Chapter 3

I’d warned Chef the day before that I was going to be late, although I hadn’t explained the particulars, since I hadn’t planned on anything coming from it. He, however, saw it as a good chance to run me ragged. Again.

“Okay, stop,” he said as he paced in front of me as I pushed through pushups. “You’re just making me want to cry watching this. This is the worst effort I’ve seen from you since we started. What’s going on today?”

He wasn’t wrong. Between all the running I’d done at tryouts and the first twenty minutes of Chef trying to kill me with conditioning, I was falling apart. My arms screamed at me each time I pushed myself back up and my legs felt like jelly.

“Sorry, Chef,” I said, wobbly coming to my feat. “One of the coaches at school convinced me to go to baseball tryouts today, and that’s where I was. They ran the hell out of us already, so I’m pretty beat.”

“You want to play baseball?” He asked, sounding surprised.

“I didn’t, not at first. He’d helped me avoid getting suspended when that thing happened on the football field, where the guy was chasing Cameron, so when he asked, I felt like I owed him. After playing, though, I realized that yeah, I really do want to play.”

“Are you going to have time for this with everything else you’re doing?”

“I was just thinking that on the way here. Honestly, I don’t know, but I want to give it a shot. I had so much fun today, and I realized I was missing being part of a team, you know?”

“Kind of. We didn’t really have that kind of thing when I was growing up, but living in the temple, there’s a kind of brotherhood that we get that I imagine is sort of like being on a sports team.”

“So you get it. If it doesn’t work, I’ll let them know I can’t do it, but I want to give it a shot.”

“Ohh, well, I guess that kills what I was going to ask you about today.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it; you really don’t have the time.”

“No, Chef, tell me. Please?” I asked, making puppy dog eyes.

“Don’t try that shit on me,” he said, although I knew it worked from how hard he rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine. A friend of mine told me about a competition happening in Myrtle Beach in May that I thought you might want to go to. It’s a mixed martial arts competition and is part of Martial Arts Federated.”

“I don’t know what that is,” I said. “Also, aren’t I too new to this to compete against anyone, unless the point is me going and getting my ass kicked?”

“The MAF is the largest mixed martial arts organization in the world, and holds a wide range of tournaments and the like.”

“So it’s like the groups that send teams to the Olympics? Dad and I were at this place a couple of years ago when the Olympics were being held and they had Jujitsu or Judo or something like that on TV. I remember seeing a banner for some kind of organization on the side.”

I actually had vivid memories of that day, since it was one of Dad’s dry spells, where he actually made an effort to spend time with us, instead of disappearing to the bars as soon as he woke up. We watched the TV and talked about the two people throwing each other all over the place. Dad went on this whole thing about how neither of them would make it in a stand-up bar fight and, at the time, I believed him.

The whole thing was burned in my brain.

“No, those are different. They tend to be organizations that manage international rules and competitions for one discipline, and they tend to look down on MMA as a whole. There’s actually a lot of politics and contentiousness around it, or there was when I was competing. I know the MAF was trying to get MMA as an exhibition for several years, and they kept getting blocked by the discipline-specific groups.”

“But MMA seems way more popular. At least, I hear about it on TV all the time.”

“Well, yes and no. MMA is a broad term, and there are several organizations that deal with it, some at the regional level and some at the national level. It might be why they’ve all had trouble finding traction, but it does give lots of opportunities for people to hear about MMA in general.”

“I’m still not sure I should compete. I’ve only been learning for a few months.”

“True, but I wasn’t thinking of throwing you in the deep end. I was thinking about the juniors competition in the fifteen to sixteen division. Most of those kids have been training less than a year, so they aren’t that far ahead, and you train a lot more than they do. I guarantee you none of them train almost every day like you do. Besides, it isn’t for several more months, so we have time to really focus on it.”

“As you said though, my playing ball on top of music and school makes it not practical, right?”

