“I’m glad to hear that.” Miss Allison motioned for Meghan to sit, but she stayed standing.
“Good enough to play tennis come spring?” Miss Allison was the girls’ tennis coach.
“I can’t, you know, because of … And I’m still fighting, so no, I can’t.”
“That’s a shame. You had all the makings of a champion.”
Meghan laughed. “I seem to recall losing more than I won my freshman year.”
“No—it’s like your mother used to say.” Miss Allison’s words were garbled. Meghan wondered if she was holding back tears. “You’re not just an athlete, you’re a champion.”
“What do you mean?” Meghan had never looked deeper into this riddle.
“An athlete is someone who competes in sports, but a champion is—”
Meghan jumped in. “Good enough to win?”
“No, that’s a winner,” Miss Allison said. “To your mom, to me, probably to your uncle too, being a champion isn’t just about winning, but living your life the right way. An athlete has the tools to do well in sports, but a champion has the tools to succeed both on and off the court.”
“Nong, how about it?” Meghan asked.
Nong just shook his head like he was tired of saying no to Meghan. She’d asked Nong to spar every night since the start of the year, and the answer was always the same.
Last weekend, they’d piled into the dojo van—one of the few vehicles she’d ride in—with Hector, Jackson, and Mr. Hodge to go to an MMA card, and they stood together in the cage before the show. It made her upcoming fight seem real. Then Mr. Hodge had announced they’d be sparring soon with fighters from the MMA Academy, another local dojo. Meghan hadn’t fought pill-free in forever, and she’d started to wonder if she could stand the pain.
“Look, don’t you think it would help you prepare to fight someone like me?” she pressed Nong.
“How is fighting a girl going—”
“I’m not a girl, I’m a fighter. Get in the ring with me and I’ll show you.”
Nong shook his head. Meghan didn’t know if it was in disbelief or anger, but before she could ask she heard a deep male voice. “I’ll do it.”
Meghan turned around. Eric Shaw stood behind her. He was also seventeen and fought at light heavyweight. He weighed fifty pounds more than Meghan and was taller and stronger, but way less experienced. The last time he was in the spar with Hector, a middleweight, Eric had tapped.
“Really?” Meghan didn’t know Eric well, other than that he wasn’t as skilled as she was.
“Look, the only way I’m going to get better is to fight,” Eric said. “So, no excuses, let’s go full out. I’ll ask Mr. Hodge if it’s okay.”
“Of course it’s okay.”
“Well, he might not think it’s a fair fight.”
Meghan laughed. “It won’t be a fair fight, Eric. It will be a short one.”
“Okay, let’s work hard for three rounds of two minutes,” Mr. Hodge said to Meghan and Eric as they stood across from each other. They touched gloves and returned to their corners until Mr. Hodge blew the whistle. As always, every eye in the dojo was trained on the ring.
Eric didn’t waste any time as he came right at Meghan with short jabs and shot for a takedown, but Meghan sprawled and then scampered to the other side of the ring. Eric followed, threw more jabs, and went for another takedown, but Meghan got a knee up. It cracked hard against Eric’s helmet. Meghan tried for a Thai clinch, but Eric easily escaped. As Eric circled, Meghan threw front kicks more for defense than as strikes. After taking the knee, Eric seemed more apprehensive about a takedown and threw short jabs. Although he had the reach, he didn’t have the timing, and his punches didn’t connect with power. Meghan slipped a left hook and tried a takedown, but she couldn’t budge Eric from his base. Meghan felt Eric underhook her arms, but she blocked his takedown. It was a stand-up stalemate.
“Let’s work hard, Eric! You too, Meghan!” Mr. Hodge yelled. Eric kept his chin tucked and head down as he barreled toward Meghan. Her strikes did little damage as Eric bullied her against the ropes. Locked in a clinch, Meghan and Eric exchanged short rights and lefts. They dirty boxed against the ropes until Mr. Hodge blew the whistle to end the round.
“Are you okay?” Mr. Hodge asked Meghan during the break. “Do you want to quit?”
Meghan pounded her gloves together and shook her head no. She’d work through the pain the best way a fighter can: end the fight as soon as possible. When the whistle blew for round two, Meghan kept her distance and defended against Eric’s punches and kicks. They circled for a while, neither throwing strikes, looking more like helmeted dancers than fighters. Mr. Hodge clapped his hands together, encouraging them to engage. “Let’s work hard, people, work hard!”
