His face goes redder than before, almost shading into purple. He grimaces, then smacks the floor twice with his hand. I stand up and back away. Sam doesn’t bother getting up, just lies there wheezing.
“We have a winner!” says Jonathan, walking back into the middle of the ring and holding up one of my arms. He’s got his big, wide toothy smile on. When he turns away from the crowd toward me, I can tell from his eyes that he’s actually pissed.
“What the hell was that?” he hisses. “That lasted, like, ninety seconds? Dar, these people paid money for a movie, and you gave them a commercial.” He drops my hand, shakes his head and walks back to his friends in the crowd. Sam is still lying on the floor. I lean over and offer him a hand up.
“Screw you,” he says, rolling away.
As he struggles to his feet, I snap my leg out and flick one leg from under him. He collapses to the floor again with the sound of a bag of dirt hitting the ground.
Someone grabs me from behind. “What the hell?” It’s one of Sam’s buddies from the football team. He’s not alone. Should’ve controlled my temper. That was stupid. But before it can get out of hand, Jonathan appears at my side.
“Hey, hey, hey. Let’s keep the fights in the ring, all right? Take it easy. Dar, you apologize for that.” I look over at Sam, who is all smiles now that he’s leaning on two football buddies. Big man now that I’m outnumbered. But Jonathan’s right. I nod.
“My bad. I’m sorry.” I extend my hand to Sam a second time. And again he doesn’t take it. He spits on the ground. Laughs.
But this time I keep my cool. Watch them walk away, joining the rest of the crowd heading for the exit.
“Listen, Dar,” says Jonathan, turning me toward him. “You have got to do better next time. That was ridiculous.”
“What?”
“The world’s fastest fight, followed by…that?” He gestures at Sam and his teammates. “You’re going to be on their hit list for weeks. Worse, I might even get on that list if you keep it up.”
“Yeah, you got my back, don’t you?”
“Dar,” he says. “This isn’t about our business partnership.”
I rub one hand over the lump on my head. My mouth tastes like copper. “Then I don’t think this partnership is going to work.” I pull on my hoodie.
“Ah, don’t get like that.” Jonathan rolls his eyes and puts a hand on my shoulder. I shrug it off. “I’m saying that you and I, we’ve got a good thing going. You’re the star of the fight club. And I’m making us money.”
I stare at him for moment.
“You’re a shark, man,” Jonathan continues. “I’m like those fish that hang out with sharks, clean them up, show them where the food is.”
He slaps a bunch of bills into my hand. I flip through them. Fifty, as promised. “So don’t screw up this relationship, all right?”
I stuff the money into my jeans pocket, grab my backpack and head for the door.
“What, you’ve got nothing else to say to me?” says Jonathan.
I turn back. “What do you mean?”
“Not even a thank-you? For the money? For keeping Sam’s crew from kicking your ass?”
I just mumble, “Thanks” and pound the door open to the bright sunshine.
The empty garage is a few blocks from the grounds of Norfolk Academy. About ten minutes if I hustle. And afternoon class starts in fifteen. Jonathan originally wanted the fight club to be at night, because it would be cooler. But it turned out lunchtime brought in more of a crowd. So that’s when we fight.
I pull on my blazer as I cut across the grassy quad. The temperature drops as I pass underneath the big old oaks. I’m almost to the rear entrance of the McAlister Building when I see her. Keisha is walking in from the other direction, hands dancing around as she tells a story to her friend. Crap. I don’t think I look too roughed up from the fight. But I don’t want her to ask questions I can’t answer.
I angle toward the other side of the building. I’ve almost made it when I hear her call out.
“Dar!” She’s waving at me, big smile. Her friend looks less impressed, binder clutched to her chest.
I nod at her, hesitate for a second and then walk over.
“Keisha. I didn’t see you—”
“It’s okay. Where you coming from?” she asks.
For a minute I think she knows where I’ve been. Then I look at her brown eyes, wide and trusting. Tough to lie to. But she doesn’t know about the fights.
“Just getting something for lunch. You know, at the Quik Mart.”
“What happened to your forehead?” says her friend, raising an eyebrow. “It looks like—”
I cut her off in a rush of words. “It’s fine. Gym class. So hey, Keisha—you still up to going out tomorrow?”
Keisha nods, her smile turning a little shy. “Yeah, of course. Pick me up at seven.” She turns, brown hair cascading back over her shoulder just like in the shampoo commercials. For the hundredth time I wonder what I’m thinking, trying to hang with her.
Her friend stares a minute longer at me, then hustles to catch up to Keisha.