ‘The rest of you,’ Ricky finished, ‘find yourselves a skipping rope.’

  ‘How’s attendance?’ I asked Sharon, after the session. I could see Bonita, Destiny and Taylor still in the ring, clustered around Tarik, laughing and chatting.

  ‘Not great,’ Sharon sighed. ‘We have plenty for the Saturday and Wednesday sessions, even if some of them aren’t paying. It’s the Thursday sessions that are the problem – we only had three last time.’

  ‘Ladies’ Nite?’ I asked, surprised. ‘I thought women’s boxing was much more popular now?’

  ‘It is, but boxing’s still dominated by men. And the problem is, the women we do have tend to be from around here. Which is brilliant, but I know Ricky was hoping we’d get more from East Bosford. You know, women with time on their hands, trying to keep in shape.’

  Ricky wandered over at this point to join in the discussion.

  ‘You mean the Yummy Mummies?’ I asked. ‘They’re all at the posh gym.’

  ‘The thing is,’ Ricky said, ‘a lot of women still think boxing is dangerous. And so they decide it’s not for them.’

  ‘Do you want me to put some more flyers up?’ I asked, slightly dreading the thought of running into the Meninists again.

  ‘That would be great,’ Sharon said. ‘Also, I thought we could put more pictures of girls up on the website. You know, on the tournament page?’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ I said.

  ‘So would you mind if we took some pictures of you?’

  ‘Me? I’m not even fighting in the tournament. I’m not exactly a success story.’

  ‘I disagree,’ Ricky said. ‘You’ve worked hard and you’ve really come on. When you got here you could hardly lift your fist, let alone punch. Now you’re looking like a real boxer. I’d say you are a success story, Fleur.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said, blushing. I was always ridiculously pleased when Ricky gave me a compliment.

  ‘So you’ll do the shoot?’ Sharon persisted, not letting me off the hook. ‘Tarik’s already agreed to it, but it would be so good to have a girl.’

  Tarik was doing it? ‘Well. I suppose if it’s to help out the club …’

  ‘And if you did want to fight in the tournament,’ Ricky added, ‘you’d be ready. And that way we could have two women’s matches.’

  I paused for a moment before answering. Ricky and Sharon were serious about promoting the club to women. What would Blossom say? Despite her opposition to the patriarchy, she’d tell me to do it, for the sisterhood. Mum would have a fit. Dad would say there are two ways of looking at it. Pip would tell me to do what my heart said. My heart didn’t know. The truth was, I was scared.

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ I promised.

  Give Me Angry

  On Saturday, Sharon texted and asked me to come early, for the photo shoot.

  When?

  Err. Now?

  I rushed into the bathroom, slapped on some make-up and pulled on my best Lycra. I was a little worried about doing the shoot. Not because I thought I might look ridiculous – that was a given. But because Mum might see the photos. She’d never believe I wasn’t fighting in the ring if she saw photos of me promoting a boxing tournament. Just as well she never went online.

  I took my bike, not just for speed, but because I’d be less sweaty when I arrived. You can freewheel most of the way into town anyway. The photographer was already there when I arrived. So was Tarik. He was wearing his loose top that showed off his trapezoidal muscles. Since I’d been doing weights I’d become familiar with the Latin names of the major muscle groups. There’s something about the word trapezoidal that makes me go a bit wobbly. And bicep. Gluteus maximus, maybe not so much.

  I realised a little late that I’d forgotten my chest protector, which meant my boobs were a bit more noticeable than they should have been. The photographer took a few standard shots first, head and shoulders. Smiling at the camera, then glowering. She asked us to stare into each other’s eyes and look mean and that’s when I got the giggles. I was a bit nervous anyway, and Tarik just couldn’t do mean. He has such a naturally friendly face. He doesn’t smile a lot, not with his mouth. But his eyes are always bright and warm.

  ‘Look angry,’ the photographer said. Tarik narrowed his eyes and stuck his bottom jaw out towards me.

  ‘You look like you need the loo.’ I grinned.

  ‘I do need the loo,’ he said. ‘I’ve been drinking isotonic fluid all morning.’

  ‘Channel the discomfort,’ I said. ‘Work it.’

  ‘Grr,’ he said, and then he fell about laughing too. The photographer looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

  I met up with Blossom and Pip at Chickos that night. They’d been to Battle and Pip was feeling glum.

  ‘He ran off again,’ Blossom said.

  ‘Back to his wood?’

  ‘Back to his wood.’

