Expelled

by Claire Adams

  “Can I buy you girls a drink?”

  “Yes!” squealed the friend. She clapped excitedly, and I had to chuckle.

  “Julie! What the hell are you doing?” My beauty didn't seem too pleased by my invitation. She was already drinking, so why not have more? What harm was there in me buying them drinks?

  “What? What's wrong with him buying us a drink?”

  “Oh, forget it, I don't care.” The ginger girl seemed to have given up hope of getting rid of me quickly.

  I felt like this was my opportunity to get on that girl's best side. The bartender arrived with my drink, and I ordered the two girls another round of what they were drinking.

  “Thank you, that was really sweet of you,” the friend gushed. She thought I was possibly interested in her, but she was only a means to an end. I wanted the redhead.

  “It's my pleasure.”

  I looked at the girl beside me and said, “Hi there, beautiful, do you have a name?”

  She didn't even look over at me. She just stared down into her watered-down rye and Coke. “Yeah, sure I do; it's get lost.”

  That made me chuckle. “That's kind of mean of you. I only came here to say hi to you.”

  “I didn't ask you to, so why don't you go back to where you came from?” She smiled into her drink as if she enjoyed her joke.

  I glanced over at the friend, who just shrugged her shoulders at me. “Is your friend always so mean to people?” I queried.

  She looked embarrassed, as if she wasn't quite sure what to say to me. “No, she doesn't know who you are, really. She's just having a bad night. For the past like, eight months though ... the same bad day.”

  I couldn't help but laugh. That girl was sort of funny.

  “What's your name?” I asked.

  “Julie, and my friend’s name is Natalie.”

  “Natalie, what a beautiful name for a beautiful girl.”

  Natalie snorted. “Is that the best you can do ... Jet, is it?”

  “You do know my name, wonderful.”

  “Hardly. Julie was nice enough to impart your glowing reputation to me.”

  “You can't possibly dislike me; you don't even know me. And I just bought you beautiful ladies some drinks.”

  Natalie finally looked up from her glass, and met my gaze. “I know about guys like you. You're all the same and I couldn't be less interested. Did you really think you could come over here and I would just go home with you? You can't be that deluded.”

  I laughed out loud. She was a total trip. I was quite certain that no female in my entire life had talked to me that way. I kind of liked a girl with a set of balls. Girls these days kissed ass too much to land a boyfriend, but not this one. She was on fire tonight.

  Julie laughed, too, though more nervously.

  “Give me a chance here, firecracker. Come dance with me. You will have fun, I promise.”

  “No shot.”

  “Well, would you be interested in coffee sometime? In a nice, safe, public place so I can't trick you into sex? You can’t believe everything you hear about my reputation.”

  “Just beat it, Jet, I have a drink to finish.”

  The drinks I ordered arrived, and Julie grabbed hers, while Natalie just left hers sitting there. I wasn't quite sure what to think of the whole situation.

  “Are you really not going to give me a chance here?”

  She looked up at me again, and met my eyes. She lingered there momentarily, just long enough to give me hope. And then she whispered, so softly I almost missed the words, “Fuck off.” She then turned back to finish her drink.

  I took a look around, wondering if I should hit the dance floor alone and pick up another chick to take home to warm my bed. I didn't like sleeping alone. This little interlude was going terribly, so it was definitely time for me to move on to the next one. But before I was able to make a decision on whom to hit on next, Natalie and Julie got up from their seats, drinks unfinished, and left without even glancing at me again. No see ya later, no thanks for the drinks; they just up and left me.

  I was dumbfounded by Natalie's behavior. Bars were the best possible place to pick up girls, and yet I was turned down by a girl who hadn't even known I existed until that night. It had never happened to me before. I didn't like the feeling; I'm not going to lie.

