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ONE

ink was reserved for the most badass in the sport of Muay
P PThai. It was an unspoken rule. You had to earn it. I, Kareena
Thakkar, was at the top of my game . . . at least when it came to
my division and weight class in Texas, anyway. But that didn’t
give me the right to wear pink. Nuh-uh, not yet. I knew deep
in my bones that one day I would rock the most coveted color
in all the land, but for now, pink gloves sufficed.
Sweat poured in rivulets down my body like this was the
fight of my life, and the aforementioned pink gloves got their
licks in. My fists were up to protect my face and every muscle
and nerve were lit. I ducked and dodged and hit and punched.
My lungs pounded out breaths in controlled grunts. Adrenaline
surged through my veins. My teammates called me “the girl
on fire.” I scorched the ring and this blonde chick had nothing
on me.
At least, that was what I told myself during every fight.
They were good, but I was better. They were tough, but I was
fierce. They hit and punched hard, but I was stone. And what
did stones do when they careened toward someone? Why, they
knocked them out. And Mama said knock. You. Out.
In this very moment, the cheering crowd muffled into bleak
silence, sending a ringing through my ears. Every face blurred
into one long, ambiguous slate of heaving bodies.
I counted the milliseconds as everything went into slow-mo.

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