“You come to my fight, and you’ll see I stand up plenty. Stand up and knock ’em down.”
Corporal Richards laughs. “I’ll say this—you don’t lack confidence. That’s a good sign.”
Jackson shrugs. He doesn’t want to disagree. He needs to stay on Richards’s good side.
“Who are you fighting?”
“I don’t know yet. My application gets approved today, since it’s my eighteenth birthday.”
Richards looks at his computer. “That’s right. So are you ready to sign up now?”
“I still want to fight for a while, like I told you,” Jackson explains. “I put so much time and effort into MMA. I did it for the training, but I guess I found I liked it.”
“The love of combat is part of the warrior ethic.”
Jackson looks at the American flag in the corner. It’s the same size as the one handed to him at his dad’s funeral. It’s on the wall in his room, over the dresser filled with the photos of his dad. Jackson stares at the flag. “It’s not just combat I like. It’s the pride that goes with winning.”
“Happy birthday, son,” Jackson’s mom says as she hands him an envelope. She’s taken him and Joseph out to a fancy restaurant. Jackson convinced himself that the big steak he devoured was good muscle fuel. His opponent may be older, but he won’t be stronger. Or hungrier to win.
“Thanks, Mom,” Jackson takes the envelope. He’s distracted by Joseph, who is texting under the table, unbeknownst to his mother. Jackson opens the envelope, and inside the birthday card is a blank check. “What’s this?”
“It’s good for another year of training at the dojo if you decide to do that,” Jackson’s mom says with a smile. “Or good for a trip back home from basic if you join Special Forces. It depends on what you decide to do. Do you know yet?”
“Thanks, Mom,” Jackson answers without really answering. It’s times like this that Jackson wishes he could obey orders like at the dojo. Sweep the leg. Throw a jab. Close guard. You don’t decide at the dojo, you just do.
“Bro, I got you something,” Joseph says. He also hands Jackson an envelope. Jackson hides his disappointment. What he really wants is his army jacket back. Jackson could just take it from him, but he wants to test his brother: will he do the right thing and give the jacket back?
Jackson opens the envelope and inside is a wad of cash.
“Son, where did you get that?” Jackson’s mom asks.
Joseph fixes Jackson with a hard stare as if he’s daring him to snitch. “I won it,” Joseph answers. Jackson doesn’t blink. Joseph probably stole it or sold stuff he stole to get the money.
“Won it? Doing what?” Jackson’s mom asks. “I won’t have you—,”
“I know a guy who placed a bet for me on a fight, no big deal.” Maybe his mom can’t hear the lying tremor in Joseph’s voice, but Jackson does. Jackson’s mom shakes her head. If she knew where he got the money from, she’d be heartbroken rather than just disappointed.
“I don’t want you to do that ever again, you hear me, son?”
“I won’t do it again.” Joseph nods in agreement.
“Good. Now, how about some dessert?” Jackson’s mom waves the waitress over to their table. While his mother talks to her, Jackson wants to finish the conversation with Joseph.
“So what fight did you bet on?” Jackson asks softly, just trying to see if Joseph tips his hand.
Joseph lifts his head up and smirks like Hakeem. “Yours. I bet you’d lose. Thanks, bro.”
Under the table, Jackson pounds his hands together until his knuckles bleed.
“Side control! Side control!” Mr. Matsuda shouts at Jackson. Jackson slips his sparring partner’s guard, reverses, and gets position. His sparring partner in the Saturday adult class, Teddy Melton, is five years older. But Jackson’s more experienced.
Melton’s trying to fight out while Jackson keeps control, just waiting for a mistake. It doesn’t take long, as Melton tries a roll through but gives up his back. He tries fighting off the choke, but Jackson gets it in deep. Mr. Matsuda blows the whistle.
“Now that’s the fight you need to fight,” Mr. Matsuda says as Jackson and Melton touch gloves. “Use your strength to get your opponent to ground, then control him until he tries to escape. When he tries, he’ll leave an opening. Take his mistake and use it against him. Understand?”
Jackson nods his head, and sweat flies off his chin.
“Then, even if you don’t submit it, you’ll make him think about it,” Mr. Matsuda explains. “He’ll think the only way to win is a knockout, so he’ll start punching. And then what?”