  ‘I thought everything would be different as a Norman,’ Pip said. ‘The helmet, the armour, the sword. But I’m still just as scared.’

  ‘Oh Pip,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. Would you like some chips … Not too many!’

  ‘He’s thinking about giving up altogether,’ Blossom said.

  ‘Maybe I’m not a Saxon OR a Norman,’ Pip said dejectedly.

  ‘Or maybe you’re both,’ Blossom suggested.

  ‘Is it just the battle itself?’ I asked. ‘Or are you not very sure about the dressing up?’

  ‘I LOVE the dressing up,’ Pip said. ‘But when I charge up that hill, and see all those stern Saxons facing me down … their shields so strong and solid … I just panic. I think, how can I ever burst through that wall, just me, on my own? Then someone takes a swing at me and then suddenly it all goes fuzzy and I’m clutching a yew tree.’

  ‘Poor Pip,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe I should pull out of the re-enactment,’ Pip said sadly, and took a slurp of his Coke. ‘I think there’s a vacancy in the gift shop.’

  ‘The big one is coming up though,’ I pointed out. ‘The anniversary of the battle itself. Thirteenth of October.’

  ‘Fourteenth of October,’ Blossom corrected me. ‘Thirteenth is World Thrombosis Day.’

  ‘Either way,’ I argued, ‘it would be a shame to miss it.’

  Punch Up

  That Wednesday we did a lot of pad work. Ricky was holding his pads up high, and I had to stretch right up to hit them.

  ‘Why have you got them so high?’ I asked afterwards.

  ‘Always punch up,’ he said. ‘It works the shoulder muscles. Good for fitness. But also, remember you’re aiming for your opponent’s head, which is a little higher than your shoulders. And if your opponent is taller than you then you’ll be ready.’

  ‘What if your opponent is shorter than you?’ I asked.

  ‘Then punch out. You can punch up, or out, but never down. Never punch down.’

  ‘Good rule for life in general,’ I said.

  ‘Sure is,’ Ricky agreed. As I climbed out of the ring, a song started up on the stereo. It was a song I’d come to know quite well during the time I’d been with the club and it was possibly the worst song ever recorded. It was ‘Black Dog’ by Led Zeppelin and I hated it more than I hate skipping.

  And I really hate skipping.

  I leaned back over the ropes as Ricky prepared for the next pad session, with Jerome. ‘Ricky,’ I said, ‘would you mind if I put something else on?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘The music, Ricky, this god-awful music. Please let me put something else on. Radio 1? Radio 2 if you absolutely must, just not Led Zeppelin again …’

  He glared at me. ‘No one touch
es the playlist,’ he growled. ‘It’s scientifically designed to help you reach your top performance.’

  ‘It’s scientifically making me want to top myself,’ I said.

  ‘Use that anger,’ he advised, then turned away.

  As I was leaving training I looked for Tarik. I went into the little kitchen area but there was no sign of him, just Bonita and Destiny. They spun round as I came in.

  ‘Did you see the paper?’ Bonita asked.

  ‘What paper?’

  ‘This one,’ she said, and showed me a copy of the Bosford Gazette, turned to page five. There was a picture of me, gloves raised, smiling, and looking like I was about to laugh. There was no sign of Tarik. Underneath it was an article about the club and the tournament.

  ‘Funny that they chose to illustrate a story about the tournament with a picture of someone who’s not even in it,’ she said. ‘Oh hang on, no it isn’t, because she’s blonde.’

  ‘The story isn’t just about the tournament,’ I said. ‘It’s about the club. We’re trying to encourage more girls to join.’

  ‘I’m a girl,’ Bonita said. ‘I’m in the club, and I’m in the tournament. No one asked me to be in the photos.’ She walked off. I stood for a moment, staring at the picture, then I dropped the paper on the table and ran out after Bonita. I caught up with her outside the hall.

  ‘Hey,’ I called. She stopped and turned, glowering at me.

  ‘I didn’t realise they were only going to take photos of me and Tarik,’ I said. ‘I thought they would include photos of us all.’

  ‘Sure,’ she said, and started to go. I trotted after her.

  ‘Will you stop?’

  She turned once more.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, OK?’ I said. ‘It should have been you in those photos. All I want to do is train and get fit. I was just trying to help the club. I don’t want to fight with you.’

  She watched me closely, then seemed to soften slightly and nodded. ‘Look, it’s fine,’ she said. ‘I know I’m big and ugly.’

  ‘You’re not ugly,’ I said.

  ‘I am, but thanks,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you Saturday, yeah?’