“So it’s true.”
The girl walked away.
Behind her:
“What are you, scared somebody’s going to challenge you?”
She kept walking.
The brunette laughed.
“That’s a yes.”
The phrase followed:
“Champion.”
But unlike scholarship girl, it was not admiration.
“Hey, champ.”
“Careful, she’ll knock you out.”
“Don’t make her mad.”
Then one day:
“She can’t fight at school anyway.”
The Black senior stopped.
She was near the stairwell.
The blonde stood ten feet behind.
“What?”
The girl smiled.
“Nothing.”
The Black senior looked at her for several seconds.
Then continued walking.
That evening, she told her boxing coach.
Not everything.
Enough.
“They know I box.”
The coach tightened the wrap around another athlete’s wrist.
“So?”
“They’re being weird.”
“What kind of weird?”
The Black senior shrugged.
“Trying to make me react.”
The coach stopped wrapping.
“React how?”
“I don’t know.”
The coach stared.
The girl finally admitted:
“They know about the scholarship rule.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
The coach’s expression changed.
“Listen to me.”
“I know.”
“No.”
The coach stepped closer.
“You know how quickly video can lose context.”
The girl nodded.
“If they shove you and you punch them, what clip gets posted?”
“The punch.”
“If they insult you for ten minutes and you throw somebody?”
“The throw.”
“Exactly.”
The coach put both hands on her shoulders.
“Your job is not to prove you’re tough.”
“You already did that in a ring.”
“Your job is to reach graduation.”
The girl nodded.
She remembered.
Every day.
By November, walking away became entertainment.
The blonde would step into her path.
The Black senior would move around.
Laughter.
The brunette would knock a notebook from her hands.
She picked it up.
Laughter.
A shoulder bump near the cafeteria.
She kept moving.
Laughter.
Once the blonde shoved her lightly against a locker.
The Black senior turned.
For half a second, everything changed.
Her weight shifted naturally.
Her left shoulder lowered.
The blonde saw something in her face and stepped backward.
Then realized the Black girl would not do anything.
Confidence returned.
“What?”
The Black senior breathed.
One.
Two.
Three.
Then walked away.
Behind her:
“Knew it.”
That sentence stayed with her through practice.
She hit the heavy bag harder that evening.
The coach stopped her after the third round.
“Who are you fighting?”
The girl wiped sweat from her face.
“The bag.”
“No.”
She kept breathing.
Her coach waited.
The Black senior finally said:
“People at school.”