  Chapter Three

  Natalie

  Class ended with me thinking about my art assignment for the new semester. I lingered in the classroom as my fellow classmates filtered out of the room, onto their next class or maybe off on a break. I had nowhere to be at that particular moment, except to study. Sometimes I liked watching people, wondering what their lives were like outside of school. How much different were their lives from mine? Were they happy? If not, what was going on in their lives to cause unhappiness? The amazing thing about watching people is that you could never tell what kind of life they lead by their expression, or the way they held themselves. Hell, with all this reflection, I probably should have been a writer; then maybe I would know human nature a little better. I smiled at a few of them as they walked past me, quizzical looks on their faces, probably wondering why I wasn't escaping with them. To be honest, I was exhausted. Exhausted from my life, and now this project. I took my classwork seriously, because honestly, it was all I had. Maybe all I would ever have, and that certainly was a scary notion. It had occurred to me that I should stop the melancholy thought process before it got the best of me.

  I looked down at my notebooks, unsure whether I should head out just yet. I flipped through the notes I had made in art class, hoping that an idea would pop out at me. For the first time in a while, I didn't know what to do. No brilliant ideas had come to me thus far, and yet I had to get started working on it before I got behind. I was puzzled by the assignment, and wasn't sure how I should handle it. I loved the class, and everything to do with my new semester, but the classes certainly forced me to dig deeper as an artist. The professor had assigned a task for us to complete, and I wanted to do a good job on it. My art career was very important to me, and I was determined to excel. I didn't want just any job when I graduated―I wanted the best job out there. I hoped to one day work in Europe, in one of their finest galleries, that is, until I became a famous artist myself. Until then, however, I planned on working amongst the greatest art pieces in the world. The assignment was to draw a changing object once a month, and at the end of the semester I would hand it in. I hadn't a clue what object I would use. I would have to find something that would constantly change. Something interesting, fascinating even, something to knock the socks off of my professor.

  I grabbed my books and art supplies and slipped them into my bag. I stood up, pushing the chair in, and I headed out the door. I was lost in the puzzle of my art project when I walked down the hallway toward the end of the building, and pushed through the doors. Sunlight shone in my eyes, and I ran smack into Jet, dropping my bag and spilling my books all over the ground. What. The. Fuck.

  “Great, you again.”

  He laughed, “Yep it's me, and sorry about that. It wasn't my intention to body check you.”

  “What exactly was your intention?”

  He bent down to help me pick up the books. He handed me the books one by one and I slipped them back into my bag as neatly as I could.

  “Art, right? I heard you were into this stuff.”

  “This ‘stuff'?’ Wow, you're a real charmer today aren't you?” This guy was really one of a kind, in the most unfortunate sense of the word.

  “Well, I'm showing interest in you, aren't I? Come on, you know I didn't mean it like that.”

  “Yeah, lucky me. Are you stalking me right now? ‘Cause I'm pretty sure the balls and sticks aren't found on this side of campus.” I almost smiled when I said it, but I caught myself. No need to encourage him with friendliness.

  My books were safely back in my bag, which was now slung over my shoulder, so that was my cue to start to walk away from him. He followed beside me quickly, in
an annoyingly persistent way.

  What was with this guy? He couldn't have actually been interested in me. I was nothing like him. But wow, he had a real hard-on for me.

  “Will you hang out with me sometime?” He stumbled over his words as he tried to keep pace with me.

  I stopped then and turned to look at him. “Hang out with you? Why would I want to do that?”

  I turned again, and headed away from him. I couldn't think for the life of me why he was bothering me, out of all the girls on campus. I wasn't his type at all. I didn't know what he saw in me, or whether this was just a game of his to get me in the sack. My luck, I was some bet he had to win against his buddies. Oh man, I better not be a bet. Either way, I wasn't impressed at all by his behavior, and wondered what I could do to get him off my back. I had bigger issues to deal with than this guy.

  “Come on, Natalie, just give me a chance. I'm really not a bad guy. Yes, I have a reputation, and I always like to have a good time in one way or another, but it's all in good fun.”

  “I bet it is.”

  “I'm not out to hurt you, Natalie.”

