Alyssa ♔
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I can't remember her name. I'm about to spend the next several rounds with her in this ring, and I can't even remember her name. I wrack my brain for what the ref had called her seconds before the bell, but nothing comes to mind. Nada. And now it's too late.

I take a deep breath and focus on her tightly braided red hair instead. I don't know why I'm scared. I should be used to the harsh glare of the spotlights on my skin. Having grown up performing in every dance class, pageant, and choir my mother could find, I'm used to all the cameras and crowds. So why, in my element, do I feel like a lamb before a lion?

It doesn't even matter - just focus, Alyssa. You trained for this. You're ready. I suck in more air before raising my hands, trying to seem composed despite my nerves. But the slight tilt of Red's mouth tells me she's picked up on my anxiety. I raise my hands higher, tuning out the persistent pounding in my ears, and meet her gaze. Something about her reminds me of Marnie. Not in looks or posture but in the expression on her face, as if she thinks she can easily beat me - I'm starting to think she's right.

She circles me like a vulture, her eyes scanning for any sign of weakness. I straighten my shoulders, suddenly conscious of how she and the crowd will see me: slender, prim, my golden hair neatly braided for the cameras. Just a hint of makeup. She probably thinks I'm an easy target, and I'm loathed to prove her right.

She throws the first jab. I sidestep neatly, then spin on my heel until I face her again. That's it, I imagine Max saying-just one step at a time. You've got this, Goldilocks.

I smile at the imaginary scenario as Red moves closer, visibly annoyed by how quickly I'd slipped by her. I dodge another jab, trying to remember she's not doing this to hurt me but to test my defenses. Never exhaust yourself in the first round, Maddie said. Use it to understand your opponent: their techniques, their weaknesses. A good boxer doesn't win solely on strength but by paying attention.

Red launches another jab. Her fist speeds toward me, this time catching the top half of my ear, and for a second, I consider just how easy it would be to quit. To have Max take me back to the house and watch a movie instead. That would be the easy thing to do, the path the old me would have chosen. Until I met Max, my life had been a series of starting hobbies and abandoning them when they became too hard, just because I could. But with boxing, it's different; it's the longest I've ever committed to something, and I'll be damned if I don't see it through.

Red swings again, and I narrowly dodge another strike. My stance wavers, bringing back memories of the first time Max had me spar against him. I'd collapsed on the mat like a sack of potatoes, and he'd been forced to lean over me like I'd just dropped dead of a heart attack, that look in his eye like he wondered what he'd gotten himself into. How far I've come since those early sessions - farther than I ever realized, partly because of him.

Between dodging Red's attacks, I steal a quick look at my corner, half-wishing it were Max standing there. But the sight of Hayden, his eyes sharp and focused on me, soothes my nerves. He nods at my opponent, reminding me to stay focused. I turn back to Red just in time to feel her fist connect sharply with my cheek.

Staggering back, I feel the sting of her punch sear my skin. My fight-or-flight instincts kick in, urging me to lift my gloves just in time to deflect her next strike. Neither old nor new Alyssa is the type to stand here and not at least try, so I throw myself forward and prepare to attack. I might be in a boxing match instead of the Palisades, but whether in the ring or on a pedestal, the rules are the same: hunt or be hunted.

The noise of the crowd behind me fades to a mere buzz. I picture myself back in GymCon with Max, these bright lights casting shadows on the canvas we'd lay on. It's the same faded mat where I first saw a softer side to him and realized belonging to different worlds didn't matter here. Within these ropes, it's one world, one goal, and winning is the only thing that matters.

The canvas beneath my feet gives slightly as I inch forward. My breathing is steady and measured despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. I'm done staying on the defensive; I throw a combination of punches, a jab, and then a combo, hoping to show Red I'm a force to be reckoned with. The first punch connects, but she easily dodges the combo and dances out of reach. Undeterred, I press forward. Hayden's shouting instructions from the corner, but it's like a distant echo. I need to concentrate: fighting with Maddie is nothing like fighting with someone who doesn't care about you; I can't let myself get hit.

As soon as I move to swing again, Red launches at me. She's done testing my defenses and apparently wants to destroy me. I dodge at the last second, glancing at her coach behind her, who shakes his head. It's clearly not their practiced strategy, but I roll with it. I block a flurry of hits, feeling pretty damn good about myself, but the last one catches the corner of my eye, throwing me back against the ropes.

