CHAPTER 3

  The Knockout Princess

  I sit on the floor, sucking in shallow breaths.

  Fon already moved on, back to the scale.

  I’m not sure I want to keep doing this.

  I’m not sure I belong here.

  Uncle tosses a towel at me like it’s a joke.

  “Lek, I didn’t think she’d pick you. Damn! You ok?” He chuckles. “That being said, what a great punch! I don’t know if you just hesitated and got lucky, but you threw a feint. I’m impressed!”

  I don’t laugh. He sold me out as a punching bag, and didn’t even warn me.

  Now I have blood on my school uniform. Great.

  What even is a feint?

  “Fon’s fighting tomorrow.”

  “Who?” I answered.

  “Fon! The girl…” Uncle pauses. “Did she hit ya that hard?” He laughs easily. I don’t. “Buddy, come to the fight and get a glimpse of your future!”

  I roll my swollen eyes. “Whatever.” What choice do I have? I’m stuck here, remember?

  The lights are out, all the kids sleep on thin mattresses on cramped bunks in the back of the gym. My ribs are sore every time I breathe. I could leave somewhere far, far away. Forget Bangkok, the gym, and fighting… But I’d always remember her looking down on me like I didn’t belong. I’ll always remember that smile when she danced around me in the ring.

  .....

  The next day, the stadium is packed.

  It’s hotter than expected. Noisy, sweaty, shoulder-to-shoulder with strangers yelling in all directions.

  I sit off to the side near my uncle, squinting to see the ring. The rest of the gym kids are here too, even the ones Fon beat up yesterday.

  And there she is.

  Walking toward the ring like it’s what she was born to do.

  She’s wearing a braided purple and white headband, the Mongkol, and matching Prajiad armbands. I’ve heard they’re usually made by the fighter’s parents, for good luck. Mine never gave me anything lucky.

  She steps through the ropes without looking at the crowd, beginning her Wai Kru. She kneels in the corner, head low, then rises and circles the ring with slow deliberate steps. Her hands move in a rhythm I don’t understand, like she’s dancing for someone I can’t see. The crowd hushes, watching her.

  In the back, a couple men are already yelling bets, flashing crumpled bills at each other.

  When she finishes, she walks back to the corner like a stone. No nerves. No emotion. Like she already knows how the fight will end.

  Her opponent looks a little older, a little taller, but Fon doesn’t blink.

  The bell rings.

  Fon explodes forward like she’s been shot out of a cannon.

  I can barely follow what’s happening, it’s all a blur. Fon swings her punches aggressively. I can tell now she was going easy on me. She follows her jab with a smashing low-kick to her opponent's thigh. The girl stumbles back, and Fon chases. Fon doesn’t let her breathe. She stalks her opponent around the ring.

  Her opponent throws a desperate high kick that Fon easily leans away from. Then Fon closes the distance, smothering the girl. She clinches tight, both hands pulling her opponent’s head down, controlling their movement. Then launches sharp knees into her ribs.

  My eyes flash with excitement. I thought yesterday was scary.

  I had no idea she was holding back.

  The betters shout every time Fon lands a strong knee.

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  Finally, a knee zaps her opponent's breath away.

  The girl crumbles to the ground.

  The ref begins the 8 count, but there’s no answer.

  The ref waves off the fight.

  TKO. First round.

  The place goes wild. People are standing, yelling, and taking videos. Uncle jumps up and spills his beer.

  He looks at me with a smile that reaches his eyes, “That’s why they call her the Knockout Princess!”

  I hike an eyebrow. “Princess?” Is he drunk?

  He places his hand on my shoulder. “Ya know, if you survive around here you can fight in the stadiums too.”

  Yeah. It’s the beer talking.

  Fon walks back to her corner like she forgot something there. For the first time tonight. I see her smile as she gives her coach, an older man, a hug. Her coach looks familiar.

  We stop at a food stall afterward. Everyone’s sweaty, tired, still buzzing from the fight.

  Fon’s already at a plastic table, halfway through her second bowl of rice and pork with a fried egg.

  She eats like she hasn’t had a real meal in days, which… might be true.

  Nobody talks to her. Not even the guys who cheer the loudest when she fights.

  I think it’s because she never talks first.

  So I just stand there, trying to figure out if I should sit or keep walking.

  She glances up.

  “Nice shiner, rubber boy.”

  I blink. “Huh?”

  She nods toward my face. “Your eye. Looks good on you.”

  I touch the bruise. Wince a little.

  “Thanks,” I mumble. Then, “You gave it to me.”

  She shrugs. “Then you're welcome.”

  I force a small laugh. Sit across from her, awkwardly.

  There’s a long pause. She keeps eating like I’m not even there.

  I stare at my hands. “I haven’t trained before. In the ring… I wasn’t ready.”

  “Yeah, your Uncle handed you off to me while I was starving to death.” She takes another bite. “He gets distracted.”

  I smile. “I’m glad someone else thinks he’s annoying.”

  She snorts. “Everyone thinks he’s annoying.”

  We laugh.

  Then she shrugs. “Most kids want to quit after I hit them.”

  I squeeze my fist. “Don’t have a choice. My family sold me here. So they could have enough money to eat.” I exhale, grabbing my stomach as it growls. “Plus, I did want to quit.”

  That actually slows her down. She lowers her spoon.

  “That’s normal,” she says, like it’s not surprising at all. “Fighters come from stuff like that. But the fact you helped me make weight and came to watch me. I appreciate that.”

  I relax. “What about you?”

  She doesn’t answer right away. Just goes back to her food.

  “My Pa is the Knockout King,” she finally says, mouth half full. “I was born in the gym.”

  My stomach sinks. Of course, now I see it. The Knockout King. I remember sitting next to my Pa, watching him fight on a tiny grainy TV, back when I was smaller.

  I don’t say anything.

  She glances at me again. “Still think I’m the bad guy for beating you up?”

  “…Little bit,” I mutter.

  She grins. “Fair.”

  Then slides a second plate of rice and pork toward me.

  “I got yours. You look too broke to eat.”

  I stare at it. Don’t say thank you.

  Just pick up the spoon and eat. Slowly.

  She devours hers like a wild animal.

  The girl who crushed me yesterday sits across from me.

  She was born into this.

  I got tossed in.

  Still, she bought me food.

  She made fun of me, but she saw me.

  And for now, I’m not invisible.

  Maybe that’s enough.

  Fon looks up from her plate, a small smirk tugging at her lips.

  “To make up for yesterday, I can train you tomorrow.”

  I blink, surprised. “I would love that.”

  There’s this flicker of hope I never knew I had.

  Tomorrow, I will step into the ring, but this time, maybe, I won’t be alone.