Talan

The loud, ricocheting cheers in the arena sound muffled and far away. Droplets of sweat drip from my hair, stinging my eyes and salting my lips and taste buds as they trickle down my face and splash against the canvas when I slide my leg between the ropes and climb from the ring. I'm drenched from head to toe and dead tired, with aching ribs and weak, numb, wobbly legs.

I slap the hands of unfamiliar spectators, telling me, "Good fight," as I make my way to the long, cold corridor and back to the locker rooms.

My boxing coach, Sonny, meets me inside. "That was a heck of a fight you put on out there, Talan. I'm proud of you."

Nodding, I wipe the sweat from my face with a towel. After Sonny leaves, I unlace my shoes, peel off my soggy trunks and the tank top, step into the shower stall, and turn on the cool water. Hurt lifts from the pit of my weak stomach. I close my eyes and let a tear or two escape into the crisp, pressurized water that gently batters my fatigued body.

I lost!

It was my most important fight to date, and I lost, blowing my first chance of fighting at nationals. I rarely lose, and it hurts—emotionally more than any physical pain I experience in the ring.

Since I was eight years old, fighting exhibition bouts, I've dreamed of winning a national Golden Gloves title. I couldn't wait to turn sixteen just to take part at this level. I considered taking nationals crucial to my future, and I never thought of anything as important ... except Amalia.

The Golden Gloves boxing tournament is for participants aged sixteen to thirty-five, so it's far more challenging to take the championship than Silver Gloves, the tournament for boxers fifteen and under because while Silver Gloves considers age, weight is all that matters in Golden Gloves. It's momentous because the Silver Gloves tournament ends at the state championship level, and Golden Gloves can take you all the way to the Olympics. An Olympic medal is the only way to prove to yourself that you're one of the best in the world—pound for pound. I planned to beat the best in the country and then in the world, and I'll stay amateur until I do. I always felt I wouldn't be good enough to achieve ultimate success as a professional fighter if I wasn't good enough to win nationals.

As it turns out, I'm not good enough to take regionals.

I never exhausted every skill before like how I did this fight and still I lost; it makes me sick to my stomach—so sick that it brought me tears. The last time I cried about anything was when my mom left my dad and took my sisters when I was eleven years old. I had no reason to cry since.

I come from the shower room, and my home coach, Old Marvin, is waiting in the locker room for me. He had hopped on a plane when I made it to the semi-finals, expecting I'd fight in the championship bout. He flew to Mesquite, Nevada, just to watch me lose. What a waste of his time and money. Marv knows me well enough to know how badly losses affect me. So, I'm sure he's here to give me a picker-upper speech I'm not ready to hear.

He pats my shoulder and says, "Good job."

I gulp my hurt and try to smile. "Not good enough." Blowing out a mouth full of defeated air, I drop to the bench to put on my shoes.

"That fight could have gone either way. It was that close, Talan. You've got nothing to be upset about. That guy is ten years your senior. That's a whole hell of a lot of experience over you. He got the decision because he had a little more power behind his punches than you. That's the only reason he got the decision."

Feeling dismal, all I do is nod.

"This is your first trip to a regional tournament. You earned a championship bout, and that's something to be proud of. You can't expect to take it your first time out."

Anger pulls my eyebrows together. Marv knows I don't go for excuses. "You did." I use a harsher tone than I'd meant to use.

He tightens his thin lips, inhaling as he adjusts the tan fedora with a beaded rim atop his whitish hair. "Yep, yep, I did. But things were different back then. When I was growing up, there was a boxing team in practically every town throughout the entire state and the surrounding states. We had that much more competition to grow our skills. Nowadays, there are far fewer teams from which to develop. Shoot, New Sable ain't even got one anymore and hasn't had one for many years."

As much as I'd love to cram myself with excuses to make me feel better, I can't. I'm too disappointed in myself. My jaw tenses, and I turn from Marv, hoping I'm not coming off as disrespectful. Marv's just like my grandpa.

"I'm speaking the truth, Talan. The further south you get, the bigger the teams and the more teams there are. This makes for better-experienced fighters. The guy you boxed was from a huge Las Vegas club and twenty-six years old, but he barely pulled off that win over you, a sixteen-year-old. No question about it. You have all the talent. Develop a little more physically, and there'll be no stopping you. Now, ah ... Kade's been calling. I haven't been answering. I figured you'd want to talk to him." He takes his cell phone from his vest pocket and stretches it toward me.

"Nah, go ahead. You can tell Kade about the fight for me."