I regain my footing quickly, ignoring the sharp sting above my brow. The ropes press against my back, and I use my gloves to push off, falling into a sloppy stance. Red seizes the advantage to land more punches, but I've learned to read her rhythm. I sway and duck, avoiding the worst of her blows before countering with a swift hook that catches her off guard. The impact reverberates through my fist, the punch more satisfying than it should be. She's not Marnie, but God, does it help my momentum to imagine they're one and the same.

She lets out a growl before lashing out. I dodge again, surprised by her intensity in only the first round. And the worst part is it's not just tiring her out; it's wearing me down, too. I attempt to pace myself the way Maddie and Max taught me, but she's on me again every time I step back. This bitch is relentless.

I throw a desperate look at the crowd, quickly settling on Max. His face is barely discernible as he leans forward in his seat, but I can just make out how he clasps his hands, his dark eyes locked on mine. Oddly, even though our gaze lasts only a second, it motivates me enough to block Red's next blow before sending my fist into her jaw.

The hit lands hard, eliciting the tiniest yelp. She lowers her head, squeezing her eyes tight before righting herself. Here we go again, I think as she strides closer, but before she can swing her arm, she trips and stumbles forward.

The crowd erupts in a chorus of boos as she tries to catch herself. I consider surging forward and taking advantage of her distraction to land another blow, but my feet stay rooted to the spot. Maybe it's stupid, given where we are - okay, incredibly stupid - but I don't want the upper hand because she made a mistake; I want the upper hand because I'm better.

Not that she's grateful. Her next punch comes fast and hard in my face. I block, feeling the thud in my gloves, then counter with my own strike. She keeps going, becoming more irate as I block her attacks, and I know it's because she's embarrassed. I fend her off the best I can, sticking to Hayden's plan to spend the first round remaining on the defensive, but God, it is tiring.

By the time the bell rings to signal the first round is over, I'm an exhausted, sweaty mess. I retreat to my corner, taking deep breaths, my mind already dreading the next round.

Hayden rushes over, handing me water and splashing some on my face. I turn to him and pull out the mouthshield, blinking the droplets away. "Give it to me straight: is my face okay?"

He smirks before returning to business as usual. "There's a shallow cut above your eye, but you're fine. Stop overthinking everything up there and concentrate on your opponent. She's strong but undisciplined, and right now, she's running on adrenaline, which will wear her out before it does you. I know you can do this, Alyssa, but you need to believe it yourself."

I nod, shifting my attention shifting back to the front row. My heart sinks when I realize he's gone. I scan the area again to be sure, hoping I've somehow missed him, but no. Tiana is there, waving nervously, and Maddie, but not Max.

"Where is he? The second round is about to start."

It's too late for a response. Hayden shoves my mouthguard back in, tells me to focus, and urges me back to the center of the ring. I turn to stare at Red from over the ref's meaty shoulder. She's no longer smirking, instead looking at me like she plans to tear me apart at the seams. I swallow hard, pushing aside that Max is nowhere to be seen, and raise my hands again.

The bell for round two rings, and it feels different this time. The ring feels smaller somehow, more intimate. The lights are brighter. I'm acutely aware of every sound - the muffled thuds of our gloves, the referee's instructions, the shouts from the crowd. I block it out, along with the throbbing above my eye, and focus on Hayden's pep talk. You are Alyssa Class, I tell myself. You didn't stand up to Justin and your parents just to throw away that courage now.

You can do this.

My fist surges forward in a rush of adrenaline, catching her left cheek. She loses her footing, barely managing to right herself when I land another hit, this time on the right.

Round two is no longer about playing it safe or letting fear take over. I know her weaknesses: she drops her right shoulder and favors her left foot. That she's not as quick on her feet. That, like Hayden said, she's running on adrenaline instead of control - I need to use it to my advantage.

The next jab smacks across her ear, eliciting a grunt as she swings her fist back, catching my mouth. It doesn't hurt - I manage to move around just in time, the hit barely grazing my lip before I land a one-two. It's funny that now we're in the second round, I've settled into myself. My confidence is back, and I dance circles around her, loosening my footwork and shedding tension. This shift helps me navigate around her better, dodging her next few hits. And the more I evade her, the sloppier she gets in an attempt to hit me back.

Emboldened, I retract my fist and deliver another jab. She absorbs it without flinching, retaliating with a jab to my jaw that forces me backward. I draw in a sharp breath, then exhale in a rush, feeling the air pull away. Pain radiates outward down my neck and mixes with my throbbing temple.

I feel myself go down.

A/N

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