PROLOGUE

It came out of nowhere.

The sound of Nikes charging across asphalt—

the bounce of baby fat in the black kid’s face—

the meat of his fist smashing into a random stranger’s jaw—

I heard the SMACK! from where I was standing.

Through my lens, I saw the stranger’s cigarette fly out of frame, his eyes rolling back into his head—

And then he just fell.

Hard.

The guy’s head bounced off the sidewalk with a thunk as the boy yelled “Knockout!” His friends rushed in and jumped all over him like he’d just scored the game-winning touchdown.

I stared at the man on the ground with my camera, his eyes gazing at the sky, blood trickling from his mouth. He looked like a character in a movie.

But this was real. It was on my screen. But it was real.

To the boys, it was just a game. Some called it One Hit or Quit, most just called it the Knockout Game. One kid, an eighth-grader with a crooked smile and ketchup stains on his school uniform, noticed the man’s eyes were still open. He grinned at me, the white girl with the camera, and jumped on the man’s head like it was a balloon that needed popping.

The Knockout King would be proud.