I'm not in the mood to talk to anyone.

"Okay, then. So, I'll see you back in the gym at home when?"

"Two weeks."

"Good. I spotted a thing or two we can work on this summer."

I hear Old Marv's cell phone buzzing as he shuffles toward the door. He doesn't answer it, so I know he doesn't want to pass on the bad news himself.

As he nears the door, two things occur to me. I want to hear Amalia's voice, and I want to go home. If I call her, she'll know I'm thinking about her, and I can see whether I stand a chance. She was always interested in my ring fights.

The last time I spoke to Kinsley, she unhappily revealed that nothing more serious than friendship was happening between Amalia and Kade. The boys and I learned long ago that getting trapped in the friend zone of the girl you're crushing on is a bad deal. I might have warned Kade if Amalia wasn't the girl he had his sight on, but just being in New Sable with her gives him enough advantage.

I hop up and go after him. "Marv! I want to make a phone call."

It's Amalia who answers the phone. Of all the times I called her house, she answered the phone. Someone up there had mercy on me. I say a silent thank you while looking up. "Ama. It's Talan."

"Talan!" She sounded excited. "Hi, how are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm in Mesquite, Nevada, right now."

"Oh, yeah. Kade mentioned you made it to regionals. Jaxon's out. I'll tell him you called. I'm sure he was looking forward to hearing from you. But Erik's here."

"That's all right. I called to talk to you."

There's a banging sound, a thud, and now Amalia's wailing. "Ouch, owe, ouch!"

I pull the phone away from my head and eye it before lifting it back to my ear. "Ama?"

"Talan. Talan. Sorry, Talan. I dropped the phone." She laughs. "Then I bumped my head on the wall, bending too fast to pick it up."

I grin, picturing her and imagining how cute she looks, blushing and biting her lip like she does. "Are you okay?"

"Sure, I'm fine. So, how did you do today?"

"I didn't win. I took the silver."

"Wow, you made it all the way to the championship. That's amazing. Kade said you were the only guy from your team who made it to regionals, including the other weight classes."

It sounds impressive coming from Amalia. "Yeah, but I hoped to get to nationals this season."

There's a pause before Amalia responds. "Wait. You can only fight in regional Golden Gloves if you're the state champion in your weight class, right?"

"Yep."

"I thought so, and Talan, that's even more amazing because you took the state championship in a state you've just begun boxing in this season. So that means you beat all the top contenders in your weight class regardless of their ages to get into regionals, fighters you've never met up with before. And then you nearly became the champion of several other regional states the first time you ever fought in a tournament of this difficulty and size. Double wow!"

Wow is right. Amalia pumped me with a thousand volts of energy with just words. My chest swells, my spirits risen, and I come to life as if a force lifted me from the ground and placed me back on my feet. My discouragement from the loss is gone, replaced by exhilaration. I smile. "Thank you for pointing that out. I wasn't thinking of it that way."

Jasmine hollers for Amalia in the background.

"Talan, I'm sorry. I've got to go. My date's here."

"Date?" It takes a second, but I say, "All right, I'll let you go. Tell everyone I said hello, and I'll see you all in two weeks."

Somewhat dazed, I barely hear her say goodbye and end the call.

She has a date.

I finally came to my senses and called her without caring how anyone would feel, and she has a date. Like my chest didn't get pounded on enough for one day. My heart sinks. I can't catch a break with Amalia.

And who the hell is the date?

If it were Kade, she would have used his name instead of referring to her date. It's a huge relief that she didn't bring up the word "boyfriend" either.

Her mention of a date caught me off guard, but the rest of the phone call was terrific. I heard her disappointment when she said she had to go. She also sounded excited that I called her and happy while she talked me up. I'm eased by the thoughts.

Another silver lining is that I only have two weeks to see her again, and then I'll have the entire summer in New Sable.

I backed off from Amalia on Christmas break like I told Kinsley I would. That was less about Kade, and more about Amalia's behavior at the Pizza Palace. Still, as difficult as it was, I did it, and trust that Kinsley will keep her part of the bargain.

I trained hard this boxing season, avoiding distractions like street fights and girls, which is a testament to my feelings for Ama. Plus, I gave my all to this tournament. So, all I can do now is amp up my training and look forward to the regional tournament next year.

It's time to shift my focus to Amalia, and there's no point in worrying about who she's on a date with tonight.

Do not let it put you back down.

I take Old Marv's phone to him, enthusiastic about my plans, as I sit beside him to watch the rest of the fights.

Just two more weeks.