Jackson kisses his right fist. “Lights out!”
“Okay, let’s get you in the cage with Marcus one last time before your fight next week,” Mr. Matsuda says as he pats Jackson on the back. “Hey, happy birthday.”
Jackson doesn’t react. He climbs into the cage and waits. Mr. Hodge signals for the other fighters to stop their drills and watch the fight. Since it’s a Saturday, neither Hector nor Nong is in attendance, but Meghan and Tyresha stand outside the cage. Jackson knows that the cage and Mr. Hodge’s rules are the only things standing between him and Tyresha. But now that he’s eighteen, he wonders if those rules still apply.
Mr. Hodge steps inside the cage and gives his normal speech about “protecting yourself.” Marcus and Jackson touch gloves. They charge at each other when the whistle blows.
Marcus circles, jabs, and then circles some more. Jackson feels dizzy as Marcus keeps moving around. Jackson tries to shoot, but Marcus is too fast. He slips it or sprawls. Jackson knows that with his weight advantage, he can win if the fight goes to the ground, so he waits.
Marcus must know it too, since he doesn’t even try a takedown. Kick, punch, kick. Jackson takes them all as the whistle signals the end of the first round. Between rounds, Tyresha approaches him at the side of the cage. She whispers, “Why don’t you just charge him, clinch him, and submit him?”
Jackson takes out his mouthpiece. “Easier said than done. You wanna try?”
“You won’t try; you’ll do it!” she says matter-of-factly. “Jackson James is a fighting machine, so do it!” Jackson takes a deep breath as she walks away, her pep talk pulling him up a little taller.
The fighters touch gloves, and the whistle blows for the next round. But rather than taking a step back, Jackson charges and locks Marcus in a clinch. Marcus throws knees to the body in rapid fire. Each one connects to Jackson’s ribs. As another knee smashes into his side, Jackson reaches down, grabs Marcus’s leg, and they crash down together on the mat. Jackson uses his size to mount, but Marcus gets a full guard, and there’s little Jackson can do. When he reaches in to snatch Marcus’s arm for an Americana, Marcus is too fast and pulls Jackson’s left arm toward him. He pulls guard, wraps Jackson’s arm between his legs, and rolls. Jackson taps out of the armbar.
As they touch gloves after the spar, Jackson feels a wave of pain shoot through his arm and his side. Nothing’s broken, but everything’s bruised—most of all, his ego.
“That was some great fighting advice,” Jackson says, cocking an eyebrow at Tyresha. They’re in her car in the parking lot of an old video store. They can’t be seen together outside the dojo, or word might get to Mr. Hodge.
“It seemed good in theory, but why would you listen to me?” Tyresha says and laughs. “You’ve been doing this for over two years, and I’ve been doing it for a few months.”
“I guess I’m used to taking people’s advice,” Jackson says with a shrug.
“You gotta learn to trust yourself,” Tyresha says with a smile.
“I guess,” Jackson mumbles and then shifts in the passenger seat. He lets out a pained cry.
“You okay? Maybe you need me to kiss it and make it better?”
Jackson blushes. “That one knee really landed. I think I bruised a rib.”
“Well, if you won’t let me kiss you, then I know this will make it better,” Tyresha says as she op
ens up her purse. She pulls out a small bag of weed. Jackson grabs the bag from her.
“No, I’m not doing this. It could get me kicked out of the dojo.”
Tyresha laughs before she kisses Jackson hard on the lips. “And so could this.”
Again, Jackson pushes her away. “I told you, Tyresha, we can’t be doing this.”
Tyresha looks down, breathes, and searches for words. “Jackson, look I don’t want to get you in trouble. I’m sorry.”
“Trouble seems to follow me,” Jackson says, then laughs.
“Maybe it’s more that you follow trouble, like hanging around with people like me.” Tyresha puts the bag back into her purse. “But am I really that bad of a kisser?”
“You kiss just fine. It’s just that it’s against the rules.”
“Are you afraid of Mr. Hodge?”
“No,” Jackson answers, “I’m afraid of myself. I just got to keep things under control, and the way to do that is obeying the rules.”
