Knockout (Gaslight spin-off)

1| The great Ali

The second he strikes, I'm ready for it. I sidestep to the left, lowering my head as his fist cuts through air before throwing a sharp one-two. Auden blocks the jab with his glove, slips to the left, and hits me with a mean right hook.

Despite the blow, I grin. How could I not? I'm standing in my favorite spot, fixed to the faded canvas of GymCon's infamous boxing ring. The place is packed, Tupac's Greatest Hits is on, and this is my moment. I am no longer that girl dictated by emotion; I am a boxer.

To my left is the wall-sized mural of the great Ali. It's based on his 1975 cover of Sports Illustrated, the one where he's about to deliver a mean right hook to his opponent, Joe Frazier. It sold for 75 cents back then, but a copy these days sets you back two hundred dollars – I got my copy off eBay.

Focus, Cassie. I turn to Auden, gloves raised as a familiar burn fills my stomach. Mom says I've got anger issues, but Dad says I've just got fire in my heart, and sometimes it burns a little bright. The truth is, I do have anger issues – it's the reason I joined this gym in the first place – but if my anger were a gun, my mother holds the trigger.

A jab to the nose sends Auden flying back. It's harder than I'd intended, but I'm not in the mood to play nice. I swing again, recalling the things my mother had said just before I'd left for the gym. Your hair would look so much nicer with highlights. Why can't you make more of an effort? I scowl and land another blow, this time to the side of Auden's cheek. Only a few more weeks.  Once Dad has got his new apartment sorted, I can live with him until I start college in the fall; I just need to be patient. Unfortunately, patience is not my strong suit.

Auden stumbles back as I take another step, blocking his lackluster attempt at a jab and landing an uppercut to the jaw. He might only be fifteen, but we are roughly the same size and height, making him the perfect sparring partner. Unfortunately, he is also the biggest baby I've ever met.

"Ow," he growls, hunching over, "why you always gotta go for an uppercut?"

"Because I know it's your weakness," I say with a click of my neck. While my sparring sessions with Auden always end up short-lived, they're enough to release some of my pent-up aggression.

On the other hand, Auden looks angrier than when he stepped into the ring. He glares and rubs his chin before dipping through the ropes. "Bitch," he says beneath his breath, but even though I glare at his fast-retreating back, I don't take it personally. Some kids who come to this gym have it pretty rough at home: Auden is one of them.

I follow him through the ropes and over to the bench before picking up my water bottle. Defeated, he grabs a towel from the towel rack and makes his way to the weights. The entrance sits next to it, a beautiful archway overlooking the gym. The rest of the place is long and narrow, with several black heavy-bags suspended from the ceiling in neat, perfect rows. In the corner is the boxing ring I'd just used with Auden, a square-sized canvas encased by red ropes and hosting two boys around sixteen.

Jenson, the lead coach here at GymCon, stands beside them. I'd seen his picture when I first researched this gym and thought he was young, but he's older in person. Beneath his USA boxing cap are tufts of peppered hair, and his nose is a swollen, crooked mass. He quietly mutters to the boys in the ring, grabbing his lower back in pain. If I were here to train properly instead of burn off steam, his appearance wouldn't instill much confidence.

Not that I'll ever compete. For me, this place isn't about entering competitions or becoming a boxer, it's about having a place to cool off whenever I feel like screaming. And maybe the thought of being something greater has crossed my mind once or twice, but I'll never entertain it. For now, this gym and my place within it are enough to keep me satisfied.