Meghan threw a roundhouse kick that landed hard on Eric’s hip and made him wince, but a repeat kick allowed Eric to grab Meghan’s right leg. He followed through by tripping her left leg, and they crashed hard to the mat with Eric on top. As they hit the floor, Eric’s shoulder jammed hard against Meghan’s jaw. Eric threw short elbows from the mount while Meghan tried to sweep, but even with her legs in near perfect position on Eric’s shin and knee, she couldn’t move his weight. She worked from half guard back to closed guard quickly to limit Eric’s strikes. Once she locked it in, Eric could muster little offense. Mr. Hodge stood the fighters up.
Back on her feet, Meghan attempted a double leg. Instead of sprawling, Eric took Meghan down with a double underhook. As they tumbled to the mat, Meghan got free but hung onto Eric’s right arm. On the ground, Meghan maneuvered her legs across Eric’s chest, with his right arm between her thighs and his left elbow tucked against her hip. Meghan pulled Eric’s forearm across her chest to set up the arm bar submission. She leaned back and lifted her hips, which put pressure on Eric’s arm. He tried to stand, pull his arm free, and roll away, but Meghan’s grip was tight and her control total. Eric tapped just as Mr. Hodge whistled the fight to an end.
“That was just about perfect,” Mr. Hodge whispered to Meghan. Meghan took a deep breath as Mr. Hodge raised her hand. She held it in the air for a long, long time. Her jaw ached and her ankles throbbed, but to earn the W, the pain was well worth it.
When Meghan biked home in the cold, she felt the pain set in all over her body. She’d absorbed more blows than she realized, but mostly her jaw hurt. As she waited for her drink at Starbucks, she went into the restroom and looked at her face in the mirror. A new deep bruise on her cheek joined old scars from the accident.
The cold beverage felt like it drove a spike into her forehead as it moved down her throat. She took only one sip before she tossed it in the trash and continued her journey home. A hot shower did nothing to ease the pain, nor did four aspirin. Meghan couldn’t sleep as she used one hand to gently rub her sore jaw and the other to scroll through messages and posts on her phone.
Even though her grandparents kept the temperature in the house cool, Meghan started to sweat. Another shower didn’t help to stop the sweat or the pain. Only one thing would do that.
After the shower she looked at herself in mirror. Her body was muscled and taut from years of training, but scarred from a few seconds of tragedy. The girls at the dojo never said anything about the scars she usually kept hidden. Even Latasha and Tommy hadn’t seen these secret scars.
She picked up her phone, and her thumb traced the outside of the keypad. All of her pain could be over if she hit Tommy’s number. But she thought about the numbers before Tommy’s: her grandparents, her uncle, and Latasha. She’d be letting them all down. She turned off her phone and went downstairs, feeling like she’d just gotten another W.
But while Meghan sat at the kitchen table with an ice bag on her jaw, pain overwhelmed pride, and she realized she didn’t need Tommy’s help. She put the ice bag away and walked over to the pink pillbox on the counter. Her grandma’s memory wasn’t that good anyway; she’d think she just forgot to put out the white pain pill, now in Meg
han’s hand.
“Meghan, are you ready?” Mr. Matsuda asked. They stood outside of the locker room at the MMA Academy. Meghan wouldn’t change in a locker room with strangers, so she came dressed to fight. She nodded her head and threw hard strikes into the blocker. It didn’t hurt at all.
“You’re on last,” Mr. Matsuda said. “And don’t let being in the cage throw you. Same skills as in the ring, just a different setting.”
Meghan nodded again and threw a wicked high kick. It was easy for Mr. Matsuda to say don’t let it get to you—he wasn’t going into the cage. He didn’t need to save the day for Mr. Hodge. Of the three Missouri MMA students who had sparred with MMA Academy fighters, only Hector had won. Nong had tapped, and Jackson lost by decision. This fight wasn’t for her, but for the dojo.
“Since she’s shorter than you, you have the reach advantage,” Mr. Matsuda said. “Get your strikes in early and then take her down. Get her off balance while you stay solid, and you win. Simple.”