“Rules were made to be broken,” Tyresha whispers. “Besides, I won’t tell anybody. Who is going to know?”
Jackson shakes his head and bangs his strong right hand against his chest. “Me.”
Jackson walks into the dojo ready to fight. He throws his coat on the floor—a coat from Goodwill, since Joseph still won’t give up Jackson’s army jacket—then grabs some head-gear and heads straight for his longtime dojo mates.
“Hey, look who’s here!” Hector says.
Jackson responds with fist bumps for Hector and Nong. “Need all the ring time I can get.”
“I heard about your fight with Marcus. Tough loss,” Nong says.
Jackson starts throwing kicks against the punching bag. “Nong, didn’t you tell us that defeat brews the bitter tea of victory?” He looks around for Tyresha, but she’s not there. Another hard kick. “I’m countin’ on it paying off in my fight this weekend.”
“My money’s on you,” Hector says. “Not that I have any, but if I did.”
“Do people really bet on amateur fights?” Jackson asks. He knows that story Joseph told was a lie to get under his skin, but he wonders. Maybe he could take that money Joseph gave him for his birthday and bet on himself. Except he’s not confident he will win.
“People bet on everything,” Meghan shouts. Jackson turns around and is shocked to see Meghan with a black eye. His tips for Tyresha must be paying off. Their trade has certainly worked to his advantage too, since he’s doing better in math thanks to her help. If only she’d quit the dojo, he keeps thinking, then they could get together. But he can’t ask her to do that. Jackson knows he’s got some hard decisions to make—about Tyresha, about joining up, and about Joseph—but for now, he’s gotta focus on his first fight. For his opponent, it’s going to be just another fight. But for Jackson, it’s a launching pad.
Jackson joins Hector in various drills. His rib still hurts, but he fights through it. He’d like to spar again with Marcus to get his win back but doesn’t want to risk injury.
“Jackson, in the cage,” Mr. Hodge shouts. Jackson obeys and jogs to the cage. “Everybody”—the room gets quiet fast as people turn toward Mr. Hodge— “as you know, Jackson has his first amateur fight on Saturday. I expect all of you to be there to support him. But the best thing you can do tonight is give him a good, hard spar. Who’s first?”
“I am!” A loud voice comes from the back of the room. Jackson doesn’t recognize the voice until he sees Rex step forward. It’s the first time he’s seen him since Rex’s first night in the gym, the night that Jackson concussed him with a hard right.
“Three rounds, one minute each, full contact MMA,” Mr. Hodge shouts. Rex smiles before putting in his mouth guard.
After the whistle blows and they touch gloves, Jackson starts circling. Rex is short but compact. Jackson has the reach, size, and experience, but he can’t land anything. Rex is almost turtling from the stand-up, taking shots he deflects, but not offering any offense.
“Fight with aggression, Rex, not anger!” Mr. Matsuda shouts. “Fight, Rex, fight!”
Rex responds and throws quick jabs. Jackson blocks most of them, but one gets through. It’s a solid shot, but Jackson barrels ahead for the clinch. Another jab connects before Jackson grabs him. Knees, elbows, and punches trade back and forth as the round ends.
The second round begins with more of the same. Rex won’t make a mistake because he’s barely making any moves. He’s waiting for Jackson to slip up, and Jackson knows it.
Jackson throws a right, then a kick. The kick leaves his chin open, and Rex reaches with a wild left hook that leaves him off-balance. Just like he’d practiced a thousand times, Jackson seizes the moment. He grabs Rex’s leg and then sweeps the foot. Rex hits the mat with a thud after Jackson’s perfect sweeping hip throw. On the mat, Jackson doesn’t mount but gets side control. Rex is frantically trying to get up. Jackson eases off, allowing Rex to roll to his stomach. Before Rex knows what’s happened, Jackson’s got the rear naked choke, and Mr. Hodge stops the match.
Jackson helps Rex up and then takes out his own mouth guard. “Great fight.”
Rex shakes his head in disgust as he removes his guard. “I wanted to knock you out.”
“I knew that,” Jackson says as he taps Rex’s gloves. “That’s probably why I won. Listen to your coaches. Be aggressive but not angry.”