  I ignored him. What did he expect me to say? Of course, he was going to say something like that. Did I really expect him to tell me he was going to stampede all over my heart? This guy was a real rich one.

  I was headed to the library, and was surprised to find he stayed with me the whole way. He may be a glutton for punishment after all.

  “Please, Natalie?”

  “Why do you want me to hang out with you?”

  “I like you, and I think if you lightened up, you would actually have some fun with me.”

  I snorted, “Jet, please, I don't need to lighten up. I'm really not interested. It's not even so much you. I'm not interested in anyone right now.”

  “That's the best news I have heard all day, and here I thought it was just me you hated.”

  “Oh, well then, I'm glad to brighten your day.”

  We arrived at the library, and I thought with no small amount of amusement, that there was no way a guy like Jet would be caught dead in a library where souls arrived to study. He was just a stupid jock; no real depth going on inside him, and I wouldn't be caught dating him, either. What the hell would the two of us talk about? That's why he couldn't be genuinely interested in me; it just didn't make sense for us to start dating.

  “What do you say, Natalie, hang out with me sometime?”

  I was in a hurry to get in the library to study, so I pushed through the doors, and yelled over my shoulder, “Maybe ... sometime. Bye.”

  “Well, I'll take that. It's good enough for me.”

  I didn't look back as I heard the door close behind me, and thanked God he hadn't followed me in. I looked around for a table in a quiet area. When I found one way in the back of the library, I settled there and got down to studying. I started taking my books back out of the bag, and lined them up on the table. Here I go again, I thought. I refused to think about that imbecile; all I wanted was to focus on my studies for the time being.

  Chapter Four

  Jet

  I headed into the university's state-of-the-art training center, and strode to the locker rooms. There were a lot of guys training that afternoon, and the air in the room was electric with spirit and energy. Many guys were preparing for their own upcoming fights. We had a strong team for the school, and in the past two years had brought back many medals and trophies.

  I opened my locker door and grabbed my hand wraps. I also grabbed shin pads and MMA gloves. I wasn't sure what training entailed that day, but I had to be prepared for anything. I went out to where the boys were training, and sat on the bench to watch. As I watched my teammates boxing or grappling, I started to wrap my hands. It wasn't something that I did all the time; it was really unnecessary for experienced fighters, but I liked the tightness of it. It made me feel in control of my own hands. I began putting my thumb through the wrap hole, and began wrapping against my knuckles, then against my palm, down my wrist, and then over and over again until the wrap ended, at which point I secured it. I started on the other hand as I watched the fighters, wondering what was in store for me that day.

  My coach was just finishing up with one of my teammates. I saw him slapping the guy on the shoulder, congratulating him on a good fight session. He was a good coach, strong and dedicated to all the students that went through the MMA training program.

  I spent a lot of time in the gym―more than I liked, but I planned on being a champion, so this was all part of the lifestyle of a fighter. You killed yourself for the chance at greatness, which was something that not everyone had a taste of. I lived for MMA―there was just no sport like it, and I thrived on it. I trained daily, always working on something different so that I never overworked or strained a body part. An injury was the last thing I needed, so my trainer was always careful to keep me fluid in one way or another. The goal was to master your craft, not destroy your body to the point where it could no longer perform properly. If you did, your MMA career was over, and no one wanted that.

  I watched as my coach, Robbie, came over, all smiles, ready to kill me another day. “Hey, Jet. How's your day going?”

  “You know me; always ready to kill it.”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Good. Really good; I slept like a baby last night.”

  “That's what I like to hear. Need you full of energy for your upcoming fight.”

  “Yeah, it's not far off now. I can't wait, man. I'm bringing home another medal.”

  “Hell yeah,” Robbed laughed. “You are so ready for this, man. I’ve got complete faith in you. You’ll bring the house down.”

  That is what I loved about Robbie; he knew how to get your head in the game. He was behind his guys 110%, and he fought just as hard for a win as we all did. He was an amazing trainer, and one hell of a guy.

  “You ready to get started, then?”

  “Yeah, of course. What's up first?”