Meghan nodded for the third time. One for each round, except it wasn’t going to last three rounds like Jackson’s fight. She wanted to end it right away.
“It’s time,” Mr. Matsuda said. He patted Meghan on the shoulder. As he walked away, Meghan moved toward where she’d set her sweatshirt and took out some pills. She went to the drinking fountain and promised herself this was the last time, the very last time. Meghan swallowed the pills, put in her mouthpiece, and headed slowly to the cage.
Mr. Hodge stood in the middle of the cage as referee. Meghan stared at him: would he stop the fight to protect Meghan from getting hurt like he had when she fought Josie? Or would he let her fight back?
The fighter from the MMA Academy came into the cage, head down. She and Meghan had weighed in just a few pounds apart, but Amy Lee was at least three inches shorter, squat, and probably stronger. Although Meghan wasn’t fighting Josie again—Meghan knew the purpose of the spar was to fight somebody new—it felt like a rematch. This time the result would be different.
Mr. Hodge gave the instructions to both fighters but seemed to be looking only at Meghan when he talked about protecting yourself and tapping out before getting injured. Meghan listened and stared at the mat. No doubt Amy was staring up at her.
When the whistle blew, the fighters touched gloves and assumed their stances. Meghan circled and waited. Amy started with her right jab, but Meghan slipped it and responded with an inside leg kick. Every time Amy tried to shoot, Meghan sprawled to avoid the takedown. Amy pressed the action, while Meghan reacted and waited for an opportunity.
When Amy’s takedown attempt using a double underhook landed them against the cold chain-link cage, Meghan opened up her offense. With Amy’s hands locked under Meghan’s arms, Amy couldn’t defend herself. Meghan landed strikes against Amy’s helmet and buried knees in her gut. Amy dropped the underhook, allowing Meghan to change levels, scoop Amy’s left leg, trip her right, and take her down right at the “thirty seconds” call. On the ground, Meghan got side control, but Amy powered up and out as the round ended.
“Good round,” Mr. Matsuda said as Meghan tried to catch her breath. “Not sure if he’ll give it to you, but good round.” Mr. Matsuda gave Meghan some tips for getting a takedown. Meghan nodded but knew words didn’t matter at this point. She ran on adrenaline, athletic instinct from years of training, and black-market amphetamines.
The fighters touched gloves to start the second round. It quickly mirrored the first: Amy trying to use her strength to take Meghan down, and Meghan defending with strikes. As Amy stepped in to throw a left hook, Meghan dropped down, snatched Amy’s thick legs, and pushed her against the cage, but couldn’t take her down. Against the cage, Amy seemed to freeze while Meghan worked with punches to the head, knees to the body, and kicks to Amy’s legs. As Amy pushed back to create distance, Meghan threw a hard knee that stunned Amy. Meghan faked another knee, which got Amy’s hands down, and Meghan hit a lightning-fast combination that rocked Amy and pitched her head forward. Her head then absorbed the blow of a high kick.
“Thirty seconds!”
The head kick buckled Amy’s knees. Meghan pounced with a right jab, an overhead left, and an uppercut that landed hard on Amy’s chin as the round ended.
“You’ve got her scared, but she’s got to take you down in order to win,” Mr. Matsuda said before the last round. “She’s getting tired and frustrated. She’ll make a mistake, and you’ll tap her out.”
Meghan pounded her gloves as the whistle blew. After touching gloves, Amy rushed forward. She threw short, powerful right jabs that Meghan mostly deflected; the strikes lacked the snap of earlier in the fight. When Amy tried a takedown, Meghan sprawled and locked her hands deep around Amy’s neck. Meghan fired a hard uppercut to the chin. Amy pushed back and escaped Meghan’s clinch. But every move Amy tried, Meghan answered. In desperation, Amy started throwing overhand lefts that barely grazed Meghan’s helmet. When Amy tried a high kick, Meghan blocked it and followed with a sweeping hip throw.
“Thirty seconds.”
On the ground, when Amy tried to push back to get distance, Meghan snatched her right arm, just as she had done with Eric. She quickly unlocked her legs to move to Amy’s side as the seconds ticked down. But the time ran out before she could lock in the arm bar submission.
Meghan soaked in the applause from members of her dojo as she stood next to Mr. Hodge with Amy on his other side. Her right arm was sore, but ready to be raised.