“Hey, Jackson, how’d you get so smart?” Mr. Hodge asks with a sly smile.
“The hard way,” Jackson replies.
After dressing, Jackson checks his phone. The texts from Hakeem have stopped, but he knows Joseph is still involved. Nothing has worked when he’s talked to Joseph at home—not reason, shame, or threats.
Jackson thinks about calling home but realizes since it’s Wednesday, his mom’s at church for another hour. He calls Tyresha. “Where are you tonight?”
Tyresha doesn’t answer.
“I saw Meghan’s face. Was that you?” Jackson asks.
“So she’s got a black eye?” Tyresha says. “Just like her to be better than me.”
“Better than you?”
“Yeah, I gave her one black eye, but she gave me two.”
“Maybe we better work on your defense,” Jackson says.
Tyresha laughs. “You’re pretty good at defense. You keep fighting me off, for sure.”
“Look, it’s not that I don’t like you, it’s just that I respect Mr. Hodge too much and—,”
“Jackson, I’ve watched you with Mr. Hodge. It’s not about respect. You’re afraid you’re going to disappoint him. Am I right, or am I right?”
Jackson grunts. He looks at a photo of his dad and remembers feeling that same fear.
“I know you want to be a good soldier, but great soldiers are leaders, right?” she says. “Think for yourself and about yourself for once. Ask yourself, what does Jackson James want?”
Jackson takes a deep breath. “You.”
“Congratulations, Mr. James, that’s another A.” Mr. Heed, Jackson’s math teacher, puts Jackson’s final exam down on his desk. “I don’t know what you did differently this semester, but—,”
Jackson laughs so hard that everyone in the class looks at him.
“Something funny?” Mr. Heed asks.
Jackson shakes his head and stares at the test. “Nothing, sir,” Jackson answers, praying he’s not blushing. He’s not sure if it’s good or bad to find out the day before his fight that all his studying with Tyresha really paid off.
“So, I understand you’re celebrating graduating from high school by fighting?” Mr. Heed asks.
Jackson doesn’t like to talk about his MMA career at school. Usually, it only brings trouble. He starts giving just the basics about his fight tomorrow night, but he doesn’t get far before Mr. Heed’s classroom phone rings. “Yes,” Mr. Heed answers and then looks at Jackson. “He’s right here.”
When Mr. Heed hangs up, Jackson braces himself.
“Jackson, you need to go to the principal�
�s office,” Mr. Heed says. “Now.” There’s urgency in Mr. Heed’s tone. Jackson should be celebrating his last few days of school, but instead, for the first time in years, he’s getting called to the office. He can’t imagine why, but in his experience, going to the office is never a good thing.
“Jackson, go on inside,” Principal Shepard’s assistant says. She uses the same tone Mr. Heed had. There’s a seriousness and a sadness in it that remind Jackson of how people spoke at his dad’s funeral. He opens the door and understands why as he sees Hakeem standing in the office with handcuffs around his wrist. The police officers hold out another pair for Jackson.
“Don’t say anything,” Hakeem hisses at Jackson.
“What’s going on?” Jackson asks Principal Shepard, who’s shaking his head.
“Jackson, I’m ashamed of you,” he says. “I really thought you’d learned from your past mistakes. But—,”
“I didn’t do anything!” Jackson says, looking around in confusion as a cop puts on the cuffs too tight. They lead Hakeem and Jackson out toward the cruiser. Since most people are in class, they only pass by a few other students on their way out of school, but that won’t matter. People will know; everybody talks.
“Don’t you dare say anything,” Hakeem whispers once they reach the car. The cops read them their rights and shuffle them into the backseat.
“What is going on? What did I do?” Jackson keeps asking. He’s told only that he’s under arrest—not what for. Looking out the police car windows, he thinks about how far he’s come in the past three years. Yet he’s right back in the same place with the same person.
He’s booked into the JDC and put in a holding cell while an officer contacts his mother. One of the cops walks by and Jackson yells out. “This is a mistake. What am I doing in here?”
The cop slows and finally faces Jackson. “Robbery, son, and it’s no mistake.” He seems pleased with himself.
“I didn’t do anything. You have to listen to me!” Jackson shouts.
Side Control (The Dojo) Page 4