“I don’t know. It depends on you. I’m sure we could figure it out if you wanted to do it. I just thought it would be good experience.”

“I guess I’m not sure this is something I want. I started learning so I could defend myself against Aaron and his friends. I mean, I really enjoy it actually, and want to keep learning, but I never really thought about it past that.”

“Well, we don’t have to decide now, but I think it would be a good experience. Right now, if you want to practice, it’s against training partners, which means everyone is being careful not to hurt each other, or it’s against some of the kids who’ve been bothering you, which has its own complications. This would be a way to practice all out against others who’ve also learned to fight, but in a way that’s acceptable to everyone. It’s fine to train with me, but training and actual experience are two different things. This would give you what you don’t get from me.”

I looked at Chef, considering. I’d told him about my fight with Aaron at the end of last semester, and he’d approved of my restraint. Now he was suggesting I get into a ring with some kid I didn’t know and we’d wail on each other. It really was a switch, although this probably fell in some sort of middle ground, since he’d mentioned before about fighting in these kinds of things.

I wasn’t convinced; both because I really didn’t have the time, and because I didn’t feel any pressing need to prove myself in a fight against others. I’d started learning because I knew I was going to continue having issues with Aaron and the like at school, and I wanted to defend myself, not to fight in tournaments.

What I did know was this meant something to Chef. Spending time with him every day, for the most part, I’d had a lot of opportunities to talk to Chef. It wasn’t always instructions or lessons, sometimes he just wanted to talk or he’d answer my questions. In none of those conversations was he as excited about something as much as he was right now, talking about this competition.

“You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to,” he said when I hesitated, almost disappointed. “I know this isn’t something you’ve thought about before, and I don’t want you to feel like I’m pushing you into it. I just thought it would be good experience and you might even find yourself having fun.”

I couldn’t imagine any context in which I actually had fun fighting someone, especially a stranger, but I also couldn’t imagine letting Chef down. He probably did mean it when he said he wasn’t trying to push me into it, but this mattered to him. Considering everything he’d done for me, I couldn’t let him down.

“No, I was just trying to figure out how I’d make this work with my schedule, especially if I’m doing baseball, too.”

“We’ll make it work,” he said, his face brightening instantly. “The tournament is at the end of the year, long after you’re done with baseball, and I’ll make sure we can work around your stuff here. We’ll have to train for it, but I’ll make sure we work around your practice schedule. Don’t worry, we can work this out.”

“Great. It’ll be fun,” I said, lying through my teeth.

The surprises weren’t done yet, however. I was so wrapped up in trying to figure out how I was going to get my rapidly filling schedule to actually work out, that I almost walked by Mom’s car without realizing how out of place it was.

Mom never got home from her second job before ten, and I couldn’t remember the last time she was home when I got back from the Blue Ridge in the afternoons. Hell, the only times I ever saw her in daylight hours seemed to be holidays and on her way to work on weekends.

I rushed around the side of the trailer and in the front door, sliding to a halt when I saw her sitting at the table in the kitchen, staring at sheets of paper with a blue cover sitting in front of her.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

Besides the fact that she was home at all, she was also visibly upset in a way I hadn’t seen before, somewhere between angry and worried.

“Did you get in a fight just before Christmas?”

“No,” I said, mostly as a reflex, before remembering the incident with Aaron. “Well, kind of. Aaron attacked me in the parking lot and I put him on the ground. I made sure I didn’t hurt him and was just defending myself, though.”

“That’s not what they’re claiming.”

“What?”

“Aaron’s father is suing us for battery.”

“I’m going to be arrested?” I asked.

Aaron’s father was the county prosecutor, which meant he was the one who decided whose cases got taken to court or not. I assumed that means he could get anyone he wanted to arrested, since the police worked for him, after a fashion.

“No, in civil court. They’re claiming his son suffered major damage to his shoulder and arm, which puts his future sports prospects in jeopardy.”

“He attacked me! How can they sue us?”