Mr. Hodge stared at Meghan hard, looking angry. He broke the stare when he raised Amy’s hand. Before Meghan could react, the coach from the MMA Academy bolted into the ring. “Hodge, what are you doing? Your girl won the fight.”
“She didn’t finish her, and your girl was the aggressor,” Mr. Hodge said flatly.
Meghan and Amy looked at each other with a combination of confusion and sympathy. Mr. Hodge and the MMA Academy coach moved the discussion to the corner of the cage.
Amy took out her mouthpiece. “You won. Doesn’t matter what the ref says.”
When the MMA Academy coach left the ring, he appeared to be cursing under his breath. Mr. Hodge walked back in between Meghan and Amy. Again, he glared at Meghan.
“The decision stands,” Mr. Hodge said as he raised Amy’s hand. Meghan touched Amy’s gloves and walked out of the cage. She stood by the door of the dojo and waited.
When Mr. Hodge arrived, she said nothing. He put his hand on Meghan’s shoulder and the hard stare turned soft. He spoke quietly. “Next time, Megs, finish her like I know you can.”
“I know, I know.” She heard her mother’s voice in her uncle’s disappointment.
“If you weren’t family … I mean, anyone else I’d boot from this dojo,” Mr. Hodge said.
“Because I lost? You wouldn’t have much of a dojo.” Meghan laughed.
Mr. Hodge pressed harder on her shoulder. “I saw you over at the water fountain. You’re not fooling anyone anymore. You’d better choose: are you going to be a champion or not?”
“Fooling anyone about what?” The words tumbled from her mouth.
“You were clean for a while after we went to Hawaii. Now you stay clean, or you leave my dojo. Got it?”
Now Meghan saw her mom’s disappointment in Mr. Hodge’s eyes too. He said nothing else, leaving Meghan in silence to weigh her decision.
“So, how does it feel to be eighteen?” Meghan asked Hector at the small party she’d organized at Pizza Hut.
“No different, except I can vote and fight in the cage,” Hector said. Hector would be the first of them to fight amateur, then Nong, Jackson, and finally Meghan.
“At eighteen you can enlist for military service,” Jackson said. “I’m ready to go.”
“Aren’t you scared? I mean, what if you get sent off to war?” Meghan asked.
“That’s what soldiers do; they fight wars. They fight and die for their country.”
“I think the only people I’d fight and die for are my family,” Meghan
said, sipping her soda.
Jackson shook his head, like he felt sad for her. He started to say something but got drawn into a UFC conversation with Nong and Hector’s boss from the garage he worked at. Just as well, since Meghan knew sometimes people in your family died without a fight, or a reason.
“Hey, can I ask you something?” Hector whispered to Meghan. “Do you really believe what you said?”
Meghan responded with a puzzled look.
“You know, that the only people you would die for are your family.”
“Of course, Hector. Don’t you think your family would do anything for you?” Meghan asked, but Hector didn’t answer. “It’s all about sacrificing for what you love, you know? Look at us. We’ve surrendered years of our life to this. While other kids our age are out having a good time, we’re in a gym getting beat up. And we like it. Not the pain, but the competition.”
“Getting that W.”
“Well, no, I don’t know. If it was just about winning, all of us would’ve quit that first year when we were just human punching bags. Nong would’ve quit after getting killed last week. Yeah, we want to win, but it’s the thrill of the fight itself, of taking on whatever strikes life throws your way. At least, it is for me.” She looked up at Hector. “What is it for you?”
When Hector didn’t have an answer, Meghan left the table. She walked slowly through the restaurant; the sounds of families laughing overwhelmed her with anger and sadness. She started to call Tommy, but stopped. Everyone in the dojo talked about how strong Meghan was. She knew it was time she proved them right.
When Meghan arrived home, the pain grew more intense. Whatever damage the kicks had done to Amy, they’d hurt Meghan too. Her ankles throbbed. After an hour of craving rest, she caved and ventured downstairs. You just need to get some sleep, Meghan thought. One pill, that’s all. She stared at the pink pillbox for a long time before opening it and removing the small white pill. She tossed it back and felt relief at knowing sleep would come. Behind her, she heard a cough.
Body Shot (The Dojo) Page 4