  “Let's start with the heavy bag rounds; work on your striking.”

  I put on my gloves, and we headed over to the bags, he set a timer and we got into it. It was a great workout when my coach had me working heavy bag rounds. It was the best possible cardio exercise available. It burned straight through you, and if you could work hard in the gym―really kill yourself―then the fights were easy. Training is where you burn yourself out; that way, you are ready for the fight, and you won't tire out. Many people didn't realize that as they spent hours on the treadmill. You could burn far more calories in less time by doing heavy bag rounds. It was a more intense endurance training than just running.

  It would be a tough day, as I would be worked to exhaustion. Heavy bag rounds consisted of 10 two-minute rounds that mimicked a fight sequence. I had to throw everything I knew, such as elbows, spinning back kicks, punches, and knees. I had to use speed and accuracy to ensure that not only was I quick, but powerful. You could only be powerful if your technique was on the nose, otherwise you were just a sloppy fighter. I had to complete all 10 rounds with no break and no water. If I survived, I would be awarded a water break that lasted no more than a minute.

  I began my rounds and threw combinations of jabs, rights, and hooks, all landing in a pop, pop, pop motion, knuckles engaging with the bag in one fluid motion. I didn't think of anything else but my imaginary opponent. I stayed focused, sweat pouring off of me as I handled round after round. My trainer stood in the corner, coaching me on where to throw, reminding me of what I needed to work on.

  My last strike hit hard as the bell went off. I was dripping sweat on the mats, my shirt drenched, but I felt exhilarated.

  “Good job, Jet. You stayed focused, you dug deep. That's what you want, man. When it comes to winning, sometimes you need to dig deep. Fight through the pain, Jet, and you will always be a winner. Now go get a drink of water, and then meet me back here for pad work.”

  I headed for the water cooler. Once there, I grabbed a bottle of water, and drank half
of it without blinking an eye. I needed to be careful; I loved the cool, quenching taste of water, but too much of it could cause me to cramp up in a fight. I wiped the sweat off my brow with my shirt. I practiced my breathing to slow down my heart rate. Breathe in slowly through the nose, and out through the mouth. Do that a few times and your heart rate slows right down. It refreshes your body to allow you to keep going.

  I headed back to where Robbie was holding the pad. At the last minute he decided to do pad work with me in the ring for two rounds.

  “Feeling lucky?”

  “Pad work is where I always win, Robbie; you know that.”

  He chuckled, and held up a large Thai pad in front of his body, and when the bell rang, we would spar. The purpose of the exercise was for me to avoid being cornered. I would have to throw whatever I could at the pads, keeping my opponent off of me, and ensuring I would not be pushed in the corner. It was the trainer’s job, however, to apply pressure, and force me into the corner. The exercise proved to be exhausting, but highly effective, because if you could build up enough endurance with someone's body weight on you, a real fight should be a piece of cake. It was also why weight training was important. If your opponent was strong and you were not, then you would never be able to push his weight off of you. It was highly important to have balance in training, and weights certainly had their place. We only did a few rounds of those, because it could take the life out of you and we had much more work to do.

  “Alright, kiddo, good work. You really fought me off in there, that's what I like to see.”

  “Hell yeah.”

  “Let's get the focus mitts and work on your technique.”

  We got out of the ring, and headed for the mats again. I took a moment to grab some water and breathe a bit while he fetched focus mitts from the back room. He returned quickly; however, he didn't want to allow me to cool down.

  “Let's go!”

  Next, Robbie had me do more pad work, but this time with focus mitts. Using focus mitts forced a fighter to use good technique, or risk missing the pad completely. All that you could hear across the gym was the pop, pop, pop of my gloves hitting the pads. We did five rounds of that, and ended our day in the cage. He had me do two rounds of light sparring to get a feel for how I was doing. At this point, I really needed to dig deep as a fighter, because I was gassed. It was a hard training session that just seemed never-ending. When our round ended, he invited in a freshmen teammate who was not part of the starting squad.