“They’re saying it was the other way. Aaron went out to confront you and you attacked him.”

“That’s bullshit!”

“They’re saying they have witnesses.”

“There wasn’t anyone there. We were at one far side of the parking lot by Hanna’s car.”

“They’ve listed someone named Harry Torres as a witness.”

“He wasn’t even there.”

“If no one else saw it, it’s going to be your word against theirs.”

“How much are they suing us for?”

She sighed, leaning back in her chair and pinching the bridge of her nose.

“It doesn’t matter. We can’t afford a lawyer. I’m not even sure we can even afford the court costs.”

“I could ask Chef...”

“No. We can’t go asking Chef Tang for help every time we’re in a crunch. You let me worry about this. Just, please, try to stay out of trouble till we figure this out. If you see this boy, just run the other way.”

“I try to. He cornered me this time. I’m so sorry Mom, I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

“I know you didn’t, Charlie.”

“What are we going to do?”

“You’re going to go to school and do all your responsibilities, just like nothing happened. Let me worry about this. Do you have any homework?”

Normally I didn’t, but with baseball practice and then right into my workout with Chef, I hadn’t gotten a chance to do it yet.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Then go do it. I still have to go to work tonight, but since I’m here, I’ll fix you dinner.”

“I’m so...”

“Don’t keep apologizing. Just do your homework.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, getting up and heading back towards my room.

The rest of the week and through the weekend was a struggle. Mom barely spoke any time I saw her, and refused to answer any questions about the lawsuit or what we were going to do. It got to the point where Willie and Chef had to sit me down and tell me to get my head out of my ass, since my performance in both practices and on the stage Friday night were far below my normal standard.

I don’t think the crowd noticed I was off my game, but Willie certainly did. I managed to put them off, just saying I was having issues at school, since I knew Chef well enough by now that I couldn’t tell him what was actually happening without breaking my promise to Mom to let her deal with it for now. Had I mentioned the lawsuit, Chef would have almost certainly stepped in and tried to help. I didn’t think that was a bad thing, but I didn’t want to pile another problem on Mom, so for now I needed to keep quiet.

I did manage to make it through Saturday and Sunday without any more ‘talkings to’, but I still didn’t feel myself. I even dodged hanging out with Hanna and Kat, telling them I felt bad and wanted to stay home over the weekend. It was the truth, after a fashion. I hadn’t been able to sleep much since Wednesday night, tossing and turning most nights, worrying about Mom and what we were going to do.

Monday morning during first period I got a notice that my schedule was going to change, with my PE class switching to a strength and conditioning class in the morning. “What’s this?” I asked Ms. Morgan, the school secretary, when she handed me the new schedule.

She took it from me and looked at the small type over the top of reading glasses balanced on the end of her nose before handing it back.

“That’s the PE class student-athletes take.”

“Ohh,” I said, putting two and two together.

That must mean I made the baseball team, despite what Coach Dean had said after tryout. I also saw it had another, much more positive side effect. The conditioning class was third period, which was the same time as my history class with Coach Bryant. I’d been moved to another history class in the afternoons, with a teacher I’d never heard of. It didn’t matter how busy my life was suddenly becoming now. Playing baseball was worth it, if for nothing else than getting me away from Coach Bryant.

When I got there, some of the kids from the previous class were still collecting their things and leaving. I’d recognized some of them as being on the football team, and wasn’t surprised to see Aaron and his friends in one of the last groups to leave. I tried to skirt around the edge of the room to avoid them, but Aaron must have some kind of internal radar just for me. He zeroed in on me as soon as I walked through the door to the athletics department.

“What the fuck is this?” he asked, walking up to me, followed by several of his minions. “Did you get lost? Dance class is in the gym in the afternoon.”

His friends seemed to think that was the height of comedy, doubled over laughing and slapping each other on the backs. I just thought about what Mom said, trying to ignore him and walk around his group. They shifted to block the way again.